Inquisitor Notes:
A. is a forty one year old female and highly intelligent as one would expect of a doctor supervising the emergency ward of a major hospital. Her mother is from Holland and her father of British heritage. She was raised together with four siblings in a country town. She has an exceptionally athletic build, wears no makeup, has blue eyes and her brown hair is pinned back. She commutes about the city as well as to and from work on a pushbike. Her cyclist legs are clad in sports stretch wear. She spends her weekends skydiving and wingsuit jumping and she hopes to compete internationally next year.

First Interview(extract):

“Go on.”

“There’s blood on the sheets. Not much. But a little. I must be early. There’s also blood across the pillow from when we made love. He tells me it looks like modern art.”

“I tell him not to even think about keeping it!” Laughs. “There’s art all over the walls of his place.”

“Anyhow, we watch a movie in bed this particular Sunday morning. I feel guilty, like I should be out doing something, not sitting in bed watching a movie. It’s about a pianist who ends up playing with just two thumbs due to nerve damage. It starts out with his piano being hoisted outside a block of apartments to the top floor. My own hands want to play. The movie ends and we make love.”

“Then after breakfast, I have this crazy desire to squeeze the limbs of my god-daughter. I tell him it’s my pituitary. I get in my car and drive back to Sydney so I can meet her and her parents in the park.”

“How does he react when you tell him you’re leaving?”

“He’s calm. But you can tell he’s surprised. He thought I would stay another night. And he was hoping that we would visit his daughter and her partner who live nearby, to pick some oranges from their garden. And then to go on a bushwalk and swim at the beach.”

“So you say goodbye and drive back to Sydney. Does he know this is the last time he will see you?”

“No.”

“When do you tell him it’s over?”

“That Friday, after I have finished my work shifts at the hospital. I message him that I want a kid and that it’s becoming obsessive. That the chances are slim but that the obsessive part of me doesn’t care. That I’m forty one and from now on every month that goes by is the best month.”

She pauses.

“I tell him that I know my decision will cause him pain and that I am sorry about that. But that I can’t focus on finding a father for my child whilst I’m spending time with him. Even though he has already told me he wouldn’t care if I slept with someone else, that he wouldn’t be jealous.”

“He says that?”

“He says what?”

“That he wouldn’t care if you slept with someone else?”

“Yes. He knows I want a child. He has his own grown-up children and can’t give me that. He says he doesn’t care if I have a child with someone else whilst we’re still seeing each other.”

“But you tell him you need to focus on finding a father for your child. That you cannot be anything other than monogamous. You tell him you can’t see him anymore.”

“Yes.”

“How does he react?”

“He is sad. I can tell he is sad. He says there are so many things he wants to share with me. But he acknowledges my biological urge. He encourages me. But I know it is hard for him. I am sad too. He has a beautiful touch and a unique creative mind.”

“Did you think of calling him that Friday, instead of messaging?”

“Yes. But I couldn’t do it.”

“Have you spoken since?”

“No, but we’ve messaged each other.”

Second Interview (extract):

“Is he in trouble?”

“Certain unorthodoxies have come to light. We’re investigating. That’s all we can tell you. Let’s go back to the beginning. How do you first meet?”

“His friend invites him to a backyard get-together. The wife of the couple next-door to his friend happens to be the sister of one of my own friends. The wife suggests a blind date.”

“Why do you think she does that?”

“She thinks to herself – here are two people intelligent, well-read and curious about the world but also a bit goofy and offbeat. She’s very intuitive.”

“Where do you meet?”

“At his place. I drive there from wingsuit training one weekend.”

“Aren’t you worried, going to the house of someone you don’t know?”

” Most emergency doctors are adrenalin seekers, one way or another. I’ve jumped out a plane more than 1200 times, I’m used to taking risks.”

“What do you do that first day?”

“We go for a bushwalk. There’s this freshwater rock pool at the halfway point where we swim. The water is cold. There’s no-one else there and we don’t wear bathers.”

“So you see each other naked?”

“Yes.”

“How does that feel?”

“Fine. He’s appreciative. And he has a nice body.”

“You sleep at his place that night?”

“Yes.”

“How does that go?”

“He has a lovely touch. He makes me feel desirable and the sex is good. Playful. It’s satisfying. A lot of men are fragile around sex, you have to pussyfoot around them coming too soon or not staying hard. He’s not like that. We talk a lot.”

“At what point does he tell you he doesn’t want children?”

“He tells me about his vasectomy on the first night.”

“How do you feel when he tells you that?”

“I don’t mind. Not then. It feels good being with him. On my off days, we go for walks, we sit in his hot tub together, watch documentaries and share books and music. We make love. It’s very intimate and sensual. We bodysurf in the ocean together. We exercise in the muscle park. I go to his place. He comes to mine.”

“What is this muscle park you mention?”

“The exercise park at Bondi Beach, where the locals pose and flex their muscles around the outdoor gym equipment. I sometimes compete with the blokes to see who can hold the handstand for the longest.” Laughs. “He writes me a poem.”

Inquisitor Notes: A transcript of the poem follows, per screenshot taken from A’s phone.

the chesty bonds watch as
she cat-springy on cyclist legs
with the shoulders of a leopard
places her hands on the rubber mat
her body a half-open jack knife
and pivots to the vertical
to come to a handstand
locking like a machine
the upright blade
of her legs

she
stands
motionless
upside down
on her two hands

my
heart
turned
upside down
with ardour for her

“How do you feel when you see his poem?”

“He captures it well. And using very few words.”

“What about the last line?”

“Well, ardour is an unusual word. But maybe he means love without saying it, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. How do you respond to him sending you the poem?”

“I tell him that I love it and that it chimes well. That it might also be accomplished, but that I wasn’t reading it with that part of my brain.”

“He must have been pleased.”

“Yes I think so.”

“Did you and he use the word love to describe your feelings for each other?”

“Yes. But we didn’t make a big thing of it. We were only together two months.”

“If your quest for father and child ends up not being successful and he is available, would you consider getting together again?”

“I wonder. But yes, maybe.”