Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  ‘Get out of your clothes – including your underpants – and put on the shorts.’ His whinging voice echoed around the closed room. ‘Brother Ambrose will be along shortly.’

  I self-consciously undressed and pulled on the shorts. They fitted me snugly and the silk seemed to cling to my genitals. I pulled them slightly downwards to loosen their grip. Brother De Montfort never took his eyes off me and seemed to be enjoying my discomfort. A cruel smile crossed his face when I jumped at the noise of Brother Ambrose coming into the room. He was carrying a bundle of bamboo canes, held together by two pieces of string, and it was then I knew for sure I was about to be caned. My heart began to race and I was sweating with fear. I remembered the fierce, hot pain when Sister Mary struck my palms with a bamboo cane back at primary school and the time when fear made me urinate on the floor in front of the class. Please, God, don’t let me humiliate myself this time, I thought.

  Brother Ambrose was a trained teacher but only taught one morning a week. He had two other jobs: one to supervise the cleaning of the school, the other to discipline the boys. I had heard that after he caned a boy he would have tears running down his face but I didn’t believe it. Why would a person do something that made him cry?

  He selected a three-foot-long cane from the pile and pulled it loose from the string. Slowly and methodically he placed the rest of the canes on a bed and began to do some practice swings with the cane in his right hand. It swished through the air, making a humming noise like an angry bee. After about a dozen practice swings he nodded at Brother De Montfort.

  ‘Right, Fenton, I think we’re ready for you.’ De Montfort’s eyes closed as if he were meditating. ‘You are here because you cannot obey simple rules that allow this school to run efficiently.’ He opened his eyes and pointed to a spot in the centre aisle. ‘Bend over and touch your toes.’

  I had hardly reached my toes when, with a large swishing sound, the three foot cane slashed against my scarcely protected backside. The blinding pain I felt is impossible to describe but I know I screamed in agony. I ran like a scalded cat to the far end of the room and jumped up and down on the spot. I don’t know what made me do this but it seemed to help me until the pain subsided. I’m sure that it was not an uncommon sight to either of the brothers as neither of them reacted to my sudden demonic dash. Brother De Montfort waited a short while before he signalled me back to his end of the room with a bony finger.

  ‘You have to understand that the sort of behaviour you’ve shown today will never be tolerated. I will not have fighting in my school. Do you understand that?’ His face was expressionless as he spoke. ‘Do you understand that?’

  I nodded, unable to speak. Never in my worst nightmare had I seen or imagined such fear and pain.

  ‘Touch your toes.’

  Again the deadly swishing sound and the excruciating pain. My scream sounded even louder this time and I actually crashed into the toilet door at the far end of the room. Tears were streaming down my face and I was finding it hard to catch my breath. Both brothers were staring at me impassively. When De Montfort signalled to me I limped back to where he was standing.

  ‘Don’t think we get any pleasure out of caning you boys. We do it for your own good. It is only through this sort of punishment that you truly learn what is right and what is wrong.’ He pointed at the floor. ‘Touch your toes.’

  I didn’t scream this time. I couldn’t. It took all the breath out of my body. I did manage to run to the far end of the room and beat the door with my clenched hands. The whole of my lower body seemed to be on fire. My breathing eventually returned to normal and I found myself emitting loud guttural sobs. De Montfort’s bony finger signalled me again.

  I limped back to where he was standing and looked up into his cruel face. ‘I’ve learned my lesson, Bro. I’ll never fight again,’ I sobbed.

  ‘I don’t believe you. All you boys are liars.’ He definitely seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘Touch your toes.’

  This was no longer punishment; it was torture. Every slash with that bamboo cane challenged my sanity. My legs felt weak and hardly able to support my body. My tears flowed but no sound came out of my mouth. The dash to the far end of the room no longer helped me. I feared looking in De Montfort’s direction and seeing his bony finger signalling me back for another slash of bamboo. The fourth, fifth and sixth slash with the cane took my pain to a new level. My chest was heaving as I fought for breath. My hands were shaking with shock or maybe fear. My whole being was exhausted from the brutality it was enduring and the muscles in my legs were twitching uncontrollably. When, after the sixth bamboo slash, De Montfort told me to get dressed again, I fell to my knees in relief. I looked up at Brother Ambrose and through my tears I could see tears rolling down his cheek. It was true – he cried when he caned you. But I felt no pity for him. Just hatred.

  I must have stayed kneeling for two or three minutes before I was able to stand up and get dressed. I slowly pulled down the shorts. I thought at first I must have urinated in them as they were wet and sloppy but then I saw that my hands were bloody from touching them. I strained my head around trying to get a glimpse of my backside. I couldn’t see that far but I noticed that there was a lot of blood on the backs of my legs. I knew then that the bamboo cane must have cut me with one of its slashes. De Montfort saw what I was looking at.

  ‘Go to the washroom and shower yourself down.’ He smiled coldly. ‘It’s all over now and you’ll soon feel as good as new.’

  I walked slowly and deliberately towards the washroom. I was no longer self-conscious about my nakedness; in fact, I was devoid of any feelings. I stepped into a shower and turned on the water. I adjusted the temperature so it was just above cold and let the water beat down on my shoulders and run in soothing streams over my lower regions. It felt wonderful and I stood in that position for several minutes. When at last I stepped out of the shower I felt almost human again and the memory of the caning and the pain I had endured was receding from my mind. I walked back along the dormitory to where both of the brothers were still standing and put on my clothes.

  ‘I hope you have learned your lesson,’ De Montfort whined. ‘I never want to have to bring you up here again. Do you understand that, Fenton?’

  I nodded my head. ‘Yes, Bro,’ I said quietly, but inside my brain I was screaming, I hope you’re dead by Christmas, you ugly cunt. I hope all your family dies by Christmas.

  ‘Good. I knew that you would see sense. You’re an intelligent boy and Father Delaney thinks highly of you. Your parents would be proud of the way you have mastered all the Latin responses at Mass.’

  Fuck off, you cunt. Die, you ugly cunt. Die, die, die.

  De Montfort was appraising me with his lifeless eyes. I wondered briefly if he could read my mind. I decided he couldn’t because if he could he would be beating me into a pulp by now.

  ‘I’ve decided that you will miss lunch today. You can go instead to the chapel and polish the floor of the vestry. And, while you’re on your knees polishing the floor, maybe you can ask Jesus for his forgiveness.’

  ‘I will, Bro,’ I said submissively.

  Fuck you, you cunt.

  We walked at a sedate pace down the stairs and back to De Montfort’s office. Love was standing outside the office with Brother Arnold and looked at me with hatred. I was glad he was about to suffer the same caning as I had and I forced a smirk onto my face to annoy him. It didn’t go unnoticed and De Montfort shoved me angrily towards the yard door.

  He looked at Brother Arnold. ‘Take him to the chapel. I’ve given him work to do and he’s to get no lunch.’

  Brother Arnold grabbed me by the scruff of my neck. ‘Do you want me to stay with him?’

  De Montfort shook his head. ‘That won’t be necessary. He knows what he has to do and can be trusted to get on with it. He’s worked alone in the chapel for the last two months.’

  I was shoved unceremoniously out into the yard and all the way to the chapel door by Brother
Arnold. He couldn’t resist giving me a hard cuff around the back of my head as he let me go. ‘I’ll be checking your work later. Make sure you do a good job or you’ll be back upstairs.’

  I didn’t even turn around to acknowledge what he had just told me. I just opened the chapel door and went inside. As I shut the door behind me I whispered, ‘I hope you’re dead by the end of the day, you sadistic cunt.’

  The vestry floor needed nothing doing to it. I took out the polish and cloths and positioned them around the floor to give the impression I was doing something. I rolled myself a cigarette from the tobacco hidden in the hosts then I lit the charcoal in the thurible and sprinkled a small amount of incense over it. I waved the thurible around until the smell of burning incense permeated the entire room and then I lit my cigarette. I sat down carefully on the floor in the corner of the room, wincing at the tight hot feeling of my backside from the caning, and blew the inhaled smoke from my cigarette over the smoking incense. Safe in the knowledge that the smell of cigarette smoke would go undetected, I allowed myself the luxury of smoking two cigarettes in quick succession.

  I heard the chapel door open. As quick as a flash I opened the thurible and threw the remains of my cigarette inside. I blew on the charcoal, which immediately glowed red and started to consume the tobacco and paper. I closed the lid of the thurible and knelt on the floor with a duster in my hand. I listened carefully and could hear someone approaching stealthily towards the vestry door. I began rubbing the cloth along the floor. The door flew open and Brother Arnold rushed in. He seemed surprised to find me on my knees working. He looked around the room like a hawk seeking out its prey until his eyes came to rest on the smoking thurible.

  ‘Why are you burning incense?’

  ‘I had to make up some more charcoal as the thurible was running out. Father Delaney asked me to do it,’ I lied, knowing that he wouldn’t ask Father Delaney to verify my story. ‘I’ll put it out if you want, Bro.’

  He was sniffing loudly, trying to identify the aroma of cigarette smoke. ‘Stand up. Put your hands above your head and spread your legs.’

  His search of me was thorough. He felt and looked everywhere. When, at last, he was satisfied I was hiding nothing he stepped away from me and stared in my face. He was trying to detect a flicker in my expression that might betray where I was hiding any contraband. As Bernie had said, he stood two hopes – Bob Hope and no hope. I stared back at him without any emotion in my face. For at least a minute it was like a contest of who could outstare whom.

  Brother Arnold broke the staring by looking critically at the floor. ‘Get on with your work.’ He pointed to the far side of the room where there were no dusters on the floor. ‘I want it all as clean as that.’

  ‘Yes, Bro,’ I said. I watched him walk away and followed him with my eyes until I saw him leave the chapel and close the door behind him. I immediately went back to my hidden cache of tobacco and rolled myself another cigarette. I lit it, blew the smoke contemptuously in the direction Arnold had just taken and whispered, ‘Fuck you.’

  I felt the need to be alone. I didn’t feel up to going back to the bricklaying that afternoon so I decided to polish the pews. I could take my time doing it and smoke as much as I liked. I could also have a heart-to-heart talk with God. I enjoyed talking to God in chapel and I often used him as my confidante. He never answered me but, at the end of my conversation with him, I always felt as if I had unburdened my troubles onto someone else. When Brother Arnold returned to the chapel and found me polishing the pews I told him that Father Delaney had asked me to do it and asked if he could tell Mr Cornell where I was. Arnold never even queried when I had seen Father Delaney; he just nodded his head and went back out into the yard.

  I knelt down on the step of the pew I was polishing and looked up at the large wooden crucifix that was hung above the altar, suspended by two white ropes attached to a rafter. The figure of Jesus had been beautifully carved and the pain and suffering he had endured showed clearly on the face. I always felt like crying when I thought of how he was tortured and ridiculed before being nailed to that terrible cross. He knew what it was like to feel totally alone, to be frightened and to need help. Those words from the Bible, ‘My God, why hast thou forsaken me?’ – they could have been written for me.

  I brushed a tear angrily from my face. I had read somewhere that God only helped those who helped themselves. Crying wasn’t helping my cause; it was hindering it.

  With my eyes riveted to the effigy of Jesus, I spoke softly to him. ‘Well, Jesus, I am here again. I’m sorry about all the swearing but it’s just a way of letting out my anger. You know I’m telling the truth as you can read my mind. You saw how Love hurt me in the washroom. He deserved what he got. I’m not sorry I hit him and to tell the truth I was quite proud of myself. I think that you must have been helping me as I couldn’t have done it on my own. Thank you, Jesus.’

  I paused and polished the seat in front of me, then looked up again. ‘I got really hurt when I was caned and if you can make sure I don’t get caned again I promise to say five decades of the rosary to your mother. Are you still looking after my mum? I’ve got another favour to ask you, Jesus. I’m not sleeping well at night and I’m always tired when it’s time to get up. I know I’ve got a guardian angel, but in this place I think I could do with your help as well. I’m having terrible nightmares about what Wilkinson did to me and I’m terrified it could happen again. If you could make him ill and die then I know I would be all right. Please help me, Jesus. I’m frightened and need your help.’

  The chapel door opening brought my little chat to an abrupt end. It was Father Delaney and he looked pleased to see me kneeling and polishing the pews.

  ‘Are you trying to clean yourself into Heaven, John?’ Father Delaney smiled at his own remark. He was a tall, robust man with a voice that could penetrate the noisiest of assemblies. He noticed the lump and cut on my forehead. ‘What have you been up to? I hope you haven’t been fighting.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father. I had a fight this morning and I’ve been caned.’

  Father Delaney’s face went white. He looked at me sympathetically. ‘Are you all right, John? I’ve seen the damage done by caning and I want to assure you that I do not agree with it. I can do nothing about it as it is part of the rules of the school.’ He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder. It was as if he had turned on a tap. Tears streamed down my face and I began sobbing uncontrollably. He patted my shoulder affectionately. ‘Go into the vestry and have a cigarette.’ He smiled at my expression of surprise. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve known about it since the first time you lit up and used the thurible to mask the smell of your smoke.’

  I looked up at him through my tears. His face was filled with compassion. ‘Go on, John. Go and have yourself a smoke. I won’t be coming into the vestry for at least half an hour. Make sure that you burn enough incense to fool me.’ He turned on his heel and disappeared into a small side chapel that was often used by visiting monks and priests on an ecclesiastical retreat.

  I followed him into the side chapel and found him kneeling in front of the small altar. He had his rosary beads in his hand and was deep in prayer. I said quietly, ‘Thank you, Father.’ He never looked in my direction. He just nodded his head. I crept quietly away and went into the vestry and closed the door behind me.

  ‘It’s about time we had payback on the lot next door,’ Pete Boyle grinned. ‘It’s been three weeks since they did us. They’ll have forgotten it by now and won’t be expecting anything.’

  Boyle was an inspiration to everyone in our dormitory. He disregarded all the rules of the school and had a zest for fun. All the boys liked him and I was not surprised to see them all nodding in agreement and smiling in anticipation of what was to come.

  Three weeks earlier the boys from the next dorm had taken us unawares and attacked us at eleven o’clock at night. The whole assault lasted less than a minute and none of us had even made it out of bed. It had been a tr
iumphant success and they took great delight in rubbing our noses in it for days afterwards. Tonight it was going to be our turn.

  Dormitory fights were not common but were enjoyed by everyone. The art of it was to catch the other boys sleeping and inflict as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time. Because of the noise when the assault took place it was imperative to get back to your bed and pretend to be asleep before the Brothers arrived on the scene. I couldn’t help smiling as I saw all our lads preparing for war. Pillows were discarded and pillow cases filled with books and boots. I put my work boots into mine and had a practice swing of it above my head. I was ready.

  ‘We’ll use our blankets so they don’t hear us coming,’ Boyle whispered.

  We all put our top blankets on the shiny linoleum floor and placed our pillow case weapons in the middle of them. We then sat on our blankets and pushed them silently along the floor using our hands. Although there were thirty of us sliding along the floor you couldn’t hear the slightest sound. We slid along the corridor and into our opponents’ dormitory, taking up positions so that every bed was covered. Doyle suddenly screamed out, ‘Payback, you arseholes.’

  I jumped to my feet and smashed my pillowcase down into the stomach of my sleeping enemy. His eyes flew open in alarm and he just managed to get his head out of the way of my second swing. The pillowcase crashed into his shoulder and he let out a gasp of pain. I grabbed my blanket back off the floor and ran like hell for my own dormitory. I dived into bed and slung the blanket untidily over my head and body. Every one of our lads made it back to their beds before we heard the rushing footsteps of Brother Arnold and Brother Ambrose.

  We listened to the commotion coming from our enemy’s encampment. Brother Arnold was having a field day.

  ‘Who’s been fighting?’ he screamed and I heard the sound of someone being slapped. ‘Why is your nose bleeding? Who have you been fighting with?’ Eventually things quietened down and the brothers returned to their quarters.