Please Don't Make Me Go

by Fenton, John

  It took me very little time to rake the leaves and twigs off the graves and grass and onto the flagstone path. I swept the path slowly and carefully until there was a nice neat heap of waste in the middle and next to a small dustbin I had placed there. I used my hands to put all the leaves and twigs in the bin until only a small amount of dust and dirt was left and then swept that down a small grated drain by the gate. I leant on the broom, looking down the drain, and suddenly I thought about Wilkinson’s stash of money. I let my tongue run over the damaged inside of my lip and an idea came into my mind.

  I casually walked over to the dustbin and lifted it over to where it obstructed any view of the flagstone I wanted to lift up. I then went to the vestry window and checked that the room was empty and no one was looking out. Satisfied it was safe, I hurried to the stone and prised it up. There in all its glory was Wilkinson’s money. Quickly, I lifted out one handkerchief and ran to the drain by the gate. The sixpenny pieces made a lovely sploshing sound as they hit the water at the bottom. I ran backwards and forwards thirteen times before I had disposed of all his silver. There was over twenty-five pounds’ worth and it would have been too cumbersome to carry around with me. All that remained in the hole now was a small black leather purse. I opened it up and took out its contents. Four one-pound notes and a ten shilling note went into the bottom of my sock beneath my foot. I replaced the empty purse and handkerchiefs and put the stone securely in its place then smiled to myself and said quietly, ‘Not me. It’s you that can go and fuck yourself, Wilkinson.’

  I quietly went about my work for the rest of the afternoon. I would have liked a cigarette but the chapel always had one or two Brothers praying in it and it wasn’t worth the risk. I managed to make a roll-up and hid it in my trousers so that if a chance arose for me to have a smoke I would be ready. Father Delaney came into the cemetery and complimented me on how nicely I had done the flowers and told me he had arranged an early tea for me so I could be back at the chapel in plenty of time for the acceptance ceremony.

  I arrived back at the chapel at half past five and was amazed to see that there wasn’t an empty seat. There were loads of people present that I had never seen before. I counted at least six priests. There were a lot of brothers and monks and our local bishop had been given pride of place on a large seat at the side of the altar. I quickly got changed. Father Delaney had already lit the thurible and the incense smoke was so thick it made my eyes sting. The coffin stand had been placed in front of the altar and the only thing missing now was Brother Ephraim.

  It was exactly six o’clock when Brother Ephraim, in an open pine coffin, was brought into the chapel on the shoulders of four brothers. They gently lowered the coffin onto its stand and moved quietly to their seats. I remembered very little about the ceremony as I was staring at the lifeless face of Brother Ephraim. I made all the right responses and handed Father Delaney the holy water but my eyes kept going back to Brother Ephraim. He had changed colour from this morning. I remembered clearly how white he had looked in his bed as Father Delaney blessed him. He was now an off-colour sort of cream. His face looked as though it was carved out of wax. It didn’t frighten me; it fascinated me. All of a sudden the ceremony was over and I was walking behind Father Delaney and back into the vestry.

  ‘You can go out through the cemetery gate back to the school. I am sure the Brothers are going to take turns in doing a vigil until Brother Ephraim has been buried and you might disturb them if you keep walking through the chapel.’ The sounds of a Gregorian chant filtered into the room from the chapel. Father Delaney lifted his eyes up to the roof and listened, enjoying every note. ‘Be back at six in the morning. One of the brothers will call you.’

  I closed the vestry door quietly behind me and stepped into the cemetery. I noticed that I hadn’t put the rake away so I took it over to the shed and put it inside. I looked at the interior of the shed and decided it was big enough for me to stand in and have a crafty smoke without being seen. I squeezed into the cramped surroundings and lit the roll-up that I had hidden in my trousers. The smoke seemed to caress my throat and I leaned against the wall of the shed with a blissful sigh. It had been an interesting day. I had seen a dead body. I thought about what I had done with Wilkinson’s money and grinned. It had been a great day. I took a last puff on my cigarette and stepped out of the shed and walked away in the direction of the yard.

  As I entered the recreation room I very nearly collided with Jimmy Wilkinson, who was walking past the door. He shoved me hard and snarled, ‘Keep out of my fucking way.’

  I turned my head, not daring to look at him in case I gave myself away. I would have loved to have been big enough to tell him how I’d just fucked him from a dizzy height. Instead I hurried away and went over to where Bernie was sitting looking glum. ‘How’s it going, Bernie?’ I greeted him cheerily. ‘I’ve had a great day.’

  Bernie sighed. ‘I got a letter from home today. Jimmy, my brother, is back inside.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ I asked.

  Bernie shrugged his shoulders. ‘My mum didn’t say. All she said was that he’s been put in the Scrubs.’

  Wormwood Scrubs was a big prison situated in West London, next to Hammersmith Hospital. One of the prison’s wings was used entirely for young men awaiting Borstal. I could see he was upset. He doted on Jimmy. I put my arm affectionately around his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about him, Bernie. You said he’s a hard case so he’ll be well able to look after himself.’

  Bernie grunted. ‘I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.’

  I grabbed his arm and squeezed it. ‘You can’t worry about Jimmy, Bernie. De Montfort was right when he said we’ve got no families for the next three years. We can only worry about ourselves and our survival.’

  There was a long pause and then in a subdued voice Bernie said, ‘I know you’re right but I can’t just forget about my family.’

  ‘I’m not saying you should. Just try and put them to the back of your mind and concentrate on how we’re going to get through the next couple of years.’

  Bernie stared at me, then shifted his gaze to the floor. He said quietly, ‘You’ve changed so much since St Nicks. You’re not the same boy. I think you’re better suited to this place than me.’

  ‘I hate this place,’ I said. ‘I hate the boys, the masters, the Brothers and most of all I hate myself. Believe me, Bernie, when I say that the only time I’m not unhappy is when I’m in chapel.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re turning into a Holy Joe.’ Bernie’s eyes searched my face to see if I had been joking. ‘Nothing surprises me about you any more. Just don’t expect me to start learning to say Mass.’

  ‘Speaking about Mass,’ I said, ‘you won’t be seeing much of me for the next two or three days as Father Delaney needs me for services. He said I might have to serve six or seven masses a day.’

  Bernie spat on the floor. ‘Fuck me, John, you must be nuts.’

  I smiled a little. ‘I get a chance for a quiet smoke. I don’t get booked and I’m sure Father Delaney will see me all right after Brother Ephraim is buried.’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not nuts. I’m doing myself a favour.’

  ‘You’re still going to have to come back into the school when it’s all over. Nothing will have changed. You’ll still be in this shitty place.’ Bernie spat a large globule of phlegm on the floor. ‘So don’t get too happy with your lot.’

  I brooded for a few moments, thinking about Bernie’s comments. He was right in what he said. No matter how good a day was, the next day I would still be in this place. But worrying about it wasn’t going to make it disappear. I was determined to enjoy the feeling of fucking up Jimmy Wilkinson.

  The whistle sounded for supper. As Bernie and I walked towards our lines, I said, ‘I’m sorry about your brother, Bernie. Try not to worry about it.’

  ‘Cheers, John,’ he replied. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  As I made my way to my place in line a sticky stream of spitt
le hit me in my face. I looked to see where it had come from and Jimmy Wilkinson and Tony Birch stood laughing and pointing at me. I lowered my head and hurried to my place. I wiped away the spittle with my sleeve.

  I stood in line with my eyes shut, trying to block out all sounds. I was imagining Wilkinson’s face when he lifted the stone. I thought, I wonder who’ll be laughing then, you queer cunt.

  I welcomed lights out when it came. I lay in the darkness listening to the rhythmic breathing of the other boys in the dormitory and revelling in the ecstatic feeling of having at last hit back at the perverted cunt Wilkinson. When sleep came it was peaceful and tranquil.

  Chapter 12

  I stood in the small cemetery looking down at the fresh mound of earth that hid the recently buried body of Brother Ephraim. I wondered idly what it was like being dead. Could your spirit see its old body? Did your spirit feel sadness? Where did your spirit go after death? There were so many questions I didn’t have the answers for and so many questions I wanted to ask.

  Over the three days before Brother Ephraim’s funeral I had served sixteen masses and two benedictions. Father Delaney seemed to be always in the background and I lost count of the number of cigarettes he dropped on the floor. After the graveside service he had given me a leather-bound book by Charles Dickens called A Christmas Carol. He said he felt certain that I would enjoy the story and I was looking forward to starting to read it tonight in bed.

  I knew that I had come to the end of spending all day in the chapel and I dreaded going back to my old routine. I had been spoilt by being left alone and out of the reach of the Brothers and the boys. I had seen Bernie briefly every day and his mood seemed to be getting better. Jimmy, his brother, was no longer the main topic of his conversation and he kept me informed about what was going on in the school. He told me that he’d seen David Love’s arse in the shower and it looked awful. Black and blue all over and cut in two places. That news pleased me as my own backside was still in equally bad shape.

  I walked back to the vestry and into the chapel. There was nobody around and I thought I would take this last opportunity to have a quiet smoke before I headed back to the school. I rolled myself a cigarette and went out into the cemetery to the small shed. I was enjoying the freedom of peaceful smoking and felt sure that my little shed was safe. I never heard the small gate open or the sounds of Brother De Montfort’s shoes on the path. He suddenly appeared at the door of the shed and grabbed my hand as I was about to take another puff on the roll-up. His face was a mask of fury.

  His whinging voice screamed, ‘How dare you defile sacred ground. Brother Ephraim has only just been covered over and you are smoking. Have you no respect for anything or anyone?’ He pulled me out of the shed and scraped the sole of his shoe on the roll-up that had dropped out of my hand. His left hand hit me hard across my mouth. He said menacingly, ‘Get up to the small dormitory.’ He shoved me angrily towards the schoolyard.

  I had begun to tremble and shake with fear. Every time he shoved me closer to the stairs I seemed to tremble more. I kept saying to him in a quivering voice, ‘I’m sorry, Bro. I’m sorry.’ My apologies fell on deaf ears and he shouted loudly for Brother Ambrose as he shoved me through the school. Ambrose hurried into the small dormitory shortly after we got there, carrying the big bundle of bamboo canes.

  De Montfort slung the silk shorts into my face. He snarled, ‘Put them on.’

  I had difficulty getting undressed as I was in a state of pure terror. I struggled out of my shirt and shorts and stood in front of De Montfort in my underpants, shaking. He said, ‘Take off your pants and put on the shorts.’

  ‘Please, Bro. I’m sorry. Please don’t cane me,’ I pleaded with him.

  ‘Get your pants off and the shorts on.’ His voice was filled with menace. ‘And be quick about it.’

  I pulled down my pants and heard a gasp from Brother Ambrose. He pointed at my backside with the cane he was holding and shook his head. De Montfort said, ‘Don’t worry about that, Brother. I caught him desecrating Brother Ephraim’s grave. He deserves no consideration.’

  He pointed to the shorts. ‘Put them on.’

  I pulled them on slowly and looked at Brother Ambrose for help.

  Brother Ambrose no longer felt sympathy for me. His eyes were angry. He had been a Brother for a considerable amount of time and had no doubt been good friends with Brother Ephraim. His practice swings with the bamboo cane made a swishing and humming sound as they cut their way through the air. He nodded his head at De Montfort to signal he was ready.

  ‘In all my years dealing with you boys I have never seen a worse case of disrespect. Brother Ephraim was a wonderful man who loved everybody and everything and yet you decided to desecrate his grave with smoke.’ He pointed to the centre of the floor and said through clenched teeth, ‘Bend over and touch your toes.’

  The pain of the bamboo cane hitting my damaged backside was so severe that I fell hard onto my knees. My mouth opened to scream but no sound came out. I rolled over and over until my body collided with the legs of one of the beds. Slowly, sound returned to my throat and I gasped out the remaining air in my lungs. This was quickly followed by me retching and vomiting all over the floor. Hands took hold of me and lifted me. Brother Ambrose’s face came into focus as he manoeuvred me onto one of the beds. De Montfort had hurried out of the dormitory and I could hear his footsteps scurrying along the corridor. At last I managed to get my lungs working and I screamed out the agony I was feeling. I writhed on top of the bed. My entire lower body was in spasm. Brother Ambrose caught hold of my arms and tried in vain to stop me moving around. Slowly my movements subsided and my screams became quiet sobs. He put his face close to mine and I saw tears rolling down his cheeks. He whispered, ‘Please forgive me.’

  Matron and De Montfort came hurrying into the room. She said briskly, ‘Lay him on his stomach.’ I felt the silk shorts being pulled down. Matron gasped and stepped back from the bed, her bottom lip trembling. She looked at De Montfort. ‘What were you thinking? His skin was bound to split if you caned him again.’

  ‘We didn’t see the bruising. Did we, Brother? If we had we would never have done it,’ De Montfort lied. ‘As soon as he had the first stroke we knew something was wrong and stopped.’

  I turned my head and looked at De Montfort. Tears were streaming down my face but the hatred I felt for him and Ambrose was evident in my eyes. He turned his head away and looked sheepishly at Matron. ‘Can you treat it, Matron? There’s no need for him to go to hospital, is there?’

  Matron sighed. ‘I suppose so. You’ll have to carry him up to the infirmary. I can’t keep going to his dormitory to treat that cut and he’ll be in bed for at least a week.’ She turned her attention to me, stroked my hair and said, ‘You’re coming to the infirmary for a few days. You’re going to have to stay on your stomach or you’ll damage the healing process. Is there anything you want to bring with you?’

  I gave her a weak smile. ‘Father Delaney gave me a book as a present and I’ve left it in the vestry. Could you have it sent up to me?’

  Matron looked at De Montfort. ‘Is this the boy who’s been serving all the masses?’

  De Montfort nodded.

  ‘And you’ve done this to him?’ She stared unblinkingly at him. ‘The infirmary has been filled with visiting clergy over the last few days and they all commented on the clarity of his responses. They were impressed about how St Vincent’s taught Latin to its boys. I wonder what they would say if they could see how you rewarded him for all his good work?’ She turned away angrily. ‘Have him carried up to the infirmary straight away so that I can get to work repairing the damage you’ve caused.’ She stomped out of the room without even a backward glance.

  Ten minutes later, Brother Francis and Brother Arnold came to the dormitory and carried me through the Brothers’ quarters and along to the infirmary. Matron had already retrieved my book from the vestry and it was placed on the pillow of the bed I was allocated.
I had to lie on top of the bedclothes with only my socks on and I felt embarrassed when Matron came into the room and checked my backside. She asked why I always laughed nervously as she gently put the healing balm over the open cut, and I couldn’t answer her.

  She must have guessed how I felt as she told me, ‘Don’t ever feel embarrassed when a member of the medical profession is treating your body. We are just doing our job. We’re not looking critically at your body; we are treating it. You’re just a young lad and I am putting ointment on a cut on your bottom.’ She ruffled my hair. ‘Try to stay on your front and don’t stay up all night reading.’

  I loved A Christmas Carol, the book Father Delaney had given me. Dickens made the characters seem so real that I had vivid pictures of them in my mind. I fell in love with Scrooge’s sister and cried at her kindness to her brother. I cried for Tiny Tim and rejoiced at his recovery. I could see clearly the magnificent feast the Cratchit family enjoyed when Scrooge sent his anonymous gift and could feel the fear in Bob Cratchit when he arrived a few minutes’ late for work the next day. The wonderful outcome of the story I must have read a dozen times. When, after three days, I finished the book it left me with a warm glow all over. I immediately started from the beginning again.

  After eight days of Matron’s care I was released back into the school. Bernie greeted me with a huge smile and asked cheerily, ‘How’s your arse?’

  ‘I’m fine. Matron said it’s safe for me to have a shower now; the cut is nearly healed.’ I looked up just as Brother Ambrose walked through the recreation room. I felt my anger rising. ‘That sick bastard knew what he was doing when he hit me. Then the cunt says he’s sorry.’ I spat on the floor. I was filled with cold hatred towards De Montfort and Ambrose. I prayed to God to grant me the pleasure of one day getting my vengeance on them.