This is the continued story of
Simon’s Journal.
I would highly recommend you read the first volume of this story,
Simon’s Journal
Thirteen Days – The First Crusade
before you begin this novel.
The following narrative is nearly a complete work of
fiction.
Any similarity to actual individuals living or dead is completely
unintentional.
If reading a coming of age story about boys wearing diapers and exploring their
awakening sexuality is offensive or illegal in your
area, then might I suggest that
you go read War and Peace or something equally
stimulating.
Simon’s Journal
Volume II
Thirteen
Nights – After the Crusade
Written by
Danny
Author of Thirteen Days
Thursday, March 11, 2004 –
And into the Fire
I am not sure just how long
I had been sleeping before I was abruptly awakened by shrieking cries and due to
the image that formed in my head it was obvious that my mind was still dwelling
closely to the dreaming side of sleep. I envisioned that somewhere within this
boy’s institution there was a werewolf and from the sounds it was making, it
was either very angry or in great pain, maybe both. However after I overcame
the initial sock of being awaken so violently I realized that the screams had
to be coming from a man but my imagination was still holding tightly to the
ideas of anger and pain for what else could cause a man to cry out so?
I couldn’t help but notice
that besides the screams there were no other sounds, not even the sounds of my
fellow bunkmate who surely must have heard it too. Given that the room was
completly void of light and the lack of even the sound of there breathing, I
found myself wondering if they were even in there beds.
The unknown mans cries
continued for only a few more minutes before stopping all at once as if someone
had just turned off a television. Despite the absence of the cries, I could not
get back to sleep; I was just too scared.
Well actually, I thought I
could not go back to sleep but before I knew it, I had left the conscious world
once again. However, my sleep was no longer restful and was filled with
horrible images. The worst dream was seeing both of my parents standing on the
front porch of our home yelling for me. They both looked very panicked and
worried. While they frantically called for me, the wind and rain blew hard
against them as if trying to force their words back into their mouths.
Brrrannng! Brrrannng! Brrrannng!
The
sharp, ear-piercing jangle of the bell crashed through the darkness of the room
like glass shattering. With a violent start, I awoke once again, my heart
hammering with the force of ten sticks of dynamite. For a moment I could not
remember where I was, nor imagine what the terrible noise was that had awakened
me. Then the dread memory of all that had happened swept over me like a black
wave. With a shudder I remembered where I was—I was in a room with five other
boys and I remembered what the slightly older,
straw haired and skeletal girl from last night had whispered to me before leaving me in this room—she had said that in the
morning a bell would go off that would rattle my teeth. Well, the bell must
have been what awakened me this time, but how could it be morning? The room was
as dark as it had been when I had crawled into the bed, with not a flicker of
light anywhere. Furthermore, around me all was silent until . . .
Brrrannng!
Brrrannng! Brrrannng!
The bell
jangled again and now the silence that followed the bell was suddenly broken
by the sounds of rusted bed springs squeaking and bare feet thump, thump,
thumping on the floor. I knew that I must climb from my bed as well, and quickly.
Shivering, I dropped my feet down onto the frigid wooden floor but it might as
well have been made of ice as far as my toes were concerned.
Thinking
to myself, “How am I supposed to find the clothes Cho had left hanging on the
nail for me?” If I could find them I wasn’t so concerned with putting them on
in the dark; I figured I could manage that much. Then I remembered that Cho had
told me that when I got up that I must up my bedcovers. Fortunately, that was
something I could manage in the dark since I still had one hand holding to the
wool blanket that I had only seconds before been sleeping under.
As I
reached across myself with my other hand, I remembered I no longer was wearing
my body armor. I suppose I had gotten so used to wearing it that without it
there I felt very exposed and vulnerable.
Suddenly
two wall lamps flickered on from the opposite end of the small room. Thankfully
they were not so bright as to hurt my eyes but were enough to cast a shadowy
glow across the room allowing me to see all five boys and in turn, they could
see me too; or might have if they had not been so intent on scrambling out of
the shapeless gray flannel nightshirts they all wore.
One boy
did spot me, eventually. He had curly black hair and was still sitting on the
edge of the bed next to mine. Just before his nightshirt went up over his head,
he caught sight of me staring at him and then dropped his nightshirt back down
again.
For a
moment or two, he stared at me with an odd look of disbelief on his face, almost
as though he was not sure if he was actually seeing me. Had he looked a little
more distressed I would have guessed he thought me to be a ghost or something
but for the most part his face remained emotionless except for a hint of
bewilderment.
With a twitch
of his head and a scooping wave he beckoned to the other boys who were now
swiftly buttoning on baggy trousers, their pale, thin chests still bare.
"Hey,
come see wot we got usselves here, a flippin' new baby!" the curly haired
boy said to his four companions.
The four
other boys, dragging ill-fitting shirts of assorted drab, faded colors over
their heads, lost no time in making their way over to join the boy. The lot of
them stared at me with wide, equally disbelieving eyes.
"Yer
right, Micky!" agreed one of the boys, the one with brick red hair and a
carpet of freckles which were the only color on his pasty face. "It really
is a flippin' baby.”
I
couldn’t help but notice the resemblance this red haired boy had with Bull and
his little bother Jasper. But the thought did not manage to stick with me for
very long because I felt my temper building within me at having them call me a
baby twice now.
Another
boy chimed in, “Where do you suppose it come from?”
“Gee-whiz,
how stupid can you get? Didn’t your mum ever tell you were babies come
from?" a fourth boy said with a comical sneer.
"He
ain't got no mum, ‘member Peter?" replied Micky in what I guessed must
have been a comical jab of his own. I was left guessing which of the boys that
had spoke were named Peter and shuttered to think I now had another Peter in my
life. I just hope this Peter isn’t anything like the Peter I had known back at
school.
"Anybody
else got one? Timmy?" Micky asked.
“One
what?” I thought.
The stubbly-haired,
sallow-skinned boy addressed as Timmy shook his head violently from side to
side.
"Tyler?"
asked Micky.
The boy
called Tyler sniffed, flicking a knuckle across his stub nose. "I ain't
heard nothin' 'bout no baby!”
I was
right on the edge of exploding and would have if one of them called me baby one
more time.
"Jonathan?"
Micky asked the remaining boy who was appearing to be staring directly at my
diaper.
Jonathan
widened his pair of washed-out blue eyes, then threw out his hands and shrugged.
"Whyn't you just ask it?"
"Jeez
Jonathan, 'cause it don't appear to have no flippin' tongue!" replied
Micky, "So far, it ain't said a word!"
The
subject of their discussion did, of course, have a tongue, but it was glued so
tightly to the roof of my mouth that for all useful purposes I might as well
not of had one. I was further struck dumb by the fact that I was trembling
violently within my slightly wet diaper, and terrified one of the boys would
say something about the diaper I was wearing; which was in full view of each of
them. So all I did was stare ahead like a rabbit caught in the glare of a cars
headlights. Never the less, I knew I must say something; I must!
Praying
that no one could hear the quaver in my voice, I took a sharp breath and managed
to blurt out, "I ... I d-do have a t-t-tongue! And ... I-I-I'm n-not a
b-b-bab-by or a-a-an it!"
"Sure,
an' if ye ain't no baby, why are ya all pink like a baby?" Micky asked me
while, exchanging telling glances with the other boys.
My skin
did in truth have a pink hue to it compared to these five gaukers who’s skin
seemed hard and somewhat leather like, but I had never thought a thing about it
until they pointed the differences out.
"I
... I ... I," I hated more then ever that I was stammering, and then came
to a stop.
"Wot
kind of people got skin like that other then babies?" red headed Peter
asked. "Where'd you come from anyway? Oof!" His eyes popped as Micky
gave him a swift, sharp dig in the ribs with an elbow. "Hey, wot'd you do that
for? I ain't done nothin'!"
"Sure
an' ye know we ain't supposed to ask no questions like that." Micky said,
scowling at him, "Where's yer brains gone?"
"Sorry,
Micky." Peter said, biting his lip.
"All
right, then," said Micky. "Ain't nothin' we got to know but wot he's
called. Wot name is it they give ye?" he said to me.
I
recalled to myself last night in an attempt at remembering the name I was
supposed to go by now and was overjoyed when my memory came to my rescue.
"R-r-ron B-banch-chel-li," I said quickly, proud that I remembered
it.
However,
I had no sooner said the name than I saw the other boys look uncomfortably at
Micky, whose eyes suddenly darkened strangely. Then Micky lifted one bare foot
and shoved my bed angrily.
"Them
murderin'. . .” he said something after that, that I did not understand because
he had said it so forcefully through his clenched teeth. I picked up on the
last part of his sentence, “. . .had to give out that name, didn't they?"
"We
ain't never had it happen since we all been down here,” the boy named Timmy had
offered gently, “so we don't know but wot it's how they does it, Micky."
Jonathan,
his pale blue eyes deeply mournful, nodded his chin to his chest. "That's
right. Easier to keep us all straight, maybe."
"They
should have waited!" Micky said. His voice broke, but he quickly swallowed
hard and tightened his jaw.
Looking
back up at me he said, "And look wot's got the name, a little pink baby!
Just look at him. Don't know where he come from, but looks like he ain't even
been teached to wipe his own nose. Don't know why we're standin' 'round here.
He ain't worth any of us gettin' the hole on his 'count. Let's go!"
Without
so much as a second look at me, the boys swiftly scattered and began throwing
on socks and shoes, and in Micky's case, his other clothes as well. I was left
standing alone by my bed; my eyes now perilously close to tears. Yet, I could
certainly guess the result of the boys seeing me dissolved in tears. It took
all the strength and courage I could muster to tell myself, “I can’t let it
happen.”
Furthermore,
there was something else I must not let happen, and that was to be late. Cho, I
had remembered the girls name finally, had issued a warning about it before
putting me to bed and though not directed at me, but at the other four boys, so
had Micky.
“The
hole!” I thought on the words said just seconds before. It appeared that if any
of us were late, we would get something called "The hole!"
Mr. Wriggle
had said something yesterday upon my arrival here. Something about a day coming
when I might wish I had never been born.
“Was
‘The Hole’ to be part of that day?” I questioned within myself.
Well, it
was definitely something I had no wish to find out about. Quickly I snatched
the ugly nondescript garments from the nails on the wall, then pulled off my
diaper as though it was a pair of very thick underwear and with shaking hands,
scrambled into the baggy trousers and a rough gray shirt that fit me not much
better than any flour sack would have. I found the shoes just where Cho had
said they would be and dragged them from under my bed. They had been measured
for my feet only by Cho's appraising eyes in a darkened room and as a result
were hard, murderously uncomfortable, and far too large. I could not have kept
them on had it not been for the socks of heavy, rough wool that filled a good
portion of the space not occupied by my feet. With clumsy, cold fingers, I
somehow managed to tie the laces of the shoes without getting them into knots.
Looking
up I saw Micky; he was the last boy to finish dressing and was about to leave
the room. As he stared through the doorway, he hesitated, reached out with his
right hand and carefully turned off the two wall lamps hanging from bent nails
on the wall. This left me to make my way through the dark room to the doorway
with only the dim lights from the three tiny lamps in the hallway to guide me.
Oh yes, I saw how it was going to be once I was in the
bathroom. It was all very clear indeed! Cho
might very well have saved whatever breath she had in her thin, hunched chest
when she had warned me against dawdling in ‘the facilities’.
I
had not noticed last night, while Cho escorted me to bed, that in the hallway
outside our room was where we were to wash up. However, the sink was only a
sink in the crudest of definitions for along one wall was a long trough of
sorts with faucets jutting out over it every two feet or so. The remaining
facilities were located behind the same wall hidden from view by a single
wooden door. The toilets at one time looked to have had wooden partitions
dividing them but by the looks of them, it had been a very long time ago. I
sighed when I realized there was going to be absolutely no privacy while doing
my business.
Just
about then the boy I remember the others calling Jonathan, let out one long and
loud fart which got the other boys laughing.
I
reluctantly sat down on the toilet closet to the door though I honestly did not
think I would poop. The wall opposite the line of toilets was just as,
blackened and stained as the other three walls.
Surprisingly,
after sitting on the toilet for less then a minute I felt the familiar cramping
within my bowels just before my bottom opened and a jet of diarrhea shot out of
me with the force of a water cannon.
There
was no hiding the fact either because when it came out of me it did so with all
the right sounds to draw every eye my way but this time they were not laughing.
Not
knowing what to say I shrugged my shoulders and looked down at the oversized
shoes on my dangling feet.
Being the last boy to sit on
one of the toilets, I ended up being the last one to leave, so one again I
found myself deserted though this time in the bathroom. My heart pounded with
fright at being left alone as I attempted for the first time in weeks to wipe
my own butt.
I could feel my ribs
straining and felt several twinges of pain but in the end I managed to wipe
myself twice which I am sure was not enough.
After pulling my pants back
up, I raced out and followed the sounds of the other boys a head of me while
cradling my ribs which were smarting a bit from the stretching and twisting I
had done to wipe my bottom. The sounds from the boys, lead me up the stairs,
through the kitchen, and into the dining hall where I finally caught up with
the other boys. This is when I learned that there were more then just us six
boys staying in this institution.
While dawn had not progressed
enough to provide any light through the three tall narrow windows at one end of
the room, the two small lamps noted earlier were now joined in the effort of
eluminating the room by three ugly ceiling light fixtures. By their light I saw
some two dozen boys, all but a handful of whom stood behind the benches that
lined the tables, faces pale and leathery, hands dangling motionless at their
sides. Other than being in an upright position, these deadly silent boys gave
very little evidence of even being much for then lifeless manikins.
On the table in front of
each one, lay a tin cup, a spoon, and something in a bowl that might or might
not have been food. It was thick and sickly gray in color. However, there was
no question as to its origin; for at the end of the table nearest the kitchen
stood a bald man of diminutive proportions. Oddly enough, for a man that was
obviously a midget, everything about him screamed giant. His florid round face
featuring a swollen heavily veined nose, and the rest carpeted with a dense
black beard that hung midway down his chest. His bulging front was wrapped in a
disgustingly filthy apron, presumed at one time to be white under the grease
and other assorted food stains. With arms thick as posts and hands large and red
as slabs of ham, he was ladling the sticky contents of a large iron pot into a
bowl held by Cho. This was then handed to a boy waiting in line for it.
There were still four boys
in line when I arrived. Only four boys, but enough to keep me from arriving to
find no line at all. Breathless, I joined the line, keeping my eyes firmly
locked on the neck of the boy ahead of me.
Standing there, I began to
notice something curiously eerie. It was not the flickering lamps or all the
boys, or even the unpleasant individual dolefully dishing out the food. What I
now noticed was that other than the clink of the ladle against a bowl, or the
sound of a boy’s feet shuffling across the floor as he carried his bowl to the
table, the room was bitterly silent. As I waited for a bowl to be filled and
handed to me, I stole a quick sideways glance down the room and found myself
gazing into the four pairs of eyes belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle!
Not two pair but four pair;
there were the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle in the painting and the eyes of Mr.
and Mrs. Wriggle in person! For the two of them stood directly under the
painting of their likeness. Four pairs of cold, cruel, pitiless eyes, hot as
burning coals that seemed to be boring into
the souls of every boy there, especially mine. To think that I had actually
believed myself safe because some boys were still in line for their food when I
arrived? Oh yes, those eyes would not have missed seeing me arriving last.
Moreover, it was certain that this event had been duly registered with my two
hosts.
Clump—Clump!
Clump—Clump! Clump—Clump!
I and my
two oversized shoes now provided the only sounds heard in the silent room as I
carried my bowl to the place at the table that Cho pointed out to me as mine.
Had my senses not been working on overtime I would have thought the sound was
coming from my heart and not from the shoes upon my feet. When I arrived at the
place reserved for me, I set my bowl down with trembling hands, which make the
bowl clatter as it encountered the tabletop. This was undoubtedly noted not
only by the Wriggles, but also by the boys nearest me, who turned out to be the
same five I now shared a room with.
When at
last there were no further sounds to be heard in the room, Mrs. Wriggle clasped
her hands and raised her eyes upward. "The blessing, please, Mr.
Wriggle," she said.
As if
defying his wife, Mr. Wriggle kept his watchful eyes securely bolted to us
boys. It was almost as though he did not trust in any higher nor lower
authority to do the job for him. With a clearing of his throat he began,
"For this meal which you are about to eat, you had better be
grateful."
When
this dubious prayer had been offered up, Mr. Wriggle then tapped a tin cup
three times with a spoon, a sign for the boys to drop there bottoms onto the
benches and I of course followed there example. However, there was still no
talking, whispering, laughing or any other sign of liveliness.
After
three more taps on the tin cup by Mr. Wriggle, the boys picked up their spoons
and began silently to shovel heaping spoonfuls of the Oat Meal like substance
into their mouths. Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle, apparently denying themselves the
pleasure of sharing this sumptuous meal with us boys, sat with hands folded,
glaring at us as if to ensure that we were indeed grateful for every vile
spoonful.
Honestly,
I had no interest whatsoever in the Oat Meal but I knew that I was expected to
eat it. I took up my spoon and hesitantly put a small amount in my mouth. The
second it touched my tongue my gag reflexes kicked in and it was all I could do
not to spit the gluey, ghastly, fowl tasting lump right back out again. I knew
that I could not eat this horrible concoction no matter how much I tried to
force myself to do so. I just couldn’t and silently vowed to starve to death
before trying it again! With a gulp and a shutter that ran through my entire
body, I managed to swallow. How long it would stay down was anyone’s guess at
that point.
Then I
saw something that lightened my spirit considerably. Being passed down the
table on both sides were tin pitchers. They of course, would be filled with
milk, perhaps even juice. With the help of that, maybe I could get down a spoonful
or two more and temporarily prove to my stomach that my throat had not been
cut. However, as one of the pitchers drew closer, I saw that what the boys were
pouring into their tin cups was nothing but water. So at the end of the meal, I
was left with the full bowl and the fervent, though dim, hope that this had not
been registered by the sharp eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle.
When
three more taps on the tin cup signaled the end of the dismal meal, the boys
all left the table taking their cups, spoons, and empty bowls, and left them at
the end of the table. With this done, they all hurried to the jackets hanging
on the wall and threw them on, but remained standing in place to form a line
heading for the doors to the hallway we had all entered by. I set my bowl down
with the others, relieved that Cho, still at the same post, did not remark on
the fact that it remained full of the gray lumpy mass.
"Dat's
yers, ten from da left." Cho whispered to me while pointing to one of the
jackets. "You put it on, an' pull out wot's in da pocket. Din ya stays in
da line wit da rest’n do wot dey do."
I noticed
something just then about Cho. It seemed that at times her accent, whatever it
might be, was sometimes stronger then at other times. It was almost as though
her accent was an act. I made a mental note of it as I turned to retrieve the
jacket from the wall.
After
sliding my arms into the sleeves, which turned out to be about four inches to
long, I then join the line without drawing any further attention to myself. It
did not matter at all to me that the jacket was two sizes too big for me, nor
that it had frayed cuffs and holes at the elbows. Nor did the fact that it
appeared that it never had had the benefit of a cleaning either and was
doubtlessly worn by at least one other Bancheli boy and probably a lot more
then just the one. Was it not safer that way, to look like the rest of them?
What if the whole lot of them knew of the diaper? It was not something I wanted
to think about too long.
With the
jacket on, I reached into the pocket and pulled out something resembling what
the other boys held in their hands. It was a rag best described as being
extremely well used and quite filthy. The line of boys moved toward the door,
and as each one arrived there, they would hold out their rag to the bald,
bearded dwarf who had earlier ladled out our breakfast. Now he stood with a tin
tub resting on his left shoulder and braced with his left arm. From it, he was
doling out lumps of a yellowish bread; one lump into each rag held out to him.
The boys then folded their rags around the bread lumps and stuffed them into
their pockets. I did the same when my turn came, wondering if the bread was
part of our breakfast, and when we would be allowed to eat it. It, at least,
looked like something I could swallow and keep down.
When I
entered the hallway, I found that the line of boys had broken up and were
forming in clusters around three older boys who were standing there as though
waiting for us to emerge.
I
remembered that Mr. Wriggle had said there would be ‘schooling’. Could it be
that these boys, who looked to be on the cusps of manhood, had come to escort
us to a school? I hesitated, not knowing if I was expected to join a group, and
if so, which one.
Suddenly
I felt a set of fingers snap around my upper left arm. "'All right then,
come with me!" My head jerked around and I found myself looking directly
into the eyes of Mr. Wriggle!
Walking
so quickly that, in my oversize clumping shoes, I could not keep up with him,
Mr. Wriggle half dragged and half escorted me to a group of boys gathered
around the only other man, aside from Mr. Wriggle. This man was standing
nearest to a large door with flaking green and white paint. Assuming that this
might have something to do with schooling, I honestly expected to see someone
resembling one of my teachers back home. Maybe even someone like my school
Principle, Mr. Freeman. What, in fact, I now saw before me was a weaselly man
with shoulders that could only be compared to those of an Indian arrowhead, and
a coarse, mottled red face, round and flat as a plate with ears that stuck out
from either side of his head like duel coffee cup handles. At least two days'
worth of stubble sprouted in uneven patches around his thick, cracked lips and
nearly non-excitant nose, which was in effect really just two small holes on a
pimple that resided above his upper lip.
As Mr.
Wriggle dragged me up to the man I felt a wave of terror wash over me as the
mans’ black-rimmed eyes locked on me with an apathetic stare.
"This
the one then?" the man asked while picking at his left earlobe.
"The
one, Harpo." replied Mr. Wriggle. "Delivered as promised."
The man
called Harpo appraised me again with narrowed eyes. "What name did you
give it?"
Mr.
Wriggle seemed to stammer a bit before smacking me smartly on the back of my
head and saying impatiently, “What’s your name boy?”
With
little stars twirling around my head, I managed to blurt out the right name,
“Ron!” It came out stronger then I had meant for it but the smack to my head
had rattled my brain more then a little. I can only imagine what might have
happened had my real name came out instead.
"Ah
yes, its name is Ron," repeated Mr. Wriggle.
Despite
being dazed by Mr. Wriggle’s hand upside the back of my head, I was still keen to
the fact that one again I was being referred to as an object and not a person.
With a
small cough, Harpo’s lips spread in an almost evil sort of grin as he spoke,
"I might have figured that. Makes life easier, don't it?"
"Indeed
it does my deer Harpo, indeed it does." said Mr. Wriggle who was now
returning the grin as if the two men were sharing a secretive moment. "Oh
yes . . .” Mr. Wriggle said reaching into his coat, “here are the papers, all
done up right."
Harpo
snatched the folded pieces of paper handed him by Mr. Wriggle and jammed then
into his pants pocket without giving them a single glance. Looking down at us
boys Harpo grunted, "All right then boys, let's git off this here
ship!"
He flung
open the green and white door and stood to one side as several boys trooped out
past him.
"That
means you too, Ron," he snarled at me not unlike Mr. Shafer, my gym
teacher used to do. However even with the confirmation that I was going with
him, I still stood there too petrified to move.
"Git
goin'!" Harpo said grabbing me by the back of my hair and shoving me
toward the door so hard that I nearly toppled head over heals. Had he not still
had a hold of my hair and given me a firm tug I am sure I would have ended up
on my face.
The fear
of what might be the result of my not obeying was enough to keep me moving
quickly through the door and following the other boys, none of whom was from
the same group I had woken up with this morning. Not that it would have made
any difference if one of them had been, for I am sure they still would have
paid no more attention to me than anyone else had so far.
Now had
I been more alert I would have realized that Harpo had given me a clue as to my
current whereabouts before tossing me out the door. He had said, and I think I
am quoting him word for word, “All right then boys, let's git off this here
ship!"
As we
trotted away from the Bancheli Orphanage
for Boys, I hazard to look back in hopes of possibly seeing an address or
something that would tell me where in the world I had been brought. What I saw
caught me by such surprise that for several seconds I was completely and
utterly dumbfounded.
In my momentary dismay, I
stumbled over my own two feet and fell against the boy a head of me sending us
both sprawling to the ground rather un-poetic like.
In the time that it took
Harpo to stop, turn to see what had happened and stride to us I again had
managed to flip myself over and look back for a second time.
Harpo had said it right, the
Bancheli Orphanage for Boys was in fact a ship but it was a ship that was
missing something very much needed for any sort of boat . . . water!
As if it
had been built right there in the middle of an otherwise vacant lot, sat the
oddest ship I had ever seen. I mean, besides the fact that it was out of water
and held off the ground by wooden poles as big around as a small car, it also
had the most incredibly unusual design. Every ship I have ever seen in books or
on television had a basic boat like shape but not so for the Bancheli Orphanage for Boys. It in fact looked more
like the hideous sibling that everyone hears about being kept locked away and
out of view of the rest of the world.
It had a haul like any other
ship but over the hall was a very top heavy structure like someone had staked
progressively larger wooden boxes one on top of another with the top box
crowned in a green mold covered wooden shingle roof. The whole top-heavy
structure looked like it had long since seen its best days, if it had any to
start with. Any sign of paint that might have at one time decorated this aged
vessel was long since weathered away leaving the bare wood looking gray and
haunted. Randomly spaced across the ship were many windows, very few appearing
to be of the same size or dimensions. Some seemed intact while others appeared
be have pains busted out or boarded up completely. It became apparent to me
that my short tour given to me last night by Cho was by no means the complete
tour.
My appraisal of the Bancheli
Orphanage for Boys lasted all of about five seconds before Harpo had reached
the spot where I had fallen on the other boy who was now whimpering and holding
his knee.
Harpo lifted me from the
ground with a single hand clutched to the front of my jacket. I fully expected
to be thrashed about in an angry tirade but he did nothing of the kind.
Instead, he set me up right, straightened my jacket where he had taken hold of
it before reaching down, and then brushed my hair from my eyes before helping
the other boy to his feet as well.
As if nothing had happened,
Harpo grunted and we were off again with me stealing glances over my shoulder
at the ship as it disappeared into the darkness of predawn. The last thing I
was able to see of the ship was the three tall narrow windows of the dining
hall, which I had observed earlier just before being served my breakfast.
As we
trudged along, I observed that though the other boys were as weary, beaten down
and silent as they had been at the table this morning, each one appeared to be a friend to the one
before him. I alone had nobody and even the boy I had fallen against was paying
me no attention at all; not even to blame me for his sore knee, which I
guessed, wasn’t bothering him anymore since he didn’t appear to be favoring it.
It was
still quite dark out, but oh, what a terrible picture the streetlights revealed
to me! The city back home had been a fearful enough place at night, but this
seemed oh so much worse; and now I was not in the devoted care of friends or
family keeping me safe from the sights, sounds, and smells that were so grim,
harsh, deadly and caused my blood to chill in my veins!
Out in
the open, trudging up one street and down another, cutting through alleys and
slipping between buildings with a disheveled individual named Harpo and a pack
of silent boys, not one of whom gave a sign that they cared if I were alive or
dead, or even if I was keeping up with them.
We
entered into an alley that seemed to disobey the laws of light and time. It was
as though we had walked into another world, several years into the past. To one
side of us loomed buildings of brick blackened with filth and defaced with
graffiti. The building itself seemed to be breaking the laws of gravity as
well; only crumbling mortar and the sheer desire to stay erect held it
together. On the opposite side of the cracked, filthy, uneven pavement ran
mini-torrents of something too unspeakably filthy to bare the name of water.
Darkened windows looked down with blank unseeing eyes on our pitiful boy
parade.
None of
the pale, pasty-faced men and women, all intent on their own misery as they
slept in doorways, paid any more attention to us boys than if we were the trash
cans, the scraps of filthy paper blown about, or the rags and broken bottles that
littered the gutters.
When our
little procession stopped at last, it was before the battered doors of a
high-roofed metal building encrusted with years of rust and neglect. Several
large windows were spread across the front, but were filmed with dust and dirt
so thick that their usefulness to admit light was doubtful.
When
Harpo opened the doors to let us in, a blast of murderously broiling hot air
hit me right in the face causing me to take a single step backward and hesitate
before entering.
I soon
found that we had entered a vast room so thick with fumes of burning plastic
and dust that I had to gasp to draw a breath. If I was still expecting to enter
a classroom, the thought left me at that very instant for there was not a desk,
not a blackboard, nor any book in sight.
For
nearly a full minute, all I saw and all I felt was the terrible heat, but
before long I began to notice the glowing light of fires roaring in rows upon
rows of open furnaces. The floor was littered with shimmering beads of plastic
pellets, a silent testament to the fact that this was some sort of plastic
factory.
With a
swallow and a strained attempt to take another breath, the thought crossed my
mind, “And what would we boys be there for if not to work before these deadly
furnaces?”
A type
of shovel I had never seen before was thrust into my hand by one of the boys
who pulled me over to one of the furnaces. He and I spent the next few hours
shoveling trash into the fires to keep them running.
Working quietly,
I was able to look around and noticed dozens of boys working above us. They
walked around on a grated metal floor and seemed to be poring more of the
plastic pellets into what looked to me like witches cauldrons. After a while,
the boys would then push the cauldrons away from the flames and away where I
couldn’t see what was done next.
There
were no breaks to rest except for about five minutes to step away from the fire
to eat the yellow bread that had been sent along with us and also for the occasional
times when Harpo would come by and give us a drink of water out of a red bucket
marked ‘FIRE’ on the side of it.
As I
toiled next to the fire, feeling like my skin was being baked right on my
bones, a trickle of sweat rolled off my forehead, down over the bridge of my
nose and dripped off but never reached the floor; it had evaporated the instant
it had left my face.
As the
sun went down our now exhausted band of boys had drug our sore and filthy
bodies back to the Bancheli Orphanage
for Boys where we were each stripped, washed by Cho and then escorted back to
the dinning hall.
A gluey,
gray, slimy mass of cold Oat Meal sat accusingly on the table before me. It was
now the evening meal, but the same bowl of Oat Meal that had sat before me this
morning now sat before me again.
When I
had lined up with the other boys to receive my supper bowl, I had been handed
the Oat Meal I had not eaten. It was clear to me, even without Cho's whispered
warning, that I would be having this same Oat Meal served to me forever if I
did not eat every horrible bite right then and there. The sharp, watchful eyes
of Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle would see to that; of that fact, I had no doubts now!
What the
others had been served was a kind of stew, it appeared to be mostly potatoes,
with some odd bits of something of uncertain origin swimming around in a
sickly pale broth. It hardly looked very tempting, but whatever it was, it
could not have been worse than the cold Oat Meal that sat before me.
Aside
from the yellow corn bread which one could hardly have called a meal, let alone
lunch, I had had nothing to eat for over a day, maybe longer since I wasn’t
sure when I last ate. It was a wonder I had even managed to eat during the
break, in the few minutes allowed us to consume our corn bread as we had
crouched on the stone factory floor with the fires from the furnaces roaring at
me continuing to burn my face with blasts of heat, and my throat choking from
the dust and fumes.
Now I
picked up my spoon and took one small bite of the cold Oat Meal. I could barely
choke it down, but I finally took another bite as well. When I got the second
glob swallowed, I laid down my spoon; there was no way that I could manage a
third bite even if I had wanted too. Yet, it was not just because the Oat Meal
was so sickening to swallow, it was that my chest hurt, my eyes stung, and
there was hardly a bone in my body that did not feel as if it were going to
break in two. In addition, I was so tired I could barely hold my head up. If
only the meal would end so that I could go down and fall into my bed. Oh, to be
able to fall asleep and have sleep erase all memory of that terrible day even
if only temporarily.
Then at
last I saw that the other bowls were becoming empty and heard the clink of
spoons as the boys scraped up the last sickly drops of stew. However, before
Mr. Wriggle had administered the three taps of his spoon on his tin cup to
signal that the meal had ended, he beckoned to Cho, who went hurrying to his
side. After a brief conference, Cho came rushing as fast as her dragging foot
would allow her and came right up to where I sat.
"Yer
to do dish duty now wit Paul," she said. "Ya ‘member? I show’d where
it was." Then she dropped her voice, "Said you'd find out 'bout it
soon enough."
I didn’t
fully understand what she had meant, I was just too tired to think but a moment
later, I, along with the boy called Paul, who had been the same boy I had
stoked the furnace with all day at the plastic factory, staggered back and
forth from the dining hall to the kitchen.
Our arms
were loaded down with tipsy stacks of bowls, and trays holding tin cups and
spoons. With me on one side of the black kettle that now held only the stiffening
remains of the evening’s meal and Paul standing on the other side of it, we
lowered the bowls and other items into the kettle to be washed before the two
of us attempted to carrying the whole lot off to the kitchen.
Kitchen!
The very word, especially as it had been expressed by Cho, had a cruel sound to
it. For me that night, it was a cruel place indeed! Sure, it had no roaring
furnaces blasting out murderously hot air to burn and blister my lungs and
fill them with deadly dust and fumes; however, it was still no palace. It was a
rank, dimly lit, dingy, cold, damp, room featuring two large sinks sunk into a
wooden counter, blackened with age, grease and who knows whatever.
As I
stumbled in with the final load from the dinning hall and into the kitchen, I collapsed
against the wood counter, which was scarred from numerous knife wounds. This
was the end; I could not move a muscle to do one more thing. It was all I could
handle just to keep myself from falling to the floor.
Paul,
rolling his shirtsleeve back up that had managed to work its way down, looked
at me and shrugged just before speaking to me for the first time. "Looky
here, first day ain't easy. I seen you gettin' water four times to keep you
goin'. Me? I only got it twice my first day."
This
revelation was delivered with more then a hint of a bluster. "But ain't
none of it easy, no time, no how. I’m all wore out too.”
He
started to puff up a little as he spoke, “And I ain't got no plans to do all
these by my self while you stand there and watch!”
He wiped
his face with his bare arm, “You been resting long enough, get movin'! I ain't
got no interest in spending the night here!”
I stared
hopelessly at the stack of dirty bowls and the iron kettle.
"H-h-how?" I stammered, wondering if I could muster the will to
begin at all.
One
thing was certain, there was to be no more sympathy from Paul than I had
received from anyone else since arriving here.
Paul ran
his fingers wearily through his floppy brown hair and sighed, "I wash
half, you rinse; then we can switch. Okay?”
He
waited for me to acknowledge, which I did with a tired nod of my head.
“Then we
share on the kettle. After that, we dry everything with them towels,” I looked
to where he was pointing and saw a small stack of towels that didn’t look any
cleaner then the bowls and kettle did right now.
“When we
are done we have to put them away.” He paused to turn on one of the faucets
over the sink and ran his hand under the water to check that it wasn’t too hot.
He shook his head despondently. "Ain't warm ‘nough; never is.”
He was
reaching under the sink for a jug of some kind of green substance that I soon
learned was dish soap; “Guess we better use the soap then!" Though his
statement did register as odd with me, I was too tired to wonder why we
wouldn’t use soap in the first place.
Over an
hour passed before we finished washing, drying and putting everything away. I
was stretching to finish drying the inside of the kettle when Cho arrived to
inspect our work. She informed us that one potato peel was left sitting on the
floor, and if not picked up, Fyer would let us have "what for!"
Fyer, it
appeared, was the bearded dwarf who dished up our food at meal times.
Considering the filthiness of Fyer's apron and general appearance, I wondered
at his caring about one potato peel on the floor, but I knew better than to
voice my thoughts, at least that time. And on a side note, at this point, being
more dead than alive, it didn’t matter much to me but as soon as Paul had
tossed the skin into his mouth with a grin Cho at last declared the job done.
"An'
if you ain't goin' to dawdle," she said to me, "you can make it to
yer room 'fore the lights get put out. I ain't comin' with you 'cause I already
done my check down there an' you already know yer way. Just dun’t make no
mistake an' go inta da first door.” She said looking my way to let me know she
was talking to me and not Paul now, “It's Fyer's room, an' he don't like no one
comin' in on him!”
I started
to leave but when I seen that Paul was looking at Cho with the queerest
expression I hesitated. Honest, all I wanted to do was to go to bed and sleep
but something in me wasn’t sure I could just yet.
Maybe
two seconds had passed before Cho realized neither of us was budging.
“Well
git!” Cho hissed and it was all the warning I needed but still Paul didn’t
move.
I took
half a step toward the door but stopped again waiting on Paul who was still
looking to Cho longingly.
With a
sound that sounded like a hiccup Cho reached up and thumped herself on the side
of the head, “Oh!”
Paul’s
face morphed into an obvious expression of relief and I am sure, though I could
not see it, my own face had adopted his look of longing mixed with
bewilderment.
“Well, come
on ya two!” Cho said stepped in front of us both and heading out of the kitchen
but not through the door I had expected but through the other door that I knew
lead to the little room where Cho had bathed me last night and again this
evening.
It was
only then that I understood what it was Paul was wanting and for the life of
me, I couldn’t understand why he was so earnest to have Cho put me into a
diaper for the night.
Seconds
later everything was revealed as Paul laid himself on the small table on the
far side of the big deep sink and Cho proceeded to put a cloth diaper onto him.
I nearly swallowed my tongue when I gasped at the sudden realization.
Cho
mistook my gasp to be a sign of impudents, “Yer turn’s af’er Paul.” She said
giving Paul a pop on his leg for giggling while she worked.
Despite
Cho’s physical limitations, she had Paul and I diapered in less then five
minutes. Paul had been smacked on his leg three times for giggling and they
didn’t sound quiet or playful at all. The last swat got him to quiet down and
while Cho had been diapering me, I saw out of the corner of my eye that he was
rubbing his leg to ease some of the sting. Finally diapered and yet still
extremely confused as to why Paul was diapered the same as me, the three of us
headed for our rooms; Cho when one way, Paul another and I, alone, made for my
bed while carrying my filthy clothes clutched to my naked chests.
I had
only gone maybe fifteen feet when Cho called after me, “Ron!”
I jumped
and spun around nearly dropping my clothes in the process.
“Ow are
yer uh?” she began to ask as she drug her bad leg toward me.
As
though she didn’t know the word, she petted her chess and thinking she meant to
ask about my body I answered meekly, “Very tired.”
I had not
noticed that she had something tucked under her other arm until she pulled it
out to reveal my plastic armor. She held it out to me and I saw that she, well
I assume it was her, had mended the crack in the front piece. The memory of how
it had become cracked in the first place flooded my mind and filled me with
rage.
However,
seeing my armor now mended almost as though it had been made of fabric and not
plastic. Cho had somehow managed to sew a strip of leather into the armor plate
for me.
Without
another word, she bent down, took my clothes from my arms and laid them on the
floor in front of me. She had some trouble getting the armor onto me but with a
little directing from me she got it into place. Just having my armor back and
having it on made me feel safe again; safer then I had felt in days.
I
started to say, “Thank . . .” but she put a finger to my lips to silence me.
With a gentle butterfly kiss on my forehead, she handed me my clothes and sent
me on my way.
Barely
able to drag one foot after the other, I waddled away as quickly as my aching
body would allow me. As it was, I had barely reached the bottom of the steep
steps when the lights in the hallway, dim at best, flickered and went out
altogether, plunging the hall and me along with it into total darkness. Up to
that point, I had been certain I could find my way to my room, but all my
certainty vanished with the light.
With
heart racing and ears perked up for any sound, I stumbled blindly in the dark.
I reached out for the wall, feeling my way along it until I came to the door to
my room.
To my
surprise, I found it closed but why should I have been surprised? It was just
one more sign of how the boys felt about me. Then, suddenly, a great blast of
sound came from behind the door. It was a rolling, rumbling, gurgling sound of
vast proportions. Something akin to the sound of water being sucked down an
enormous, powerful drain. Terrified, I jumped backward causing my shoes to
tromp loudly against the wooden floor. The horrible sound came again, and in a
flash, I recognized what it was.
Confused
by the darkness, I had forgotten Cho's warning and almost entered the first
door, where I would have walked in on Fyer, asleep and-snoring! Quaking in my
oversized shoes, I continued down the dark hallway.
To my
relief, I found the right door and it was open. Soft breathing sounds told me
that this was not only my room, but that the boys were all in bed and asleep. I
somehow managed to make my way to my bed without a sound and without waking my
bunkmates. I managed to drag off my shoes, stow them under the bed along with
the socks and hang my clothes on the nail before climbing into my bed and
getting to go to sleep at last.
‘To
sleep?’ Oh no, no, never believe such a luxury was yet to be allowed me! The
moment I closed my eyes, my brain began to spin. Round and round and round,
asking a million questions of ‘Why?’.
“Why had
I been put here, and how long could he survive in such a place?” I was still
certain I was being held for ransom, but could I live through the few days
until my rescue.
Unless I
had been thoroughly hoodwinked by the Wriggles, how could one as sharp as Segal
not know what might happen to a boy left in the loving care of the Bancheli
Home for Boys? Could Segal have been so stupid as to believe that I could come
out of here alive? And how much ransom would I be worth if I were to end up
being delivered in a pine box? None of it made any sense; none!
Round
and round and round. I wondered if my brain would ever stop spinning? How I envied
the other boys in the room sleeping so peacefully. Though they each lived the
grim life of a Bancheli boy too, perhaps they had found a way to get used to
it. After all, I had seen how everyone lapped up their Oat Meal and
dreadful-looking stew, leaving not much but the bowls when they were finished.
However,
more than that, they had each other, friends, companions, and partners. Perhaps
I could survive being a Bancheli boy if I had that, but I don’t; I have nobody
but myself!
Round and
round and round; round and round and round; and then all at once I heard a
strange sound.
“Sssst!
Sssst!”
My eyes
flew open, but I could see nothing in the darkness.
“Sssst!
Sssst!”
There it
was again!
From
somewhere in the room came the sound of a whispered voice, "Is he asleep
yet?”
I didn’t
make a sound, didn’t even breath.
“Micky,
can you tell?” It sounded like the same boy asked again.
Another
voice whispered, “Someone check."
I heard
the sound of bare feet thumping softly to the floor from the bed next to me and
quickly snapped my eyes shut. I heard what must be Micky padding stealthily
over to my bed, so I started to breathe deeply and slowly, as if I were in a
sound sleep. A tingling feeling inside me told me that Micky was leaning over
the bed and breathing on my cheek but only for a second before I heard Micky
padding away again.
"Ain't
able to see his eyes, but I think he's asleep all right," he whispered,
"Ain't nobody breathes like that ‘less they are asleep."
A low
conversation then took place though it was too far from my bed for me to hear
what was being said. Then Micky's voice rose a little. "Come on then,
let's go!"
I opened
my eyes a crack, enough to see a very dim beam of light from a small flashlight
that seemed to need fresh batteries. It was so dim that it was hard to say it
was on at all, but still gave enough light for me to just barely tell what was
happening.
While
one boy, I think his name was Jonathan, held the flashlight; Micky reached
under the middle bed, and grunting softly from the effort, appeared to be
moving something that made a scraping sound on the floor. He then reached up,
took the lantern from Jonathan and crawled with it under the bed. He did not
reappear; instead, one by one, silent as prisoners of war escaping, each boy
disappeared under the bed.
There
came the scraping sound again and the dim glow from the flashlight disappeared. Now all that was left
in the room were their empty beds, darkness, and me.
“Where had
they all disappeared too?” I thought to myself.
Now
sitting up in my bed staring toward the bed, though I couldn’t see it now, and
continued to question what I had seen, “Surely five boys could not be huddled
together under one small bed. Even if they could manage it, what would be the
point of it?”
I was
absent-mindedly stroking the leather patch job on my armor as I sat there in
the dark wondering and then I thought suddenly of that odd sound of something
scraping across the floor.
“I
wonder if it could be the cover to an escape tunnel?” my imagination was
running wild again.
“A tunnel! A tunnel possibly
leading away from the Bancheli Home for Boys!” I felt my heart rate jump at the
idea of escaping from this hellhole.
I
started to wonder if they were escaping right now. A cold chill rolled over me
as the thought that I could be missing my one chance to escape to freedom.
Anger
started to well up inside of me, “They must have been planning this all along,
and not been too delighted to have me show up in the room.”
I was
rubbing the leather stitches on my armor so hard now and on the inside it felt
like I was rapping my knuckles on the plastic.
“Still,
they had clearly decided to go ahead with the plan anyway. But why could they
not have included me?” Anger was causing tears to form in my eyes.
“Well,
do you really need to ask yourself that question?” a voice inside my head asked
and then began to torment me, “Why would they have been so dim-witted as to
include you on such a dangerous venture? Why, you are just some overgrown
diaper wearing baby!”
I sat
brewing over these words for a while before responding to the voice inside my
head, “So, I have been left behind-alone; alone and faced with the prospect of
having to explain to Cho and the Wriggle’s what had happened to the rest of my
bunkmates!”
“Maybe I
will be rewarded for my goodness in not attempting to escape with them?” I said
to myself.
Again
that voice snapped back, “Hardly! It’s more likely that you will be asked why
you had not come to report the escape as soon as you knew of it?”
I had to
admit the voice inside my head had a valid point there. I responded back with,
“Then I will just say I had been asleep and had no idea of what had been going
on around me. In other words-lie!”
The voice
took on a smug tone, “Oh? So you think you can stick to a lie like that while
you are standing before Mr. and Mrs. Wriggle with their accusing, cruel eyes
piercing into your soul?” and before I could reply the voice added, “Why, you
would be turned into a stuttering, guilty-looking bowl of quivering jelly in a
matter of seconds.”
I could
feel my blood beginning to boil as the voice laughed at me in a high shrill
quiver, “Oh what are you to do?”
I could
hear my teeth grinding together and anger consumed me.
In a
calm, almost placating tone the voice asked, “Well, why not escape with them?
It’s probably not too late yet; you can still catch up with them.”
“Escape!”
I whimpered aloud.
“Yes!”
The voice said returning to its high-pitched tone. “All you have to do is crossing
the room, find out how to get in and probably climb down a steep ladder, all in
total darkness without benefit of a flashlight. If you could pull that off then
it would be simple to just make your way down an equally dark tunnel, perhaps
with dank walls and slippery puddles of foul water underfoot.”
I was
seething with anger now. The voice had paused for a brief moment before saying,
“Come to think of it, you will probably have to craw on your belly like a
snake!”
“Shut
up!” I growled.
As
though I had not said anything, the voice continued, “Suppose you made it
safely through the tunnel, what then? Surely the boys would not have tried
anything so daring if they did not have some place safe to go.”
The
voice and I were silent for a while but just as I had started to think that
maybe it had left me, it asked, “By the way, have you managed to figure out
where in the world you are?”
“L-l-leave
m-me al-lone!” I had lost control and began to cry.
Not
wanting to let me off the hook just because I was shedding a few tears, the
voice continued instigating me, “If you did get out, where would you end up?
Whom could you trust with such a wild story? Hmmmmm?” the voice rose even
higher there at the end.
The
voice lowered several octaves, “Seems to me that the one you trust the most,
might just be the one you can trust the least not to come running right back
here."
That was
the chilling warning delivered by Mr. Wriggle. What chance did I have alone,
outside the walls of the Bancheli Home for Boys? Without a doubt I would be
quickly brought back to face something far worse than what I had already had to
endure.
I asked
the voice, “What could possibly be worse? What more could they do to me than what
they had already been done? Beat me until I am dead? We both know that is how I
am going to end up and you know it!”
“My, my!
Don’t you sound like the poster child for bravery?” the voice was egging me on
now. “Oh my you are going to risk it, aren’t you? I can see it in your mind you
know.”
Without
answering, with my heart lodged securely in my throat, I put a tentative toe
out from under the blanket, ready to climb from my bed but then I quickly drew
it back in again.
For
suddenly, I had heard the same scraping sound come from the direction of the
middle bed. A moment later, a faint light reappeared, followed by Jonathan.
One by
one, the boys slipped quietly out from under the bed. The scraping sound came
again, and seconds later the light went out.
The
second I had heard them returning, I had flung myself flat and faked that I was
sleeping. I listened to the sound of the boys' feet padding back to their beds.
“Night,
Micky!” came a whisper from across the room.
“Night,
Peter! 'Night, everybody!"
“Good
night!"
“See ya
in the mornin'!” someone giggled quietly.
With the
sound of creaking springs, the five boys climbed back into their beds as the
deep silence once again filled the room.
Where
they had been, I could not begin to guess. All I knew was that I had been left
here alone and now that they are back, I am still alone.
The last
thought I had before sleep finally put an end to all my thinking was that
everything was just as it had been; nothing had changed at all.
Next Installment:
Chapter 13 – Friday, March 12, 2004 – And the Flames Went Higher
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