The notion that Brother Boniface Tulsseram could father a son was impossible to swallow. I had not known him to be the marrying sort, at least not in the convention of the time-honored institution. Besides, were not monks sworn to be celibate? And what of the years of conjecture surrounding his misogynist aspiration?
But if my new charge, Areth Tulsseram, really was Brother Boniface's son, and I, his Probation Officer, I must be looking at possibly getting my revenge for the two years of abuse that I had suffered in Brother Boniface's hands, when I was a young apprentice at his monastery. Was it Brother Boniface's karma that retribution might be on his son? All these questions flooded my mind as I began a new week at the Law Guardian office.
Having been in my line of work for ten years, I had come to expect rebellion and hostility from the juvenile convicts placed under my supervision. Misunderstandings were also inevitable since their ideas and mine, concerning every possible issue, were so much at variance. If Areth were anything like Brother Boniface, I could expect some show of violence, aggression, and even truculence. I prepared myself for a difficult two years with this boy.
That eternal timepiece on the wall of my office was now showing five minutes to the ninth hour. If Areth's father were as punctual as he used to be, I would get to meet my charge soon.
I had just hung up my jacket when a buzz sounded on my intercom.
"They're here, sir, Mr. Tulsseram and his son," my secretary informed me.
I straightened my clothes, did a quick assessment of myself in the mirror, and went to open the door myself.
He hadn't changed much. There were just more lines on his face, a protruding stomach and a head of gray hair in place of the tonsure. He must have abjured his call to the prelate. I wondered when that happened and why. But it was him, all right - Brother Boniface. The old fear crept up in me and I almost had a juvenile aversion toward acknowledging him. But I maintained my composure and extended my hand out to him instead. He displayed no cognition of my gesture.
"Pa," the boy beside him said, in a voice so quiet that it dispelled my preconception of his character, "Mr. Xana wants to shake your hand."
Turning toward me, Areth said, "My father can't see very well."
'Can't see very well' was understating it. The old man was blind. In this one brief moment of reality, my desire for revenge was destroyed. I do despise my tendency to be weak and compassionate. I repealed my weakness with a deep-diaphragm inhalation but to no avail.
The older Tulsseram put out his hand and I took it. We shook briefly. There was no warmth in the exchange. I shifted my hand to the younger Tulsseram now and he shook it in a firm grip. But I felt his fingers tremble slightly in my hand. Old Boniface did not have much to say except give his blessings for how I must deal with his son, and then left.
Areth Tulsseram waited for me with his head hung downward. I approached my desk and sat behind it.
"Areth," I called out.
The boy looked up. "Yes, sir," he responded, once more in a meekness that threw my hard-nosed leanings and resolves askew.
"Take a seat," I told him, clearing the mucus in my throat. The last thing I needed was for my voice to betray any clue that I felt insecure. For it would be easier if Areth lived up to my expectation of being just a chip of the old block, or else having more chutzpah than the Real McCoy. I was more prepared to deal with someone who was bellyaching and backtalking at my every word and command. But no, this boy had to be his old man's complete polarity.
The boy sat down on the chair opposite me.
"Do you know the reason for your being here?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Why don't you tell me what it is," I said next.
Areth's eyes blinked nervously. His hands came together and he curled his fingers into each other, twisting them just as nervously.
"It's part of my punishment," he explained sans polish, "for causing public nuisance. I am required to report to you every other day."
"Yes, that's correct," I replied, "and are you clear about what you're required to do with me?"
He nodded.
"All right then," I said, getting up, "let's get on with the first item of your punishment."
I approached the cabinet and reached out for the jug of water. I turned a glass upright and poured water into it almost to its brim. I handed the glass to the boy.
"Drink this," I commanded, "to its last drop, and then remove your clothes."
I watched Areth as he followed all my instructions to the last detail. Having shucked off his shoes and socks, he was now removing his shirt, singlet and jeans. He folded all these neatly and placed them on my desk, one garment on top of another. He had stripped to his underwear when he stood in it uncomfortably.
"Take that off, too, now," I told him.
He dug his thumbs into the elastic top of his briefs and then slowly, painfully peeled his underwear downward and off, bending from his waist to discard it completely from his bared feet. He also folded his briefs neatly and then laid them on top of the pile of his jettisoned garments. He stood in front of me completely naked.
I studied his body closely. Hairless and slightly olive-skinned except for the white tan-line around his groin, Areth was fairly slender. He had broad shoulders that compelled your eyes to follow their lines leading downward to a flat stomach and healthy abdominal definitions. If you continued to follow the contours of his body, you were led to the triangle of black bush above his genitals. The latter was a set of three-inch penis that was flaccid and mauve-colored, and twin testicles that were a complementary dark mauve. I ordered the boy to follow me.
I led us to the bathroom next to my office. Needless to say, the few staffs, my secretary, the tea-lady and the file clerk, were gawking at Areth while I showed him the way.
"All right, Areth," I said, mocking, "let's get you toilet trained so that you'll know when and how to use the toilet for nature's calls, and not do it outside a busy mall again."
Areth stood before a urinal and cradled his penis in his hand. It had extended somewhat during the transit from my office to this contemptible setting of Areth's first punishment for the day. This was going to be a routine he must accustom himself to, for it was what he would have to endure four times a week for the next two years of his life until he was nineteen years old.
His penis, now a full six inches, was too hard to effect the exercise for which we were here, standing at the urinal. This appeared to be a future problem, for if getting stripped naked and walking to the bathroom fully exposed to me and others were going to be arousing for him, we could be standing in this way for an embarrassingly long time.
"Okay," I commanded, thinking quickly for the solution, "take care of that."
Areth stared at me stunned. "Sir, you can't mean ...."
I cut him off in mid-protest. "Yes, it's exactly what I mean. Just do it."
"Where, sir, how?" he cried.
I turned to a cubicle and pushed open the door. "In there, and fast."
Areth sat down on the toilet, and immediately put my order into action. Half an hour of watching him gratifying himself later, I heard and saw him ejaculate with a conscientiously suppressed cry of ecstasy. And then, as he looked up, his eyes were lightly watery.
"Now let's get you back to the urinal," I said, indifferently.
This time around Areth succeeded to relieve his bladder into the kaolin's deep hollow. As I watched him, I was reminded of the countless number of times I had been subjected to similar humiliation by his father. What irony it was that his son was being shamed in this manner. This was not at all the retribution I had pictured in my mind for Brother Boniface.
Areth spilled not a drop or let his fluid stray out of the perimeters of his target, aiming in a neat yellowish arc at the center instead. At the end of his feat, I commended him for his skill and effort.
"If you continue like this," I promised him, "you can't help but get an excellent report."
It was time for the next phase of his sentence. I led him back to my office. Only the clerk was at the front office to continue to gawk. I had always suspected he was gay. He smiled this time at Areth. The latter blushed deeply.
I now handed my charge a set of uniform. Areth put on the bright orange shirt and shorts, and the sandals. Sewn onto the back of the shirt was a separate piece of fabric. The statement, 'I relieved myself here on July 11, 1998' was embroidered with obscene clarity on the fabric.
The journey to the scene of Areth's crime was half an hour through relatively light traffic. The boy followed me out of the back of the armored truck with a broom, pan, rag and bucket in his hands. I led him to the front of the shopping mall. At the spot where he had urinated, I set him to the task of sweeping the cobblestones. Next he must pick up the litter around the adjacent garden landscape, and afterward wash the shop windows. This was going to be his routine one afternoon a week for six months. Areth and I had been at the mall area for almost three hours. During that time, he meekly submitted himself to public scorn in the jeers and wolf whistles derivative. I had felt sorry for him quite a few times. Despite what he had been convicted of, this boy was just a sweet-faced youth with an equally sweet demeanor that I had seen so far.
Perhaps this was heaven's way. Perhaps there was meaning in the tragedy of seeing one so steep in beauty, in every aspect, being punished so shamefully. Perhaps it was the divine way of ensuring justice must have a human face, so that we yielded not to the feeling of superiority towards one suffering divine retribution. The sins of the father were now being visited on the son, but the sheer horror of it was that this son, Areth, was most undeserving. Justice was not blind; partisan justice made aesthetic distinctions all the more profound. I could not take back the years I had put my curse on Brother Boniface, for look what my curse got this paragon of beauty I was beholding, now bending over to rinse the dirty rag in the bucket. I could only wish the father felt remorse, too, on account of Areth's public shaming.
The first day of Areth's punishment at last over, I drove him back to his house. Some time, I would have to find out about the boy's history. As I let him out of the car, I reminded him that I would come for him again the next day. It was the day he was to be caned, I had told him earlier, on the way to his suburban home. He looked about to cry that time.
In spite of how fearful he must be anticipating his caning, Areth was on time for me to pick him up the next day. The trip to the Boys' Reformatory had been a silent one.
My charge was taken through the proceedings from the time he was met by the Chief Warden. The first thing on the agenda was a visit to the doctor. I was with him throughout. There, we made him strip naked and then laid him on the steel table. He was examined everywhere. The primary concern of the doctor was to ensure Areth was physically fit to endure his caning. He was. Afterward, I carefully watched Areth's submitting himself to a complete anal examination. Stretched out on his stomach, his pale bottom raised to the ceiling and supported on slightly bent knees, his thighs spread wide, Areth had groaned loudly at the sensation of the doctor's fingers' exploring his rectum. He was found clean. A bowel movement and shower were next, after which we had my charge, clad in just a towel around his hips, taken to the waiting room.
It was now just half an hour before Areth's caning, scheduled to take place at one o'clock. I sat on the bench beside him. We had been waiting silently, and then all of a sudden, he had an attack of the nerves. He threw himself against my chest and started ranting. His whole body turned awfully clammy and it shook in my arms.
I tried calming him down. I had enclosed him with my arms and I placated him with gentle words and assurances. I resorted to lies that it was all going to be all right, that he was my very brave little man, and that there would be minimal pain.
But Areth would find out that the pain was more than minimal. In fact, it was going to be excruciating.
At exactly one o'clock, we led Areth into the caning room. He was met by the Warden, the doctor, some officials of the facility and the town's mayor. His family had chosen to stay away. I thought Areth seemed relieved about this.
The usual preliminaries were executed before all present and this included reading out Areth's offense and sentence which was to be four strokes of the rattan cane to his naked bottom. By this time, Areth had been rendered completely naked, the towel removed from his groin as soon as he made his appearance before all his witnesses.
Areth had been in tears again, but no one was allowed to minister to him. Now the warders were tying him to the caning trestle, which was a low wooden frame that had him bound to its triangular points by the wrists and ankles. His backside was raised and its surface was exposed and clear, ready to receive the cane's lesson on correct social behavior.
THWACK! The first lash came as soon as the executioner had taken his place behind the boy. A tiny cry was freed from the boy's lungs.
THWACK! The second lash flailed away a bit of the boy's skin. A louder cry emanated from his lungs.
THWACK! This next lash drew out a curse and then Areth was howling.
On the fourth and final lash, I sprang up from my chair and went to my charge. I assisted in his release from the trestle and onto the gurney. He was in a swoon but crying like a baby. The lashes were forming a reticulation of welts on his baby-smooth bottom.
I stayed with Areth at the infirmary, allowing time for the relieving properties of the painkiller, which had been given to him on his buttocks, to take effect. I had ignored professional protocol by staying very close to him. I was stroking his hair while he slowly recovered, his sobs easing gradually to intermittent winces.
Much later, it was with tremendous difficulty that Areth sat through his journey home. Now once again outside his familiar gate, I let him out of the car. He had just made half the walk toward his house when he suddenly turned back and boyishly flew into my arms. He clung on like I had never felt anyone cling on to me before.
"I can't!" he cried.
"What?" I asked gently. "What's the matter?"
"Don't make me go back," he pleaded, "he'll hit me. He'll hurt me again."
I understood and took him back to the car.
In that late afternoon, while I sat with Areth in the warmth and safety of my living room, I was given a summary of the history I had wanted. Areth's father, I was told, lived alone with him and often drank himself to an unconscious stupor.
Having been discovered carrying on an affair with a village girl, who was to be Areth's mother, whilst still heading the monastery, Brother Boniface had been divested of his sacerdotal anointing and robes. He was then dishonorably dismissed from the monastery. That was seventeen years ago. Later, the same trollop was found with child and hastily married its father. As soon as the child was born, she packed and left, abandoning the infant Areth to the father who raised him up single-handedly. Always out of a job, the father, Boniface, took to the bottle and one night, driving home after a caroused bout at the tavern, he collided into a retaining wall. That left both his eyes with a permanent loss of sight. The father began his physical and _s_e_x_ual abuse of the boy from then on. Areth was only ten and, too fearful of leaving his only guardian and provider, or to report him to the authorities, he tolerated the frequent abuse.
"I won't go back," Areth said, with full conviction now. "He'll hurt me again, and this time, I may not be able to stop myself. I might hit back. That night he hit me so hard, I took off. I ended up at that mall. I couldn't control my bladder. I had to go. It wasn't on purpose but I was in pain on my lower spine, and it compelled me to go. I thought I found a secluded area to do it. It was, but this little kid spotted me and alerted his parents and their hue and cry attracted the others. I know it was stupid."
Areth broke down again. I took him into my arms and held him close to me. I made up my mind there and then to get him away from his father and put him in foster care until he was old enough to look after himself.
Now it was the aging Boniface's day of reckoning. I had just seen Areth into the car of his new foster parents when I turned towards the old man. He seemed repined toward his loss.
"Remember me?" I told him now. "I'm Juli - Julias Xana. Remember twenty-four years ago? I was at your monastery. I was one of your toys. I despised you then. But now, I only feel pity for you. You're an old man, Boniface. You're blind and you're all alone. There is justice after all."
I chose to omit reminding Boniface that he was also now awaiting trial for various counts of _s_e_x_ual misdemeanor committed at the monastery. Instead, I turned and walked away. The sins of the father shall be visited on his sons for generations to come - I whispered this divine truth, as I stepped away from the gate, and from Boniface Tulsseram's life, for the very last time.
But not in Areth's generation, I whispered gratefully heavenward. Areth Tulsseram was getting a new hearing and would be absolved of his father's sins. He would be given a new lease of life.