The next day Mr. Billings returned to pick me up. It was early morning, still quite cool and I shivered It was nerves as much as the cold as he took my by the hand and marched me once more to his car. This time I would leave the orphanage for good. Would I miss it? Right now, I didnt think so. Mr. Billings was strict but I thought that if I behaved well, I would be spared the many beatings I had been given at the orphanage. And I looked forward to riding in this beautiful car with the soft leather against my skin, wearing new clothes even if they apparently were going to be the last ones for some time. I was also curious to see what the house where I was to live would look like.
As we drove, Mr. Billings placed his hand on my bare thigh, steering with his right. You will have realised by now that I expect you to obey orders without question, no hesitation, no arguments. If you dont, you will be punished as surely as night follows day. There will be no reprieve, no excuses. Once a punishment has been decided, it will be administered. You should never have a doubt about that. He squeezed my thigh.
We sat in silence for a while as he drove. My right thigh was getting warm while the right one was quite cold. The wind was blowing and my skimpy singled and shorts werent much protection. I was used to this but the added nervousness of an unknown future, made me feel cold today.
We stopped a few times to use the bathroom or have something to eat. I was usually given milk and some fruit or a sandwich, all of which tasted heavenly after what they gave us at the orphanage. Once I looked longingly at some cake but he ignored me.
I was almost evening when we finally arrived at his home. It was a most impressive, a large building with several smaller ones on a huge property. I couldnt make out how big it was since the sun had set and the trees obstructed the view from the driveway.
Inside, Mr. Billings snapped and pushed me through the open door.
A man servant and a maid were waiting for us.
Good evening, Mr. Billings, the servant said and took the luggage.
Good evening, Mr. Billings said. Meg, take the boy to his room, he added to the maid.
She was young, maybe in her mid twenties. She looked at me, frowned, grabbed my arm and unceremoniously propelled me up some deeply upholstered stairs.
Dirt brat, she muttered as she led my down a hall, around two corners and then up another short flight of stair into what looked like the attic.
Here, she said and gave me a sharp push into the room. It was small with just a tiny window. The floor was wood, as were the walls and the ceiling. There was a thin pad on the floor.
This is where you will sleep, brat, she said. You will stay here until you are summoned. I dont want to hear a peep out of you. With that she turned on her heel and closed the door behind her.
I looked around. There wasnt much to see. I could see the beams that constituted the roof of the house. Wooden planks had been covered with thick plywood for the floors. The small window was slightly open and a cold draft came through the gap. I looked through it and could vaguely make out some distant fields. It seemed like a huge expanse of land. I tried to close the window but it was stuck.
There was a small desk and bench, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers, a wooden chair. I sat, carefully, on the chair and rubbed my cold legs. I was tired from the long drive and when no one fetched me, lay down on the pad. I couldnt find a blanket. I ahd looked in the drawers and the cupboard, but both were empty. curled up trying to get warm and must have dozed off because I suddenly felt a sharp slap on my bottom.
Get up, brat I heard the maid grumble. Time for your bath; you certainly need it. Black trash, she added under her breath. I didnt realise it at the time, but this referred to my dark skin which the maid obviously disliked.
She marched me down the steps, along the hall and into a small bathroom.
This is the servants bathroom, Meg explained. You will use it only with our permission, at no other time. Is that clear, brat?
Er, yes - Miss, I said, m wondering how I should address her. So far I had only to address the Headmasters wife as maam but had never had the need to address a young woman. But she seemed satisfied so from then on I just called her Miss and she called me brat. Actually, although nobody ever used it, my given name (although I dont know who gave it) was Raman.
The tub was large and was filled with steaming water that looked most attractive as I stood shivering.
Take off your clothes, Meg said. What are you waiting for?
So I took of my clothes and stood naked before her.,
Get in.
I stepped gingerly into the hot water but the made picked me up and just dumped me inside. I gave a small yelp as my cold body met the hot water.
Oh, shut up you little baby, she said, annoyed. She grasped the top of my head and submerged me until I struggled, gasping back up. The she began lathering my hair and washing my face. She used her hands and I felt funny as she stroked my face. In my imagination I felt is as a loving caress, something I had never felt but always longed for. Now here it was, even if only in my imagination. It was her job to wash me, so she did. But she didnt love me, didnt even like me. No matter, I enjoyed this.
Stand up, her voice interrupted my thoughts. I stood, quite embarrassed suddenly to be exposing my front so completely not only to her eyes but now also to her touch. Because she washed me thoroughly everywhere, without hesitation or concern for my modesty.
Turn around, was the next order and the same was repeated on my other side. Bend over. More intimate washing back there. She made me sit back down and my legs and feet were next. By now I was warm and comfortable. I could have just gone to bed and sleep. But this changed drastically when Meg opened the cold shower that came gushing down at me, provoking another yelp.
Cry baby, she said. Turn around and let me rinse you off. When that was done, she had me climb out and proceeded to towel me off. That, too, was quite agreeable, except when she started on my bottom. The cane marks didnt seem to bother her and she rubbed just as forcefully there as everywhere else. I tried to be quiet and not be a baby.
Now go back upstairs to your room, she said at last when she felt I was clean and dry enough, and I went, naked as the day I was born.
I must have been alone for several hours because I was getting sleepy when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. A moment later Mr. Billings entered carrying the clothes he had given me to wear earlier as well as the boxes with the rest of his purchase.
Here, put these back on and unpack the boxes then put the new clothes into the chest. Shirts in one drawer, shorts in another, socks and the toilet articles in a third. When you are ready, come downstairs. Some of my friends have arrived and I want to show you to them. Dress neatly and tighten the braces to the mark I made. I will expect you in no more than - he looked at his watch - seven minutes. With that he turned and left.
I quickly dressed, having only problems with the braces which I had to pull up painfully before reaching the indicated mark. When they were finally tightened, the skin tight shorts bit into my fork and cut in between the buttocks. I wriggled and twisted trying to get more comfortable, but to no avail. Finally I gave up on this. It didnt take long to unpack and store the stuff, which wasnt really that much, The shirts, socks and shorts were done in a minute, I only lingered to inspect the new toothbrush, toothpaste, wash cloth and comb. The first items I had possessed personally without having to share with some one else. Then I rushed downstairs.
I sort of minced my way into the main room where I could hear people talking and laughing because of the tight fit of my new clothes but almost forgot about the discomfort when all faces suddenly turned to me and silence fell. I stood, feeling my face flame as I tugged nervously at the brief hems of my new shorts.
Ah, there you are, boy, Mr. Billings said, looking at his watch. Eight minutes and twenty seconds to be exact. Disobedience already? he said.
I - Im sorry, sir, I muttered.
Yes, and you will be even sorrier, Mr. Billings said.
Oh, I see you got yourself an Indian house boy, one of the men said, a blond man of about thirty with a little mustache and glasses. Attractive little chap, I must say. But I see some white blood in that brown skin. Mixed, eh?
Yes, I suppose so, Mr. Billings replied. His background isnt all that clear.
There was some laughter at that which made me even more uncomfortable. I plucked at the seam in my bottom.
Come over here, child, one of the women sitting on the sofa said as she beckoned with her finger. Lets have a closer look at you. From the orphanage, are you, boy?
I stood in front of her about eye level. She was older with graying hair and very thin. Her long nose was tipped in red. Maybe she had a cold.
Whats your name, boy? she asked as she took me by the hips and drew me very close. I could smell her perfume.
Im told my name is Raman, maam, I replied, surprised that I even remembered. No one had ever asked my name before.
Interesting name, she said, her hands moving from my hips down my bare legs. Indian, is it?
I - I dont know, maam, I said reluctantly. I believe its a name in Ceylon. Or so they told me.
Yes, Sri Lanka now. Not much different from India, is it?
I dont know, maam.
No, I dare say you dont. Doesnt matter, anyway. Brown skin is brown skin, regardless where you come from. As long as it doesnt fade in the winter. I heard more laughter.
All right, boy, lets make the rounds and I expect you to remember the names, Mr. Billings said as he took my arm and marched me around the room, pausing at each couple or group, standing or sitting around small tables. There were so many that by the time all were introduced, I had no recollection of a single one of them.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Billings said in a loud voice, and people once more turned to stare at Mr. Billing and me. The boy who has just arrived this evening, has committed his first offence already and will be punished. He was given seven minutes to get ready and join us. Not an unreasonable length of time considering the little he had to do before coming here. One minute and twenty seconds late. What should his punishment be? He looked around the room, one hand on my shoulder.
Six with the cane, I heard someone say.
Not enough. Make it eight, someone else called out.
Eight with the cane with a warm-up of six with the tawse.
Eight and eight with each.
Twelve and eight.
A dozen tawse plus a dozen cane.
I felt as if being in an auction with my bottom as the item they bid for. By now I was close to tears. I wasnt afraid so much of the whipping, Id had enough to know what this entailed, but this public bidding I found most humiliating.
At last Mr. Billings, with a laugh, held up his hand. Wait. We are dealing here with a small boy of eleven whos had a good thrashing yesterday and will probably still have a tender little behind. So, in order to satisfy as many of you as possible, Maxwell here will do me the honour and apply a dozen with the heavy tawse across this boys bare behind.
There were some murmurs around the room until Mr. Billings again held up a hand. If you wish, I will then designate young Dawson (and here he motioned to the blond young man in glasses) to administer a dozen with the cane immediately following the warm-up. All agree?
There was common assent to this sentence and suddenly my bottom felt very exposed in those tight, clinging shorts.
Please make room, Mr. Billings called out. If you stand against this wall you will have a perfect view of the operation. You, boy, will bring me the heavy tawse from the cupboard over there but first lower your shorts to your ankles.
I undid my braces, unbuttoned the shorts and pushed them down. Then I stumbled towards the indicated cupboard. Inside I saw the newly purchased items hanging from hooks. I inspected them and found that they were marked with L, M, H, and XH. I picked the one marked H which I assumed stood for Heavy and brought it back, walking slowly with tiny steps because the small shorts restricted my ankles. The gathering watched with obvious amusement until I finally stood before Mr. Billings and handed him the strap which he called tawse.
Now if I could please have one of those chairs, Mr. Billings said, slapping the two thick leather tails of the tawse against the palm of his hand.
One of the guest obliged and I was instructed to bend over the back and place my hands on the seat. It was a low chair so that by the time my hands were flat on the chair seat, my bottom was well stretch and pointing into the air.
Looking around, I saw Mr. Billings take up his position behind and a bit to my left. There was an expectant silence in the large room as all the spectators seemed to hold their breath waiting for my punishment to begin. I held mine as well.
When it finally came, the import of the tawse against flesh was startlingly loud in the large room, a ringing clap that echoed around the walls and ceiling.
I felt a deep burn on my skin across both buttocks that made me reach back and hold the flaming parts.
Hey, he moved, someone cried out. That doesnt count.
Lets start at number one again, another agreed.
Very well, Mr. Billings grumbled behind me. If you move again, I will add to the strokes. Understood?
Y-yes, sir, I gasped. This was not going to be easy, I thought as I resumed my position. This may be worse than the orphanage with all these people watching and encouraging Mr. Billings.
The new first stroke landed almost on the same spot and I whined with the pain.
Good shot! came an exclamation. Give him another one right there!
And I got it. It felt as if the skin might come off when the leather connected for a third time on the same fiery band across the lower buttocks. My whine became a bit louder through clenched teeth.
The next fell a bit lower, closer to the underside, and despite the fiery pain it seemed a relief not to have cracked across the old spot.
Someone laughed. Look how is bottom wriggles.
Keep going across the red band, was anothers opinion.
Again the thick leather whipped into that flaming band form before and this time I cried out despite my attempt to keep from screaming. The burning pain was just too much.
That was a good one, that same voice said. I suggest another across that area. Its getting a nice deep red.
Again that sting across the buttocks where they felt the hottest and I made a funny mewling sound.
I heard laughter. I think this warm-up is starting to have an effect on the boy.
The tawse whipped across the lower buttocks, now a bit closer to the thighs. I yelped and worried about how low this strap would go. I hated to be whipped across the thighs.
Have him spread his legs more, someone said.
He cant. His shorts are spread as wide as they will go.
Have him take them off, then.
Mr. Billings lowered the tawse. Step out of your shorts, boy, he said gruffly and I stood and did as he told me.
Back into position, was his next order and again I complied, although most reluctantly.
Thats better. Now let him spread those legs.
I spread them as far as I could manage.
Then the whipping resumed, but now the tails had a new, even more sensitive area to land: the inside of the buttocks and thighs.
I quickly found this out when the next stroke landed on my left cheek but with the tails tips curling around and into the cleft. I screeched with the new pain.
Good, very good. Give him another one, a bit harder this time, into that same little crevice. More laughter.
And it came, again and again. Across the right cheek and into the cleft, then the left cheek, into the cleft, landing across the upper thigh, over and over, until I couldnt keep from screaming.
Thats the ticket, I heard a womans voice. That should teach him obedience. How many has he had?
Mr. Billings put the tawse down and I gave a sigh of relief. It was over!
I think hes had his dozen, Mr. Billings said.
Yes, and his behind looks it. It has some very good purple welts all the way down. The tips left some black marks as well. On his dark skin you can hardly see them, though.
Time for the cane! The warm-up having been completed, now comes the actual punishment. A dozen with the cane! I saw the young blond man grinning at me as he said this. Even on brown skin a cane can leave some very good stripes, eh?
Get up, boy, Mr. Billings ordered and I stood. I wanted to sub my stinging, burning, throbbing buttocks but didnt dare. I just stood there, in front of all those people, naked except for my shirt, exposing my front and a well-whipped bottom. To say nothing of a snot-nosed face with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. I could just imagine the mess I looked. I would have liked the earth to swallow me at this point with all these people looking at me with great amusement.
Replace the tawse on its hook and bring me a cane. I good and heavy one, Mr. Billings said, handing me the tawse. I took it and it felt warm from his hand and the other hand was probably even warmer from my behind.
I replaced the tawse and looked at the selection of canes he had bought. I decided on a medium width and brought it over to Mr. Billings. He took it, weighed in his hand, gave a few swishes through the air and declared himself satisfied.
Over the chair, boy, he said.
I was going to plead but stopped at the last moment. No sense in increasing the punishment. They wouldnt have listened anyway except to point out that I was not allowed to speak. I bent over the chair once more and my burning bottom once more in a most vulnerable position.
Just twelve cuts, someone said. Make them count, Billings. Give each one from the shoulder.
Yes, lace into him. Hes got thick skin and can take more that thin white skin. People laughed.
CRACK! The first stroke bit into the lower buttocks just where the tawse had done the most work. I howled.
Good shot!
CRACK! Number two landed a fraction lower and evoked another scream.
Yes, and now lower still, someone commented.
CRACK! The third indeed landed lower, awfully close to the thighs and my scream became shriller.
Good, and now lower yet.
CRACK! This one cut into the fold where buttock joined thigh and I yelled with pain.
CRACK! Now the cane landed on the upper thighs and I roared. No more shame or self control. I just let out a full-throated howl that echoed through the room.
A moments pause as the burning pain sank in, then, CRACK! again across the thighs.
Oh, please! Please! Not there! Not there! I now sobbed in agony.
Who gave you permission to speak, boy? Mr. Billings snapped sharply. You will get extra strokes for this new disobedience.
Yes. Definitely more strokes, the blond young man snickered. How many, Billings?
Three extra, Mr. Billings said.
No, thats too easy, someone else said. Disobedience merits more than three.
All right, well make it six, but later today. Lets first finish the dozen, then give the boy some corner time to recover. Its his first day. Therell be plenty of time to instill perfect obedience later on.
There was some grumbling among the guests but I was relieved to some extent. I didnt know if I could take six more. I was going to have enough trouble with the rest of the dozen.
You should be grateful, boy, the woman said, to be let off so lightly. I hope you appreciate the leniency that is being extended to you this time. I hope Mr. Billings will not always be as lax. No use spoiling boys like you.
A moment later the cane slashed me across the thighs again and I resumed my cries but refrained from pleading. It was useless anyway and I was sorry to have done this.
The next stroke came back to the lower buttocks and despite the burning pain, I was glad the thighs were spared.
You are not hitting him hard enough, I heard a voice, hes getting numb. Hes not feeling anything. A chuckle.
Mr. Billings took the remark to heart and delivered a ferocious cut that bit into the lower buttocks like an asp. I howled.
Thats better, the man said. Keep it up.
Again across that spot and the pain was unbelievable. I was getting hoarse with screaming and now just lay limply across the chair back. My legs started to tremble with exhaustion.
CRACK! Another one, and across the upper thighs! God, the pain! I couldnt take any more!
There was some clapping. Now hes feeling it, someone exclaimed. Another one just like it, Billings. Good and hard.
CRACK!!!!! Hoarse or not, my roar of pain rang through the house as that last stroke, well down on the underside of the buttocks, whipped into me harder than any of the previous strokes. I thought I must die from this fierce pain.
Thats the dozen, Mr. Billings said, quite oblivious of my pain. I hope this will be a lesson for you, boy. Next time you will obey orders to the letter and not be late. Stand up, pick up your shorts and stand in the corner. Shorts on your head.
I struggled off the chair. I could hardly stand, my legs were shaking so much. I felt weak and stiff, and with each painful step I could feel my bottom heavy with weals, throbbing and burning like hell.
I reached the corner and placed my hands, still holding my shorts, on my head, face to the wall. My sobs gradually subsided and the guests went back to their conversation although it seemed to me that they were still gazing at my ridged bottom.
And so ended my first day outside the orphanage. Would each day be as painful as this one? I had a feeling that it would. Mr. Billings didnt seem to be a man who would get any softer with time. But perhaps he would make it up with an occasional ride in the car or some other new excitement. Surely it would be better than continued life at the orphanage. Wouldnt it?