The large house was dark and quiet. Only one room, towards the back, was lit. Harold Bruckner sat behind his desk surveying his 12-year-old stepson.
Your mother has gone to Australia to be with her ailing sister. Remember Aunt Betty? You met her, Im told, several years ago when she came to visit for a weekend. You may have been too young... anyway, it was before my time, thank God.
Patrick stood, with shaking bare knees, before his stepfather, the palms of his hands pressed firmly against his bare thighs as he had been trained to do when confronting his severe new father. He was silent; he knew that it was always the better part of wisdom to hold his tongue whenever possible. One word at the wrong time had cost him a very sore bottom dozens of times.
Anyway, Patrick, my boy, Bruckner continued in his deep, even voice that in the past had lulled the boy into a false sense of security, you and I will be on our own for the next several weeks, if not months, depending on Aunt Bettys fragile health. Her husband is of no help since hes probably a dozen years older than she. Dont know how he manages to hold on this long.
Bruckner picked up some papers from his desk. I have here the results of your school work for the last period, sent to me by your headmaster. Of course you know its a disgrace, dont you?
Time to say something, but keep it short, the boy thought in a panic. Yes, sir, he mumbled.
This is the best you can do, boy? The mans voice became more menacing.
Y-yes, sir, came the boys quavering voice.
That means you are either a complete idiot or a lazy, impertinent little scalawag. Which one are you, Patrick?
Difficult to answer such a question. Neither really applied, the boy thought. Probably bad luck. Or lessons forgotten due to lack of concentration which, in turn, was due to a very tender behind against a very hard seat surface. An idiot, sir, the boy finally managed. Perhaps the lesser of two evils?
No doubt, no doubt. But a sound thrashing can make even idiots learn a bit more. Fires them up, so to speak. Stoke the heat from behind and they tend to move forward, if ever so slowly.
A few moments of silence in the large room. The boy was starting to sweat, but that wasnt audible. He rubbed his palms against his cool thighs.
Do you think a good beating will improve your school work, boy? Bruckner asked. His face was stone in which black pebbles posed as eye, his jaw granite. Patrick had never been able to detect the slightest touch of human feelings in that face. Steel-rimed glasses didnt soften his looks. Patrick had shuddered when he had seen him the first time.
Again he was put a question which he was supposed to answer. What to say? Yes, sir, he decided was the only reply open to him.
Excellent. I see we can agree at least on this question. And a good beating it will be. Youre almost 13, Patrick, and I will have to be quite severe. Bring me the cane with the cord around the handle. Boys I have dealt with in the past told me it is one of the most effective canes they have ever felt. It seems to have been made specially for you, my boy. Go on, hop to it! Get that cane so we can start on your instruction.
Patricks legs were weak but he rushed to the stand where Bruckner kept a large selection of punishment canes. He easily recognized the one in question, brought it out of the stand and handed it to his father.
I have discussed your education with your headmaster, Bruckner said, having stepped in front of his desk to take the cane from the small boys sweaty hand. We have agreed that since your mother is going to be away, I should take you in hand for the duration. We will make better time than you would at school, because I have to deal with only one idiot, while the masters at school have more than 20. So, after about 3 or 4 weeks you should be well ahead of your class mates, even if your bottom is considerably more sore than theirs. And if your mother is delayed further than that, youll be even better off. When you get back to school, you may not be able to walk very well, and certainly not sit down too comfortably, but youll be getting perfect grades, of that Im certain. Now, doesnt that sound just great? He swished the cane.
Take your shorts down.
How many times had he heard this order? 3 times a week? 20 times a month? 200 times a year? Maybe the boy was exaggerating in his funk, but it was certainly an astonishingly large number by any count.
Silently, already with tears in his eyes, the young boy slowly unbuttoned his shorts and pushed them down. He was bare underneath; his shirt reached just below his navel.
Turn around and bed over. Legs apart, knees straight. Finger tips on the floor. You dont move until I give permission. Any disobedience will be punished with one stroke the first time, 2 strokes the second, 3 strokes the third, and so on. If we reach 6, we will start from the beginning. But you know all that. Weve been through this many, many times before, havent we, boy?
Yes, sir, came the mumbled reply from the bending boy. He had assumed the familiar position, presenting a striped, bare little bottom to the waiting cane.
It wasnt long in coming. Bruckner knew that a caning must hurt to do any good and he wielded the cane with all his strength. The cane whistled through the air, smacked sharply into its target and a loud shriek tore through the silent room.
One, sir, screeched the boy. Thank you, sir.
The cane rose and lashed the boys bare bottom again.
Two, sir. Thank you, sir.
The cane rose and fell.
Th-three, sir. Thank you, sir.
The door suddenly burst open and a girl of 16 or 17 rushed in. She was blond and pretty and greatly resembled her young brother.
Dad, Im going out. I need a bit of money. The last time Marge paid for me and this time its my turn. Shes waiting in the car in front. Shes sleeping over tonight. We should be back around midnight.
CRACK!
Four, sir. Thank you, sir.
Oh, and please leave the back door open. I dont want to disturb you when we return.
CRACK!
Five, sir. Thank you, sir.
Very well, Susie. Open the left top drawer -
CRACK!
Six, sir. Thank you, sir.
- and take out the amount you need.
CRACK!
Seven, sir. Thank you, sir.
Susie took some bills out of the desk drawer and then stood, undecided. How many is he going to get? she asked, here eyes on the boys small bottom that now displayed several purple weals across the lower portions.
Im not sure, yet, Susie. Please remember, no drinking or smoking. You are old enough to understand why I wont allow this and why you should comply. Your health is at stake.
CRACK!
Eight, sir. Thank you, sir. The boys voice was quavering. His body writhed. He stamped his feet.
I wont, Dad. Marge doesnt either, so she wont encourage me. A round dozen would do him good, she said with a laugh and left, eager for her night out.
CRACK!
N-nine, sir. Oh, sir, no more! It hurts so! the boy gasped, forcing himself not to reach back to protect his punished behind.
Number nine doesnt count, Bruckner said pleasantly, because you forgot to thank me. Let do that one again.
CRACK!
Oh! Er - n-nine, sir. Thank you sir.
Thats better.
CRACK!
Ten, sir. Thank you, sir. Bruckner noticed with satisfaction that the boy was blubbering by now. He liked to see the canes effect on a boy being disciplined.
He raised the cane high and lashed the boy across the upper thighs, just below the buttocks fold and young Patrick howled. He twisted and turned but managed to maintain the required position although he felt his legs beginning to shake and getting weak.
Eleven, sir. Thank you, sir.
Well take Susies advice and leave it at an even dozen this time. Count yourself lucky. If I dont see real improvement in your work very soon, I wont be as lenient as today. Remember that. And he brought the cane down across the underbum with such force the the boy had to take a small step forward to maintain his balance.
T-twelve, sir! the boy roared. Th-thank you, sir!
You moved, boy. I believe I told you before that this is not acceptable during discipline. This is your second fault, so Im going to give you 2 additional strokes.
Oh, please, sir... the boy started but the cane lashed viciously across his upper thighs. Patrick screamed.
Thirteen, sir. Thank you, sir, he stammered frantically.
CRACK! Another ferocious cut across the thighs.
F-fourteen...sir... Thank...you...sir, the boy stammered. He looked ready to collapse.
Bruckner placed the cane on his desk and stood looking down at the small boy. Yes, this kind of discipline works well with lazy, disobedient little boys.
Go and stand in the corner, boy, his father instructed curtly. Ill be back when I think its bed time. You will not move until then.
Bruckner watched as the boy shuffled towards the familiar corner. The boy was still crying noisily and had difficulty walking. He knew that the boy longed to soothe his flaming buttocks with his hands but he had them obediently on his head. He stood in the corner sobbing, wishing his bed time had already arrived.
And I want no noise after youre in bed, Bruckner added as he opened the study door. If I hear any fuss coming from your room, youll feel the tawse across your bottom, no matter how sore it may still be. So be careful.
He closed the door behind him, leaving the sniveling little boy in his corner to think about his sins.