The schools director, Hector Moreno, felt nervous when he greeted Ramon Valdivia, his wife Elena and 17-year-old daughter Teresa. The Valdivia family practically supported the school; the local government funded only the most essential expenditures. It was the director's responsibility to satisfy Ramon Valdivia and ensure that he continued his yearly contribution, without which the school would probably have to close or, at the least, curtail the enrollment and the curriculum
"Show a class of the 11- and 12-year-olds," Ramon Valdivia suggested. "I want my wife and daughter to see instruction in progress."
"Very well, Mr. Valdivia," Moreno said obligingly. He led the three Valdivias through narrow halls and up the stairs to the second, and top, floor where the younger boys were housed. At one wing were the dormitories and oh the other the class rooms. Now Moreno opened the door to one of the classrooms and asked the Valdivias to enter.
Ramon looked about and nodded. There were about a dozen boys aged 11 and 12 sitting on wooden benches. All were dressed in form-fitting white sport shirts and very tight, abbreviated yellow shorts, white ankle socks and plimsolls. It was the uniform prescribed by Mr. Valdivia but on the suggestion of his wife who claimed to be an expert on childrens health.
The master, holding a book in one hand and a long, thin cane in the other, was apparently explaining a lesson to a youngster who stood at attention in front of him. Both man and boy turned their heads when the Valdivias entered the room.
"Please proceed, Mr. Guzman," Ramon said and motioned his wife and daughter to stand closer by one wall to observe.
"Pepe, I have explained all this before. Now recite the lesson properly for Mr. Valdivia who so generously has come to visit this morning."
Young Pepe, his bare legs visible shaking, hung his head and twisted the brief hems of his shorts with nervous twitches. "Er, I - um - it was in the year 1492 that Cristoforo Colombo - er -"
The teacher interrupted the boys stuttering. "I am afraid this will not do," he said sharply, addressing the boy but looking in Valdivias direction. "Take your shorts down and bend over the desk."
Pepe made a little, strangled squeak but quickly unbuttoned his skimpy shorts and pushed them down until they dropped around his ankle socks.
Teresa giggled softly. "They get it on the bare?" she asked.
Her father nodded. "We do not include underwear in the schools uniform," he explained and it has been established that when a boy faults, he is punished very soundly without his shorts. This automatically means a naked backside."
"This is the universal method when dealing with boys," Elena Valdivia confirmed with quiet assurance. "This is a boys school and therefore the cane is used liberally and always across the naked buttocks."
"But in girls schools?" Teresa wanted to know. "My school doesnt have canes and when we are punished, it as either a lecture or detention. And neither are imposed very often. What about other schools?"
"Every country has different customs," Ramon said with a smile. "Most countries, however, deal with their boys in a considerably harsher way than with girls."
"As it should be," Elena stated with conviction.
"Yes. Boys expect to be thrashed when they misbehave and we all know that it does them a world of good to be sitting on almost permanently tender backsides to remind them not to give in to their animal instincts."
"Like young colts, they must be reined in firmly and trained with spur and whip until they learn instant, unquestioning obedience."
"Exactly," Elena added.
While this conversation took place in soft murmurs, young Pepe had been bent across the teachers desk and was receiving vicious strokes with the cane across his small, round, brown bottom. As the Valdivias watched, Teresa with avid interest, Ramon with an experts eye and Elena with slight boredom, the teacher was doing his best to impress his honoured guests by wringing loud cries from the lazy little boy.
Each stroke was applied with great force and most were aimed at the lower, fleshier parts and upper thighs.
"Caning the thighs can be even more effective sometimes than caning the buttocks," Elena explained to her daughter, whose eyes were glued to the welts that now covered most of the boys lower bottom. "Boys hate being caned there and that means they should be."
Several minutes later, as the boys anguished cries rose in pitch and decibels, Teresa looked worried. "How many is he getting? It looks like he has had enough. He is still so young and the teacher is beating him very hard. When will it stop?"
Ramon smiled indulgently. "Teresa, you have to remember that we are dealing here with a lazy little native boy, not a well-educated young lady. These boys must be dealt with firmly and just a few taps of the cane will not do. They must be rigorously disciplined."
Elena nodded. "A dozen or so strokes is just about the minimum for a boy his age," she said. "I always advocate twice the number of the boys age. Standard punishment would be two dozen for a twelve-year-old. The size of the cane and the severity of the strokes would then depend on the culprits physical properties. This boy appears sturdy enough to take a good whipping. 22 strokes is certainly not too much for him."
The boys in the class, all sitting rigidly on their hard benches, also had their eyes on the scene in front of them. They all looked frightened; they all knew what it mean to have their bare backsides soundly caned. Most of them still felt the hot sting pulsing through their bottoms at this moment.
At this moment Pepe gave a loud cry and rose from the desk, his hands clasping at his injured parts in back. He stood till half bent and looked at his teacher through tear-dimmed eyes.
"Ay, ay, senor," he implored. "Duele! Duele tanto! No mas, por favor, senor, no mas." He looked pathetic as he hugged his bare, striped buttock.
The teacher turned towards Ramon Valdivia. "What do you think, sir," he asked. "The boy says it hurts so much and wants me to stop. He has had 18 strokes so far. What do you suggest?"
"We do not comply with boys requests," Ramon replied severely.
"He needs at least 4 more," his wife added.
"And since he disobeyed the rules about not moving without permission, we should add further strokes," Ramon suggested.
"Shall we say 6 more?" the teacher asked.
The young boy listened with a contorted face that made Teresa chuckle.
"Look at him," she said. "He is in a blue funk. He knows they are not finished with him yet."
"Eight more," Elena announced with authority. "The boy must learn to take his punishment properly. If he gets up again, you should start from number one again."
The teacher nodded and, taking the child by the nape of his neck, turned him over the desk once more. "Now hold on the the far edge," he advised, "and do not let go. If you do, I will begin again from the start."
Loud sobbing was the boys reply but he obediently extended his thin arms and grasped the edge of the wide desk. Once more he displayed his ridged and wealed bottom to the class and the guests. The teacher picked up the cane.
CRACK! A loud fleshy smack followed the sharp whir as the cane swished through the air and struck the firm flesh of the young culprit. A frantic squeal emanated from the other side. This was repeated five more times and the disciplinary action was completed.
The left the blubbering child across the desk for a few minutes and then the teacher ordered Pepe to stand by the blackboard, hands on his head, his swollen, bruised backside displayed towards the class so the rest of the boys could learn from his experience. The teacher replaced the cane on a hook near Pepes face. There was no way to escape the cane at this school. Ramon Valdivia saw to that.
Teresa walked over to where Pepe was standing and stroked his sweat-soaked hair. "You have had a sound thrashing, my boy," she said kindly. "I have never seen a boy punished before but I am told that this is normal procedure. So dont make so much fuss. This was not the first caning you got, I am sure, and it will not be the last. So be grateful that we are here to take care of you and ensure that you take advantage of all we are offering you. If you are lazy and refuse to work hard, you are offending my parents gifts to you and your school, and for that you have earned your caning. So stop crying and next time be an obedient, hard-working little boy, and you behind will not be whipped so often."
"Very well done, Mr. Pacheco," Ramon said to the teacher as they departed. "Do not neglect these boys. They come from very poor homes and have no idea how to work hard and obey regulations. So beat them regularly and systematically until they learn. Here is a little gift for your good work. We will be back and see the progress the boys have made next month."
The teacher smiled and bowed, closing the door behind the Valdivia family.
"All right, boys. Back to work. But first, Antonio Bustamante, please stand up."
A sturdy, dark-skinned lad of twelve reluctantly got to his feet. His bottom seemed to want to burst out of his skin-tight little shorts. His face was drawn with anxiety.
"Antonio, I have read your essay and the discovery of the Americas. It ws done hastily and without thought. Your handwriting is atrocious, not to mention spelling and grammar. Many of your dates and places are wrong as well. As you just heard, the minimum number of strokes for you will be a round two dozen. Come up front and take down your shorts. This is going to hurt, I promise you."