The Whipping Club (28 page)

             
“They both ran home!”

             
“Let me make this perfectly clear. Johanna Ellis could have a record now, too.”

             
“They were both terribly sorry, and they’ve apologized.”

             
“The guards are owed thanks, and you have an outstanding bill for the property damage, Mr. Ellis.”

             
“We’ve paid the debt, sir,” Ben said.

             
The Donnybrook Citizen News
had posted the incident as well as mentioning the miserable sum of sixty pounds, which would be owed the Donnybrook Church. Ben showed the newspaper article to Mr. Darby, explained his son’s setback, and asked if he could preemptively investigate the goings on at industrial schools, but was told no. This is not the time to stir up trouble, Mr. Darby said. Lay low, he advised.

             
“We understand, Judge Moran, and thank you for your time with this. We’ll look after Johanna, and we’re grateful to you for your consideration,” Ben said.

             
Judge Moran closed the folder, looked at the two of them.

             
“No more talk, then.”

             
Ben nodded. “Can we visit Adrian?” Ben glanced at Marian.

She returned the look with a glare; she was appalled at the relative ease in which he handled all of this.

             
But she should be grateful, too, she thought, they had been able to keep Johanna safe.

             
“Of course, there are visiting days. You’d have to arrange that with the Christian Brothers.”

The police escorted Adrian from Silverbridge Orphanage to the Surtane Industrial School for Boys on January 22, 1969, two months after his twelfth birthday. The car drove up a long avenue to a cluster of massive stone buildings. Men in long black cassocks strolled about the grounds. Nurse had told Adrian about the men wearing the black robes, the Christian Brothers, and her report was not good.

             
“Well, you’ll be minding your
manners in Surtane, I’m sure,”
the guard said, jerking him out of his thoughts. “A place to keep your head down, so.” 

             
Yes, they would probably kill him here; he was certain he would end up dead. Perhaps, though, he’d have a bit of luck and they’d hit him hard, just hard enough to be taken to hospital where the nurses were grand and the food better than the slop they were sure to serve in this place.

             
He gazed at a sea of boys on the pl
aying fields, and to the left,
the bluestone chapel. The car wound its way to the concrete front entrance of the institution, steel doors on the far left and right led up stairs to what must be the vast dormitories. Like a bunch of half-starved coyotes, the tykes crowded around the car, their greasy palms pawing the hood, their hobnail boots stomping. Brothers in black robes shouted at them. Adrian tensed, feeling as if he might piss himself.

             
Gawking paupers attempted to pull him out of the car, but he was engrossed, a huge grin coming over him at the sight of Peter, who was standing
against the cement wall of the
school.

             
“It’s a rap in the snot locker I’ll be giving you if you don’t get your arse out of the car.”

             
A large boy named O’Connor, also known as Monitor One, opened the car door. “I’ll take him to Brother Ryder.” 

             
Brother Mack, co-headmaster with Brother Ryder of the school, shook Adrian’s hand. “Good day, young man,” he said. “He’s all right, then,” he indicated to the men in the car. He waved goodbye, and the police car drove off. Brother Mack was a middle-aged man with solid shoulders, a square jaw and a broad smile, a gap between his two front teeth gave him a youthful quality. He reminded Adrian of Mickey Dolnz from the Monkeys band, except his slick black hair was cropped short.

             
“March!” Monitor One ordered him. “Left, right, left, right. Stand tall or face the wall. Left, right…”

             
Adrian followed Monitor One, and some of the boys followed him, pulling at his clothes.

             
“Well, isn’t he the fancy one? Did your Mama buy you that jacket?” they teased.

             
Adrian turned and gave them a dirty look. They all laughed.

             
“That’s number Four Seventy-Six from the orphanage,” a tall, thin boy shouted from the playing field, his shirt too small for his long arms. “He’s okay.”

             
Monitor One pushed Adrian against the wall. “He’s a big shot, is he? Follow what I’m doing. Left, right…”

             
“Leave him alone, O’Connor,” Brother Mack said.

             
A whistle blew, and all the boys lined up in size order and began to march in place. Adrian looked for Peter in the crowd, spotted him near the front, and they shared a brief smile.

             
“What’s your bleedin’ name?” the monitor asked.

             
“Adrian Ellis.”

             
“You’d
better
be okay,” O’Connor said, marching to the left down the hallway, passing an industrial dining hall on the right where a couple of boys were setting up tin cups and tin bowls. Adrian marched behind O’Connor, enjoying the feeling of his body in motion, figuring his leg muscles would grow stronger with the effort of marching as well. O’Connor knocked on a door and kept marching until the door opened.

             
“Sir!”

             
“Yes, O’Connor?” Brother Ryder said.

             
“Ellis has arrived, sir.”

             
“I see that, O’Connor. Go back to the fields.”

Brother Ryder, also known as Brother Driver in Surtane, because of his liberal use of a wooden Spalding on the boys, walked back across the makeshift office to his desk and sat down, looking Adrian over.
He’s going to teach me the ropes,
Adrian told himself, examining the military expression on the man’s face, with its pockmarks and jutting cheeks that seemed sculpted in his cement complexion.

             
“Come in, boy. Shut the door behind you.”

             
Adrian stepped into the middle of the room, looked at the closed gray blinds, but heard distant hobnail boots marching, the smell of alcohol, pungent despite the draft from open windows. I repent was written in faintly noticeable cursive on the chalkboard.

             
“Take a few steps closer and stand there,” Brother Ryder said, reading a document in a manila folder.

             
“You’re to be called ‘Ellis,’ is it?”

             
“Yes, sir.”

             
“But you’re really a McKeever?”

             
Adrian shrugged.

             
“You’re a strange one, wanting to be called Ellis.”

             
“That’s my family name, sir.”

             
“You’re part of our family while you’re in here. Our private club. Charter member,” Brother Ryder said and chuckled. “We work as a team here. Keep your eyes to yourself, Ellis,” he said, reading Sister Agnes’s report. “Just answer yes or no. Do you understand, Ellis?”

             
He said his words slowly, evidently thoroughly engaged in his reading. Adrian peered over the file and upside down deciphered her bloody words.
Episodes of sexual arousal and/or misconduct. Occasional mischievous thoughts and deeds.

             
“I want no other words from you.”

             
“Yes, sir.”
Overly attached to members of the opposite sex. I expect. Discipline at Surtane will correct this.

             
“Any more words out of you and you’ll have your knickers round your ankles, and you’ll be holding on to that chair for dear life,”

he said, gesturing with his club. It had a large ivorine golf ball handle.

             
Adrian dared not look up.

             
“Are you a nosy boy, Ellis?”

             
“No, sir.”

             
“I told you, you bloody eejit, nothing but yes or no. Pull down your bloody trousers, and stand there in your knickers.”

             
Stunned by this, Adrian gawked at him.

             
“Go on now, as I tell you.”

             
Adrian fumbled, feeling his fingers getting clammy as he let his woolen trousers down.

             
“Not a word from you, just yes or no.”

             
Brother Ryder was staring at him. Adrian heard a humming from the electricity in the eerie silence.

             
“Are you nosy, Ellis?”

             
“No.”

             
“Are you curious about what goes on in this room?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“You are nosy, then. Why are you looking at the cabinets, boy? Look at me.”

             
Adrian looked directly into the man’s eyes, black peas, like a pigeon’s.

             
Brother Ryder raised his wooden club, reached out with it, and touched Adrian between the thighs.

             
“One move from you and you’ll feel this Sabbath stick across your back. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slowly diddled him with the golf ball grip.

             
“Do you masturbate, Ellis?”

             
“No.”

             
“Do you play with these? Look at me, and no lies.”

             
Adrian stared into his face, holding back tears. “No.”

             
“I think you’re lying, Ellis.”

             
“No,” he said again, louder.

             
“Yes, you do, Ellis. I’ve heard about you.”

             
“No.”

             
“Do you like girls, Adrian?”

             
“No.”

             
“Do you like
boys,
then? Are you a fairy?”

             
“No.”

             
“Then which, girls or boys? Do you like girls?”
             

             
“Yes.”

             
“Aha! Now at least you’re being honest. Have you ever done it with a girl, mister big stuff?”

             
“No.”

             
“Not even at night, diddling yourself?”

             
“No.”

             
“Let me tell you, boy. Don’t diddle yourself. It’s not healthy. It’ll tempt you. And temptation leads right to the Devil’s door. Well,” he said and closed the folder. He walked around the desk and stood behind Adrian. He smacked the boy hard in the back.

             
“Don’t,” Ryder declared, “let me catch you getting into trouble here. We keep Surtaners free from the Devil, Ellis. I’ll knock the shit out of you if I have to. Do you understand?”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Good.”

             
Adrian felt the shaft of the club stick his backside and then, slide up, and strike his privates. Adrian gasped and let out a scream.

             
“You have bad blood, Adrian. You’ll come to nothing. Pull up your trousers and go into the chapel. Say three Our Fathers. I won’t have much use for the shaft if you keep clean, now will I, Ellis?”

             
“No.”

             
“After you go to chapel, go up to the fitting room and get outfitted.”

             
“Yes.”

             
“Ellis?”

             
“Yes?”

             
“Welcome to the Whipping Club.”

It was two weeks since Adrian’s arrival. He dared not ask to write to his sister, but he lay awake thinking about her before the six o’clock morning bell. He fell easily into the morning wash line first because of lack of sleep. This morning Brother Mack along with Monitor Two yanked on Peter’s thin arm, placed his belongings beside Adrian’s cot.