0300 Book 1 - 3. Chapter 3: A Bright and Glorious Future

Chapter 3

A Bright and Glorious Future

Passengers will please refrain,
From flushing toilets while the train
Is in the station,
Darling, I love you.

If you have to pass some water,
Kindly call the Pullman porter,
He’ll place a vessel
In the vestibule.

— Traditional, to the tune of Humoresque

After breakfast and another stop at the outhouse, Matthew and I were put on a train. One of the new Deputies locked our feet into shackles that were chained to staples set in the floor of the train car. There were two other Deputies in the car, as well as several people I guessed were Citizens.

* * * * *

Most of the cars carried coal. I remembered what that was. My father was a farmer, but many of the men in the town were miners. Their job was the more dangerous. Their sons followed them into the mines when they were as young as six. I remembered that accidents at the mine killed people—men and boys—several times a year. I remembered the Remembrance Services at the chapel. I know my parents were afraid that since they had two sons, I’d be selected for the mines. Instead, I was selected to be a farmer—but at the Sheriff’s Ranch. I’m not sure any of us knew when it happened just what that would mean.

* * * * *

The Deputies did not speak to us other than to give us orders. On a shelf at one end of the train car was water in a tall bucket, with a dipper that everyone used. When we asked, they took us to get water, and to a . . . kind of a mobile outhouse. It was like the ones at the camp except that I could see through the hole the ground rushing past. It must have been like this on the train that brought me from my home two years ago, but I didn’t remember much about that trip. At noon, a serf brought paper bags holding a sandwich and some dry, tough carrots to all the passengers, including the Deputies—and to us. I thought it was strange that we were eating the same thing as the Deputies, but they didn’t seem to think so.

The train stopped several times, but we didn’t get off. Sometimes, other passengers would leave. Sometimes, new passengers would get on. We were still on the train when it got dark. We slept a little bit, but kept waking up because of the screeching of the wheels and the constant bouncing on hard, wooden seats. The Deputies lay across the seats and had blankets, but we didn’t. It was cold.

After two days on the train, I felt especially dirty. We’d not bathed since last Sabbath Eve, but I was accustomed to bathing only once a week, so it wasn’t that. My hair hung to my shoulders, lank and nasty. One of the Deputies would probably cut it, next bath—we never knew when one of them would decide to cut our hair. There were so many rules, but not one about that.

I saw the engine of the train belching black smoke as the train went around a long, sweeping curve. The smoke, I thought. That’s what’s making us so dirty.

At dusk the second day, the train stopped. A deputy unlocked the shackles and led us from the train.

Matthew and I gasped when we stepped onto the platform.

The setting sun was hidden by mountains that were painted like a purple-gray. The hills that bordered the road opened to reveal a lake, held back by a huge dam. Even the guards were silent, as if impressed.

One of the guards, younger than the others, said, “Scudder Dam. The greatest engineering marvel of our time. That’s the Lake of the Lord you see.” Seeing the frown of one of the older guards, the youngster said no more.

After supper in a mess hall, Matthew and I were again locked into a room with a barred window—a jail cell. Once again, we were given a single blanket each. Once again, we cuddled together for warmth. Once again, I woke in time to roll away from Matthew and escape the punishment that would follow should a Deputy find us together—regardless of the temperature.

After breakfast, we were manacled, but our legs remained free. The young Deputy who had named the lake the day before was waiting beside a motorcar. I remembered that. The Reverend in my town had driven a motorcar.

“Sit in the back. The doors cannot be opened from the inside.” That was all he said before he took his position at the tiller. He drove the car across the dam and then into a canyon. Matthew’s hand found mine. I was afraid that the Deputy would see us in the mirror mounted in the center of the windscreen, but he was looking at the road. I squeezed Matthew’s hand. I hope he understood that I was trying to offer him something. What? Hope? Not that, for I had none. Comfort, perhaps, although I had little of that.

By late afternoon, the motorcar reached the outskirts of a city. I had never seen anything like it. Buildings rose into the sky. I knew the alphabet and Mother had taught me to read a little. Only two years ago, although it seemed longer. I tried to spell out the signs, but the words were not familiar, and Las Vegas meant nothing. I recognized the Sheriff’s station—the eight-pointed star-and-cross had long ago been burned into my memory.

The young Deputy turned us over to another Deputy who removed our manacles, and asked, “You need to use the crapper?”

“Please sir, what’s a crapper?” I asked.

“They’ve probably never seen indoor plumbing,” the first Deputy said.

The new Deputy led us to a small room that held a seat with a hole in the middle, sort of like an outhouse, but with a pool of water instead of just a deep hole under it. He showed us how to flush it, and how to turn on and off the water at the sink beside it. After we’d used the crapper, he locked us in two cells, separated from one another by bars. Like the room we’d been in before, these had windows closed only by bars. And we were separated—we’d not be able to cuddle, and the night would probably be cold.

We had not had lunch. Supper was brought to us: a bowl of stew and bread. It was better than what we’d had on the train, and much better than anything we’d had at the Ranch. After a trip to the crapper, we were left alone, and the lights were turned out.

“Hamish? Why are we here?” Matthew’s whisper was just loud enough for me to hear.

“Matthew, I don’t know. I don’t even know where here is,” I said. Impulsively, I stretched my hand between the bars and touched Matthew’s shoulder. Instantly, Matthew grabbed my hand.

“Hamish, I’m so afraid!”

I didn’t know why I said it, but I did. “We are together, Matthew. We are together, and together, we are strong. Remember, Captain said we were to be together.”

I hope he meant that, I thought.

I hope he meant that, Matthew thought.

The next day was Sabbath. I was surprised when breakfast was brought to us, and counted days on my fingers to be sure. Yes, it was Sabbath, and the bowls held oatmeal mixed with sweet, black nuggets. Raisins, my memory told me.

After breakfast and a trip to the crapper, we were taken to a room where a Reverend stood. The Reverend was a young man—younger than any Reverend I’d seen, before. He wore the same black trousers, shirt, and jacket that other Reverends wore. His clerical collar was white, which made his face look especially red.

“These are the ones?” he asked.

The Deputy nodded. “Sent from the ________ County Sheriff’s Ranch.”

“Sir!” the man in black snapped. “Sent, sir!”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” the Deputy said. I felt the tension between the two men, and realized, it’s not like the Deputy really means that. Then, I understood, the Deputy hates the Reverend!

“They stink,” the man in black said. “They’re filthy.”

And the Reverend hates the Deputy.

“We weren’t expecting you until 1200 hours,” the Deputy replied.

“Are you blaming me for your shortcomings?” The man in black spit out his words.

“No, sir. My fault for not knowing you’d come early,” the Deputy said.

The man in black looked for disrespect in the deputy’s face, but the deputy had years of experience. His face was almost as blank as one of the serf’s faces.

“Clean them,” ordered the man in black. “I will wait outside, where the air does not stink.”

The Deputy gestured, and we followed him out a door. “Stand there,” he said, and gestured again. Matthew and I stood against the outside wall of the Sheriff’s Station, wondering what would happen. It didn’t take long. The door opened, and a Deputy came out, pulling behind him a canvas hose. He held a brass nozzle in his hand. Yelled commands flew into and out of the opened door. The nozzle was pointed toward us. A hurricane of water blasted us into the wall, ripped our clothes, threatened to fill our lungs.

“Enough, already!” the Deputy shouted, and the water stopped.

Coughing and sputtering, we helped each other to stand, forgetting that we were not allowed to touch one another. When I remembered, it was too late, but the Deputy didn’t seem to notice. “Follow me,” he said.

“They’re soaked!” the man in black said.

“You said to clean ’em,” the Deputy said. “Sir.”

“Please sign here . . . sir.”

The man in black took us to a motorcar driven by a serf. We drove down a wide road bordered with buildings with signs. I tried to puzzle out the signs. One word kept repeating itself. “Casino.” I didn’t know that word, though.

The car stopped at a huge and tall building. The sign in the front read, “________ Palace Casino.” I knew what “palace” meant; it was a wonderful and huge house where princes and princesses lived. Mother had told me stories about them. We didn’t go in the front door of the palace, but were taken to the back. The Reverend led us into the building, down a long hallway, and into a large room. In the middle of the room was a pool of water. A bunch of men in green robes stood around the pool.

“Sir, this bath is for initiates—” one of the men in green said.

“Damn you!” the man in black said. “They’ve got to be clean. Unless you want to explain to The Scudder—”

The man in green turned white. I felt his fear.

“No, sir,” he said.

The Scudder? I thought. He’s here? I had no more time for thinking. The men in green told us to remove our clothes, and step into the pool of water. That’s wrong! I thought, and turned to the Reverend, who was leaning against a wall. Before I could speak, he yelled at me.

“Obey them!” Then he frowned, crossed his arms, leaned back against the wall, and stared at me.

The men who bathed us wore their robes, even in the water. They were all fat. I knew about fat even though I don’t remember ever seeing anyone who was fat. Their cheeks were smooth, as if they were still youngsters. My cheeks, too, were smooth, but I knew that in a few years they would sprout the hairs that would mark me as a man.

Something bothered me. It wasn’t their fat or their smooth cheeks. No, there was something more. Partly, it was their high-pitched giggles and the way they rubbed soap onto my body. It was also the looks they exchanged when my penis stiffened. There was something more. I don’t know what it was, but it was something unpleasant, and I wasn’t happy.

The men scrubbed us with brushes and soap. They washed our hair over and over again.

I saw that Matthew was in the same predicament I was. His penis was standing out from his body. The difference was that Matthew blushed. The men who bathed him seemed to find that very funny.

The young Reverend stood against the wall and watched. His face remained stiff, but whenever I looked at him, I saw something dark, something to be feared—something that meant danger for Matthew and for me. And I was afraid.

He was the first Reverend I’d seen since being taken away from my parents, my home, my little brother and sister. The Chaplain at the ranch wasn’t a Reverend, just an ordained Deputy. All Deputies and Reverends were to be feared, but this was something different. This Reverend—in spite of his youth—was more than a danger. He was an enemy.

The men in green said things I didn’t understand: “What a shame, such pretty boys.” and “We were once like them—but we were the docile ones.” To which another responded, “You were never that pretty!”

What did they mean? I had no idea, but it was something else to be afraid of.

Other men in green robes who had not been in the water with us, dried us with soft towels and then sprinkled powder on us. I wanted to slap away the hands of the one who rubbed powder into my genitals, but I was afraid. I was so afraid that I did not get an erection even though the man fondled me. I was glad for that. Matthew’s penis did stiffen, and the giggles of the men drew the attention of the man in black—the Reverend. He frowned at what he saw, but there was something else in his face, something blacker than his clothes. I saw again the thing that I feared but did not know. What am I seeing? I wondered. And why am I seeing it?

The men gave us sandals, and pulled white robes over our heads. I thought for a moment of the pictures of Angels that children were shown in Sabbath School. The six-winged Seraphim were the highest, and closest to God. Below them, were Cherubim, Thrones, Dominions, Virtues, Powers, Principalities, Archangels, and regular angels, including Guardian Angels. I wondered why I didn’t have a Guardian Angel. I knew I didn’t have one for surely, if I had one, he wouldn’t have let my number be drawn to be sent to the Ranch.

Matthew’s hair was like a golden halo around his head. He must be a Cherubim, I thought. And then realized how silly that was. Matthew and I didn’t have wings, and I knew we weren’t Angels. No, there was something dark going on.

I could not remember being this clean, ever. At home, before I’d been taken to the Ranch, a bath was a Sabbath Eve ritual. No matter that water for baths took nearly all my father earned, no matter that we had to share the water. At least it wasn’t like at the Ranch, where a hundred boys might bathe in the same tub. We are told we must be clean to come before the Lord, but at the Ranch, it’s . . . it’s not real! “Rub your privates! Rub your arse!” It’s like they’re just pretending. Why pretend? The Lord God isn’t fooled any! And why is there so much water here? From the Lake of the Lord, I suppose. Why are there places the serfs live in need of water? And why is the Ranch where it is, without water except for the fields?

“Take them to the refectory,” the young man in black told one of the men in green.

I don’t know why he said that, ’cause he walked down the hallways and we followed him. Maybe, I thought, maybe it’s just ’cause he can. I tucked that thought away for later.

The refectory turned out to be a mess hall filled with tables and benches, but it was cleaner and brighter than the one at the Ranch. We didn’t have to stand in line; food was brought to us by fat men in green robes.

The food was wonderful: bread that was white and without grit, and butter. I hadn’t seen butter since before I had been taken. Soup, rich with droplets of fat. Meat without gristle. Apples baked with . . . a spice. I remembered the taste, but not its name. I had almost forgotten that today was the Sabbath. When I remembered, I wondered whose soul was damned for working to prepare our food, and if bathing us was counted as laboring.

After the meal, the young Reverend took us to a room that held a televisor and two beds. There was a door in the wall between the beds. “Your bodies are clean; however, before the next step, your souls must also be clean,” the young Reverend said. “You will spend the next weeks with those who will teach you what you must know.”

I was afraid to ask what the “next step” would be.

He left the room. Before the door closed, one of the fat men came in. He opened the door between the beds and showed us a room that held a crapper, and a sink.

“Wash your arse and your hands well after you use the crapper,” he said. “Use the soap and the brush. If you smell of shit, you will be punished.”

He left, and locked the door.

Matthew sat on a bed, and started crying. I was afraid for him, but also afraid of the Reverend. I knelt at his feet. “Matthew? Please don’t cry.”

Matthew practically fell off the bed; I caught him so he wouldn’t hit the floor. He wrapped his arms around me, and hugged me like Mama used to. I wanted to hug him back but, “The Lord and The Scudder see everything!” I said. “We must not—”

“I don’t care,” Matthew whispered. “They didn’t see us cuddle when we were locked up in those rooms when it was so cold. And if they see everything, why do they let the fat men touch . . . touch us where no one is supposed to touch?”

My arms answered before my mind could, and I hugged Matthew tightly. He stopped crying after a while.

When he’d calmed down, I told him about his hair and thinking he was an angel. He giggled, and told me he thought my red hair was like the fire of the Holy Spirit that surrounded the image of The First Scudder that hung in every chapel in the land.

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I thought, I hope not. I hope the Holy Spirit doesn’t find out about me and about Matthew. I wasn’t sure what I didn’t want the Holy Spirit to find out, but I knew something we were doing was wrong.

The next morning after breakfast in the mess hall, Matthew and I were led to a room and told to sit on the floor. There was nothing in the room except a table on which lay a Bible. We jumped to our feet when the young Reverend came in. He told us to sit, and then opened the Bible.

The man read, “Where the Reverends are, there also is God. Where the Reverends are not, there is evil.”

He closed the Bible, and then said, “There are rewards on Earth, and in Heaven. That you have been selected is itself a reward.” I thought of the food, the baths, the clean clothing, the soft, warm bed I had slept on last night. And I thought of the other boys in my barracks. Why am I being rewarded? I’ve done nothing to deserve all this. If I am being rewarded for nothing, are they being punished for nothing? For surely, service at the Ranch must be punishment.

The man was speaking, again. “You will address me as Deacon Jerome. You may ask questions by raising your hand and waiting for me to tell you to speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Deacon Jerome . . . Yes, Deacon Jerome,” we responded.

Deacon? I thought he was a Reverend! What’s a Deacon? I didn’t want to know badly enough to ask, though.

Deacon Jerome opened the Bible, again, and read. “From the dust, the Lord God created the perfect man, Adam. From Adam’s rib, the Lord God created Eve to be a helpmate. But Eve was imperfect, and fell prey to the wiles of Satan and ate of the forbidden fruit. Adam succumbed to the wiles of Eve, and ate, too. Thus are all men cursed, but are all women cursed more greatly.

“The curse of men is that they shall create seed that is itself, cursed.”

Before I could ask about that, he turned to another passage, marked with a ribbon. “The Apostle Paul wrote to the Saints in Rome, Chapter 1, Verse 5: From the Lord God we will receive grace only through obedience to the faith and to the Reverends who are in authority over us.”

“Repeat that.”

Matthew and I stuttered through the passage. He read it a few words at a time, which we echoed, until we had memorized the entire passage.

“Remember that those in authority over us . . . over you, are the Reverends,” Deacon Jerome said. “And, remember that I represent them.”

The rest of the morning, Deacon Jerome read from the Bible. He made us memorize some verses; he explained the meaning of others.

There were four tables of boys and three tables of girls in the refectory at lunchtime! We’d not seen them, yesterday or at breakfast, today. They were wearing robes, like ours. The boys talked together, some even laughed. One pointed to Matthew and me, and said something to the boy who sat beside him. That boy shook his head. I wondered what had been said, and why Matthew and I were separated from the other boys.

The girls’ tables were quiet. The girls seldom spoke, and never laughed. Two of the girls looked at Matthew and me, but neither of them pointed to us, and both quickly averted their eyes.

After lunch, one of the fat men in green gave us lessons in how to prepare and serve drink, and to serve food. I thought we might become servants in the refectory, but there was something different about what we were being taught, different from what the servers in the refectory did.

“This,” the man in green said, “is a kind of alcohol. This one is named bourbon. Smell it, and remember the smell, for if you are asked to serve bourbon and serve something else, you will be punished. It is prohibited to anyone other than a Reverend to drink bourbon or any kind of alcohol. Should you taste of it, you will die. If the alcohol does not kill you, but a Reverend discovers you have tasted it, you will be killed. Do you understand?”

Matthew and I nodded. I could feel the horror in Matthew’s mind.

“The Reverends will instruct you to serve them bourbon and other alcohols. Sometimes, the alcohols will be mixed with other things.”

The man in green showed us mixers that ranged from water to exotic things like cola and branch. He chuckled, and told us that branch was simply water, but we were never to let on that we knew that. It was the first time one of the men in green had ever opened himself to us in that manner, and I vowed to try to remember him.

“I know you do not understand how or why the Reverends ingest—drink—bourbon and other alcohols. You don’t have to ask the questions that are in your minds. All I can say is that the ways of the Reverends are inscrutable—difficult to understand. And, that you should not ask questions, but simply obey.”

That evening, after lessons, Deacon Jerome watched while we were bathed and given clean robes. The fat men in green were careful not to touch our privates when the deacon was watching, but they seemed to make opportunities to—not just touch, but fondle us when he could not see.

Our days became routine: Deacon Jerome read the Bible to us in the morning, explaining some verses and requiring us to memorize others. The man in green taught us more about how to be a servant to the Reverends in the afternoon. We learned about vodka, gin, and tequila, among other alcohols. We learned to shake martinis, and to ask if the Reverend wanted salt on the rim of his Marguerita glass. We learned what neat and on the rocks meant.

“Sometimes, a Reverend will simply tell you, the usual. You must remember what each Reverend usually asks for, so that you can prepare that for him when he says that.”

Before supper, we were taken to the bath. After supper, we were locked in our room. We saw the other boys and the girls at their tables, but only at lunch. I wondered who they were, and why they seemed so different from Matthew and me.

On the fifth morning, Matthew and I waited, seated on the floor, for Deacon Jerome. And waited.

“Should we go look for him?” Matthew asked.

“We were told to wait, here,” I said.

“They didn’t say we couldn’t go look for him,” Matthew said.

“How long had you been at the Ranch?” I asked.

“Two months, but what’s that got to do with it?”

“Do only that which is permitted, do nothing that is prohibited,” I said. “You hadn’t been there long enough to learn that. I think it applies here, too.”

At last, Deacon Jerome came in. There was something bothering him. It was something about boys, and a boy he knew. How do I know that? I wondered.

The deacon stuttered a bit when he spoke.

“The lesson in obedience will continue.” He opened the Bible, flipped a few pages, and then read, “The Apostle Paul wrote to the people of Corinth in his second letter to them, Verse 16, Know ye that to whom ye yield yourselves as servants ye are to obey, whether to sin or to righteousness.”

He closed the Bible. “When you were six, you took an oath of obedience to the Lord God and to his servants on Earth: the Scudder, the Reverends, and the Sheriffs. You yielded yourselves as servants to them. Had you not, you might have found yourselves servants of those who would lead you in evil ways. Only the Scudder, the Reverends, and the Sheriffs can lead you to righteousness; obedience to them will be rewarded. Failure to obey will be punished both here on Earth and in Hell.”

I felt the Reverend’s hatred for the Sheriffs when he talked about them, and wondered how and why he hated them—and how I knew that.

“Tomorrow is Saturday,” he said. “Followed by the Sabbath. It is the weekend, and you are to be excused from training on those two days. You will be taken to meals and baths. I will resume your training on Monday.”

Week end? I wondered. And he will miss watching us being bathed for two days? Must be something really important! I stifled a giggle. That night, I thought about sharing that thought with Matthew, but knew he would not find it funny. Bathing and the deacon frightened Matthew.

There hadn’t been a televisor at the Ranch, but I remembered it from home. We’d gather around it at night, except on the Sabbath, of course. At 7:00, a picture of the First Scudder would appear, and a voice would say, “The blessing of the Lord God and of his Representative on Earth, the Scudder, be upon you.” Then we would see the Scudder, the one who ruled us. Once, I heard someone say he was the fifteenth Scudder, but when I asked my father, he said never to question or count.

The Scudder would speak, usually to offer some instruction such as “Work hard and prosper,” or a proverb like, “A wise man will build his house upon the rock.” After that, we would hear about things happening in other parts of the world: a famine in Nebraska, and how our grain was saving lives there, or a flood in another place, and how our food was needed there. Often, there were morality plays with people playing the roles of sins, of people, of angels. I liked those, best, even though I didn’t always understand them.

There were also reports of punishments for mortal sins. I remember those most of all. A man who had blasphemed was shown having his tongue cut out, and then a hot poker stuck in his mouth. I was pretty sure he was dead when they took it out.

Boys and girls who had touched each other inappropriately were shown with their genitals burned off, and the number of the beast burned into their foreheads before they were killed, usually beheaded. Farmers who had tried to hide some of their grain or vegetables were disemboweled, the usual punishment for gluttony. There was more.

The second evening after Matthew and I reached this place—wherever it was—and almost always after that, I turned on the televisor in our room. I did that more from habit than from wanting to know what the Scudder or the Reverend would say, or from wanting to know what crisis somewhere else meant my family would have to go hungry. On the fifth night, there was something new. I was pretty sure it was what had made Deacon Jerome nervous, earlier in the day.

The pictures were from a battlefield. I had seen battlefields, before, when the Reverends told us that our Army had defeated someone—usually Godless Muslims or Heathen Pan-Asians who were trying to overrun our European Territories. I wasn’t sure where Europe was, but I really wanted to be in the Army. They looked sharp in their uniforms, and they had guns and tanks and aeroplanes. Yes, aeroplanes that flew above the battlefield and dropped explosives on the enemy.

This battle was different: it was in our own country, and not far from Las Vegas. I remembered the sign I’d read when we were brought here. We were in Las Vegas. The battle was nearby! And, that is probably what made Deacon Jerome nervous.

The battle was between the Army and forces of Evil. I saw boys, some not much older than me, wearing dark uniforms and carrying rifles. They were being crushed by Army tanks and shot at by our soldiers. Then, the film stopped, and the screen showed only pictures. There was some sort of boxy aeroplane, but without wings. The pictures were hard to see, but the numbers painted on the aeroplanes were clear: 666, the Number of the Beast.

“The Army of Righteousness was attacked not just by men, but by the demons of Satan. These demons were destroyed, and descended back into Hell where all those who oppose Righteousness shall dwell in eternal fire.” They didn’t show any pictures of the demons being destroyed, though.

“Our Army, while victorious, suffered some losses. Recruiters will visit towns in the next days and weeks to enroll eligible boys for the Army. Victory is promised by the Scudder and the Lord God!”

Why would Deacon Jerome have been afraid, I wondered. He, more than anybody, must know the power of the Lord God! And why didn’t they show any of these demons being destroyed? I was afraid to ask Deacon Jerome, though. I didn’t even think of asking him if I could join the Army. I thought about that, and decided it was because I had a responsibility to Matthew.

On Saturday, one of the men in green led us to breakfast, and then took us back to our room. Before he left, he turned on the televisor. “You will be taken to bath and supper at the usual time,” he said. “Meanwhile, you might as well watch this.”

At home, there was nothing on the televisor except in the evenings. At this place and on this day, the televisor showed morality plays, the story of the First Scudder, and something called entertainments. They were like the morality plays, but even more confusing.

After breakfast on the Sabbath, I thought we’d be taken to services, but we went back to our room, and watched the televisor until supper.

On Monday, things were back to normal. Deacon Jerome read. “From Proverbs, 29:15, The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself bringeth himself to shame and death.” He had us memorize that one, but didn’t explain what it meant.

Everything the Deacon said was wrapped in mystery and scripture. At first, I believed it all. The more he said, however, the more I saw the pattern: everything pointed to the Scudder and the Reverends. I started wondering what was true and what was false. After a while, I realized that there was one thing that lay under all he said: God, the Scudder, and the Reverends worked in mysterious ways, and we were not expected to understand, but only to obey. That was almost as frightening as the feeling I got whenever Deacon Jerome looked at Matthew or me.

If we failed to answer properly or quickly enough, Deacon Jerome would punish us. He made us pull up our robe to expose our bottoms, and then made us lie across his legs while he paddled us. But only with his hand, never with a whip, never with Gabriel’s hand. I wondered why, until I realized that neither Matthew nor I had scars from punishment: we’d never been beaten that severely, even at the Ranch. Matthew probably because he’d only been there a couple of months. Me? I wondered about that. But it was clear that we were not to be marked in any way. I remembered times when I had barely escaped punishment that I truly deserved, but which I didn’t receive. Why?

And why did I feel the way I did when Deacon Jerome paddled me? My penis felt tingly, and I knew my erection was pressing against the deacon’s leg. I was afraid that if he felt it, or saw it, I’d be punished more severely, and was careful to let my robe fall before I turned to face him.

Matthew had failed to recite properly a long passage about obedience, the one from Deuteronomy about how an unruly child should be stoned to death. I knew it, but the deacon wanted Matthew to say it.

“If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, and that, when they have chastened him, will not hearken to them: Then shall his father and the Reverend lay hold on him and bring him out to the gates of the city; and all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die. So shalt thou put evil away from among you.” Deuteronomy 21:18—21

The deacon was furious when Matthew failed the third time. He sat, and demanded, “Matthew! Assume the position for punishment.”

Matthew walked to where the deacon was sitting, stood to the right of the deacon’s legs, lifted his robe, and lay across the deacon’s lap. The deacon raised his hand. Before he struck, however, I felt the same tingling feeling in my tummy and penis I felt when the deacon paddled me. What is happening? Why do I feel this way?

Then, I felt something else. It was Matthew’s fear. I realized, then, that I was feeling both what the deacon felt, and what Matthew felt. I was afraid. How can I feel what someone else is feeling? How can I know what Matthew fears and what the deacon relishes? The only answer was that I was a witch, and witches were not allowed to live. I became even more afraid.

After the second week of training from Deacon Jerome and the fat men in green, we were told that we would start having training in the evenings, after supper.

“Your teachers will be boys a few years older than you,” Deacon Jerome said. “You will obey them as you obey me. They are servants of the Scudder and of the Reverends, and have been given authority over you. Do you understand?”

We’d had obedience to authority drilled into us. It didn’t take much thought to say, “Yes, Deacon Jerome.”