0300 Book 1 - 5. Chapter 5: The Reality of the Reverends

Chapter 5

The Reality of the Reverends

One of the men in green led us to a door, and knocked. I didn’t hear anything, but he must have. He opened the door and gestured for us to enter. He did not come in with us, but closed the door. There were a dozen boys in the room. I recognized some of them as boys we’d seen at the tables in the mess hall at lunch. Some were in robes, although theirs were belted. Others were in trousers and shirts, much like I had worn to Service when I was a child.

“They are pretty,” one boy whispered. He didn’t intend for us to hear him, but I heard him, anyway.

“Jealous?” asked another.

“They are younger than we were,” said a third.

“Quiet, all of you,” one who looked to be the oldest said. I saw a shadow on his upper lip where a moustache might someday grow. A lot of the Deputies had moustaches, and I wondered if this boy would someday be a Deputy.

“Remove your robes,” he said.

My eyes widened. He would see us naked. That was proscribed, although Matthew and I had been bathed together so often I’d almost forgotten that.

He sensed my hesitation. “Obedience!” he said. His voice was firm, but not loud. I felt that he was accustomed to being obeyed. Matthew and I quickly lifted the robes over our heads and stood before the dozen boys, naked. My penis rose; I was afraid to look at Matthew, but I did, anyway. He was stiff, too.

The boy with the shadow of a moustache reached toward me and wrapped his hand around my penis.

“No!” I said. “It is proscribed!” I tried to slap the boy’s hand away, but his grip was firm.

“No longer is it proscribed of you,” he said. “Nor is it proscribed of us. Do you not remember, The rod and reproof give wisdom, but a child left to himself bringeth himself to shame and death. Do you not remember that?”

“Yes, but . . . .” I didn’t know what else to say.

“This is the rod that will bring you wisdom,” he said. He took my penis between his thumb and forefinger, and moved his hand back and forth, pressing with his thumb on the underside. I felt something I’d never felt before. It felt good, my legs quivered, but still I was afraid.

Then, he knelt and as I watched, paralyzed, he took my penis in his mouth. My knees buckled and I would have fallen had I not grabbed his shoulders. The feelings I was experiencing were intense—and wonderful—but they were also frightening.

“Please,” I whispered. I caught my breath. “Please!”

The second boy, the one who had said we were beautiful, giggled. “Please, more? Or please stop?”

I looked at Matthew. His face was red, but his penis was still stiff. The second boy knelt in front of Matthew, but I could not watch them, for I felt as if my whole being was focused on my penis. A feeling grew in my tummy and rushed to my penis. I felt it jerking in the boy’s mouth. He ran his tongue around the end. This time when my knees failed to support me, I fell to the floor. My penis popped out of the boy’s mouth. When I could see, again, I looked at my penis. It was red and swollen! I was afraid.

Then I looked at Matthew. He seemed to be looking through the wall of the room at something only he could see. He had his hands on the head of the boy who was kneeling before him. He gave a little cry. The boy who knelt in front of him pulled his head back. There was a pop when Matthew’s penis slipped from the boy’s lips.

“That should show you what it would have taken much a long time to tell you,” the older boy said. “My name is Andrew. I am eldest and therefore the leader. You two are the youngest.”

I knew what that meant: we’d be their servants, at least while we were with them. I was wrong, however. Andrew picked up a thing with a wire and spoke into it. “We will have refreshment, now.”

Then he turned to Matthew and me. “Quickly, put on your robes. They need not have the privilege of seeing you naked.”

We’d no sooner put on robes when fat men in green arrived with trays of drink and cookies.

After they had left, I said to Andrew, “We have been taught that we must not look at another boy’s genitals, nor touch them—”

Andrew interrupted. “You will learn the story of the Centurion whose beloved boy-servant was ill. That boy was the Centurion’s catamite, yet he was healed by the Lord God in the person of His Son. If a man is of high enough rank, he may have a boy-servant, a catamite. That is a Mystery to which you this day have been admitted, and of which you must never speak.”

“Catamite?”

“A boy with whom the Centurion did that which we just did, and more which you will learn.”

“How can that and the Rules both be true?” I asked.

“That,” Andrew said, “is a Mystery known only to the Reverends, and they spend years and years studying before it is revealed to them. We are sworn to obedience, not to understanding.”

I felt something from Andrew, then. It seemed to be a yearning, but for what, I did not know.

“Are you going to be a Reverend, then?” I asked.

“No, I am going to join the Army, and soon.” He brushed his finger across his lip where I had seen the shadow of a moustache. “Soon I will be too old for most of the Reverends.”

Andrew talked to Matthew and me about what had been done to us. He explained how important it was that his teeth had never touched my penis. He talked about using his tongue around the ridge of the end of my penis, which he called the corona. He spoke of how long my penis was, and how he was able to draw all of it into his mouth.

“You are boys, and your penises are the size of a boy’s penis. You will find that the penises of others, older than you, are larger. You will learn . . .”

Then, it was my turn. Andrew stood, naked, before me. His penis was huge! A full hand-and-a-half long, and two thumbs thick. I knelt, and opened my mouth. I shuddered, but only for a moment. There was something fascinating about what I was about to do.

They hadn’t warned me, and I couldn’t raise my head as something hot, sweet, and salty pushed into my throat, into my mouth. I could not swallow fast enough, and it oozed past my lips.

Something in me wanted to keep sucking—something primordial—but Andrew slapped me, hard. “Stop sucking as soon as the Reverend evacuates his seed!” he said. “If you keep sucking, it can hurt. Wait until the Reverend signals you, and then suck out the rest of the evil. If any spills, you must lick it up.”

A few feet from me, Matthew looked at the boy who had sucked his penis. The boy removed his robe, and stepped toward Matthew. Matthew knelt. He knew what was expected, and took the boy’s penis in his mouth. After a short time, the boy cried out. He threw back his head and closed his eyes. Matthew must have remembered what Andrew had said, and let the boy’s penis slide out of his mouth.

The boy’s penis jerked a couple of times, and his seed splattered on Matthew’s face. The boy leaned forward, and Matthew took his penis back into his mouth.

“That is the seed that you must remove from the Reverends.” Andrew handed us a warm, wet cloth with which to wipe our faces. When we finished, he gestured, and we put the cloth on a tray.

“You, too, will create cursed seed when you are older, as I did,” Andrew told us.

Is this what Deacon Jerome meant when he said men created evil seed? I wasn’t sure I understood. That which was created within the Reverends, and within the rest of us, was evil? I remembered the story of Adam and Eve, and the serpent. Still, I wondered. The Lord God creates us with sin?

I asked Andrew about that. He did not understand my question, I think, for he said only, “We, and now you, are holy vessels. We are pure. It is within us and others like us that the Reverends’ seed is purified.”

“Others. You mean the girls?”

Andrew nodded. “The girls you see in the refectory are also holy vessels.”

“Why don’t we see you at breakfast, or in the evening?” I asked.

“We are allowed to sleep late. All of us, not only those who serviced . . . served the Reverends the previous night. And, it is during the cocktail hour that the Reverends make their selections,” Andrew replied. “We are fed in our quarters, afterwards.”

“Cocktail hour?”

“You will learn.”

The next morning, as customary, we sat in the room with the table and the Bible until Deacon Jerome entered.

He opened the Bible and looked at us. “You have had your first lesson. Here is the basis in scripture. Matthew, Chapter 8, tells the story of a Centurion’s beloved boy-servant who was healed by the Lord in the Person of his Son.”

He read, “But when Yeshua enter Kapermahum, a certain Centurion approached him and he prayed to him. And he said, ‘My Lord, my beloved boy-servant is lying in the house and is paralyzed and he is badly tormented.’ Yeshua said to him, ‘I will come and heal him.’”

Beloved boy-servant. That’s what Andrew called a catamite. And that is what we will become? Today, Deacon Jerome has given the Lord’s blessing to what we will become, to what we will do, and to what will be done to us. That was all I could think of. That, and my fear for Matthew. Oh, Matthew! That the story should be told by the Apostle whose name you bear!

Then, Deacon Jerome surprised us. “You will have your hair cut, today.”

While we were at lunch, I looked at the tables with the boys and girls. I looked at them through eyes opened to what had been done to them. I felt their fear, their hatred for the Reverends, and—in some of them—curiosity about Matthew and me.

After lunch, we followed the deacon to a room where several men sat in a row of chairs. They all stood when the deacon entered. He seemed happy at that, and gestured for them to return to their seats. I think a couple of them frowned when they saw Matthew and me, but that happened so quickly, I wasn’t sure.

It was a long room, with mirrors on each of the long sides. In addition to the chairs in which the men sat, there were three larger chairs. Behind each of these stood a man in a green robe. They were cutting the hair of the men in the big chairs.

A man in a green robe cut our hair. He told Matthew to sit in a big chair and then wrapped a sheet around his neck. By now, Matthew’s hair reached half-way down his back. Deacon Jerome ran his hands through Matthew’s hair, and gave the man instructions. When the man finished, Matthew’s hair hung over his forehead nearly to his eyes. On the sides, it came about halfway down his ears; in the back, it hung about halfway down his neck.

Matthew saw himself in the mirror, looked at me, and smiled. I don’t think Deacon Jerome saw—but I’m pretty sure the man in green did. My gut tightened. Even smiling at another boy was dangerous, especially now.

When it was my turn, Deacon Jerome and the man in green had a long talk about my hair. It is unruly and curly, and was not going to hang straight like Matthew’s. The man in green suggested cutting it close to the head—like I remembered Andrew’s to be. Deacon Jerome raised his voice. “No! That hair is the fire of the Holy Spirit that has found a place in this boy.”

Oh, no! The Holy Spirit is in me? But that cannot happen without a laying on of hands! What does he mean?

There had been a laying on of hands at the Ranch, when one of the Deputies was ordained.

“Witness the fire of the Holy Spirit!” the Sheriff cried from the pulpit.

“We are witness to the fire of the Holy Spirit!” a thousand boys’ voices echoed.

“Witness the fire of the Holy Spirit!” the Sheriff cried, again.

“We are witnesses to the fire of the Holy Sprit,” we answered.

The litany continued. Several Deputies stood around the Deputy who was being ordained. They all held their hands toward Heaven. The Sheriff cried his call again; we responded. And again. Over and over. Then, the Sheriff said, “Here is the fire of the Holy Spirit!”

The Deputies surrounding that one to be ordained dropped their hands upon his head. There was a long silence.

I didn’t see anything, but a couple of the boys said they could see fire coming from Heaven when it happened. Should I ask Deacon Jerome about that? I wondered, and decided not.

The man in green cut my hair so that my head was covered with a mass of red curls. Actually, I thought when I saw myself in the mirror, this looks pretty good. I didn’t look at Matthew, because I was afraid he’d smile again.

“You went to the barber, and got haircuts,” Andrew said when we arrived at the boys’ quarters that evening.

“Barber?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah,” one of the boys said. “The barbers. The ones who cut.”

That evening, the lesson in fellatio was repeated with different boys. “You must not become attached to anyone,” Andrew said. “It will be used against you.”

I remembered that Matthew and I had been told we would take this journey together. Was that over? Were Matthew and I to be separated? I was afraid.

“But Matthew and I—we were told we would be together!” I said.

Andrew looked at me as if I were something slimy that had fallen from someone’s nose onto his supper plate. “And you believed that?” he said, and then turned away.

Later, while we washed down the taste of the boys’ seed with lemonade and salty crackers, Matthew told Andrew, “I don’t like the fat men. I don’t like it when they fondle my genitals in the bath, and I don’t like the way they look at me. Who are they, and how come they get to do that?”

“They’re the castrati . . . men who had their testicles cut off when they were boys.”

Matthew paled; I suspect I did, as well. Matthew’s mouth opened in an O.

“They don’t ever grow beards, and they can’t get an erection,” Andrew said. “And if you don’t like what they’re doing, tell them to stop. They’re supposed to obey us. If they don’t, tell me, and I’ll tell a Reverend, and they’ll be punished.”

“Are we going to be like them?” I asked.

“No. Well, not unless you’re found to be imperfect,” Andrew said.

“Imperfect? What does that mean?”

Andrew shrugged. “Only the Reverends know. To protect yourself, you must obey, you must smile, and you must make them want you.”

Over the next few weeks, Andrew and the other boys showed us many ways to make the Reverends want us.

There were different boys in the group each evening. The boys we met, the boys who trained us, were the ones not chosen to be servants to the Reverends that night. On one evening when Andrew was there, I asked, “When will Matthew and I . . . .” I couldn’t complete the question, but Andrew understood.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It is unusual for you to be separate for so long. It is unusual for Deacon Jerome to teach you. It is unusual for you to be bathed every day by the eunuchs—the castrati.”

He paused as if in thought. “I expect that it will not be until I say you are ready, unless one of the Reverends sees you and asks for you sooner.”

My stomach felt icy. “Or a Deacon?” I asked.

“Deacon Jerome,” Andrew said. I simply nodded.

“Maybe,” was all Andrew could offer.

I think it was then that my hatred of Deacon Jerome solidified. He was the reason we were being treated differently. He wanted Matthew; I could feel it. But Matthew was so much younger than any of the other boys. Even I, at nine, was younger than the others. I hated Deacon Jerome, but I also feared him.

* * * * *

I will not describe what happened the next few evenings except to say that we were shown how to clean ourselves. Then began the preparation to accept the penis of a Reverend in our arse. The preparation, we were told, would take weeks. Our anuses were to be stretched to accommodate a man’s penis—one even larger than Andrew’s. No, even now, I cannot easily talk about it.

The boys’ comments, afterward, did not help.

“Some boys like having a penis inserted into their arse. They find the feeling soothing and in some cases exciting. They may get an erection. They may even come to orgasm. This is natural, and is permitted by most of the Reverends. Sometimes, however, a Reverend will not like the boy to become excited or experience pleasure,” Andrew said.

“Most of the Reverends like to fuck you from the back, while you’re on your knees. That’s best for you, because it usually hurts less, and they’re less likely to see if you get an erection, yourself,” one of the boys explained.

“Always let the Reverend decide what he wants and how he wants it,” another said. “Most want you to start out sucking them, then most of them want to fuck you. They feel more like they’re in control, then.”

In control? They’re completely in control, I thought. We have no choice except not to suck them too much, and we’ve been warned about that!

“Some of them want you to have an orgasm, to cum. Some don’t. The ones that don’t will punish you of you do. The ones that do, will punish you if you don’t.”

“How do we know—” I tried to ask, but Andrew shushed me.

“There is no way to tell—at least, none we’ve found out,” he said. “It’s another thing to remember, and to tell the others. Maybe, this understanding will spare one of the boys from being whipped.”

Another of the boys continued. “A few of them will take our seed into themselves to purify. It is a great sacrifice on their part, and a great honor. If a Reverend wants to take your seed, of course you will let him. And, you will thank him.”

“Some of the younger Reverends will want to kiss you. The older ones usually, not. We’ll start lessons on kissing, tomorrow.”

“The only persons with whom you will do these things are the Reverends. Except now, while you are in training. It is still death if you are found doing them with another boy. Except while you are in training.”

That night, I heard Matthew crying. I crossed to his bed and sat on the edge. “Matthew? What’s the matter?”

He sat up and wrapped his arms around me. “Hamish! I love you! I want to do those things with you to show you how much I love you, but we must not!”

Love? I wondered. Matthew says he loves me. What is love, and how can we love here? I knew about love from Service.

There is no fear in love, for perfect love casteth out fear. I remembered that. But Matthew and I could not love one another without fear.

Love not the world neither the things that are in the world. I remembered that one, too. Matthew was in and of the world. I could not love him.

That’s what I remembered. However, something else seemed to take over my mind and my tongue. “Matthew, I love you. I know that is proscribed, and that we must not show that love, but know forever that I do love you.”

Our declaration, coming as it did from two different ways of expression, gave us little consolation. Matthew wanted to do sex things with me, and convinced Andrew that we should practice together, at least occasionally. I did not object; however, when Matthew wanted to go beyond this, I was adamant. He pouted; he cried. I remained adamant. That we stayed in love surely meant that our love was real.

In the morning, Deacon Jerome continued our religious education. He read from the Bible.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” he read. “That is from Exodus 22:18.” He flipped the pages to another bookmark, and read again.

I was afraid. Does he know I am a witch? Does he know I can hear with others think?

“ ‘Regard not them that have familiar spirits, neither seek after wizards, to be defiled by them.’ That is from Leviticus 19:31.

“ ‘A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall be stoned with stones, their blood shall be upon them.’ We are told this in Leviticus 20:27.”

I was afraid, but I had to know the answer. I raised my hand. When he nodded, I spoke. “Deacon Jerome, please sir, what is a witch? What is a wizard? What is a familiar spirit?”

I thought I’d asked too much, because Deacon Jerome frowned. Then, he said, “You are not the first boys I have taught; you are the first to ask questions.”

He seemed to think for a minute before he answered. “A witch is a woman; a wizard is a man. Both have turned their faces away from the Lord God, and sought the power of the Devil—Lucifer. In return for the promise of their immortal souls, Lucifer will give them powers: the power to curse and the power to see into the minds of the godly.”

He paused, and then continued. “A familiar spirit is usually a cat, sometimes an owl, that accompanies the witch or wizard. It is inhabited by a demon who aids the witch or wizard, but who also watches them on behalf of Lucifer.”

He stopped talking. I waited, but it seemed as if he were finished. “Thank you, Deacon Jerome,” I ventured. He nodded.

I was afraid. I knew I could see into the minds of others. Matthew was the easiest, but his thoughts were also the strongest. And, we were the closest bonded. Deacon Jerome was easy to see into, too. He thought so hard about what he wanted. He wanted Matthew. He wanted to do sex things with Matthew. But he knew he couldn’t, at least not yet. I could not see deeply enough to know why not.

That night on the televisor we watched as a man was tied to a post. Men, serfs by their dress, stacked wood around the man and the post until the pile of wood reached the man’s knees. A serf poured liquid onto the wood. It was then that my memory returned. I had seen this, before. I had seen and asked my father why they would pour water onto the wood. My father had simply told me to hush, to watch, and to learn.

The liquid wasn’t water. It was probably naphtha, like we used in lamps. I remembered watching when a torch was put to the pile of wood; I remembered the man’s screams as the flames crawled quickly toward him. I remembered. . .

I turned the televisor off.

“What? Why did you—” Matthew began.

“Because I don’t want your dreams to be as dark as mine,” I said. “They’re going to burn him alive. You should know that, in case Deacon Jerome asks. But you should not have to see it.”

The next morning, Deacon Jerome asked if we had any questions about the punishment on the televisor. I knew better than to ask, but was afraid for Matthew. Please don’t ask! Please say nothing! I begged. Matthew must have heard me, for he was silent.

When neither of us spoke, Jerome opened the Bible and read, “If a man abide not with God and the Reverends, he is cast forth as a branch, and men gather them and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.”

He closed the Bible. “That lesson comes to us from John 15:6. John was the gentle disciple. The soft one. The one who would tolerate more sin than the others. Yet he says that the Lord through His Son said that unbelievers would be burned.

“The man on the televisor last night was burned because he would not abide with God and the Reverends. He was burned as a witness to his disobedience to the Word of God. He was burned to send him to Hell where he will burn forever.”

I wondered what would be the punishment for a wizard.

The teachings seemed to be all about punishment. On the next morning, Deacon Jerome read, “Jehoiakim son of Josiah King of Judah shall be buried with the burial of an ass, drawn and cast forth beyond the gates of Jerusalem.” He closed the Bible. “That is the Prophet Nehemiah’s warning in Chapter 22.”

He looked at me. “Yes, Hamish?”

“Sir, what’s drawn?”

“A punishment greatly to be feared,” Jerome said. “To have the genitals cut off and then the entrails removed, as is done for the Sin of Gluttony. Surely, you have seen that.”

I’d seen on the televisor people whose stomach were cut, and their intestines pulled out, to be burned. I knew what he meant. I wanted to upchuck, but I managed to nod thanks. “Yes, Deacon Jerome.”

Fortunately, that was enough.

“And those who do not live as the Reverends say shall go away into eternal punishment, but those who serve the Reverends shall enter into life eternal.” Deacon Jerome looked up from the Bible. “The Lord in the person of His Son said these words, which are written in Matthew 25:46. The lesson is obedience.”

That afternoon, the man in green—the castrati—who had given us the secret about branch really being water, began new lessons in how to speak properly to a Reverend, the right words to use and words not to use. I felt his concern for us. He wanted to protect us. Emboldened by this knowledge, I asked him, “Sir, may we know your name?”

I read his surprise and also a feeling of warmth. “My name is John,” he said. “I was named for the John of Patmos, who wrote the book of Revelation.”

Matthew and I must have looked puzzled, because he added, “It is the book of the Bible that tells of the End Times, of the things that will happen when the Lord in the Person of His Son returns to destroy evil and rule the Earth for Eternity, with the Reverends as his co-rulers. It is not something usually taught to serfs.”

He then said, “Please do not be offended by that word—serfs. You were, but you have risen above that station. I was, and I rose above that station.”

“What is station?” Matthew asked.

“Station is where we stand on the Great Chain of Being,” he said. “That, too, is not part of the training of serfs except that they are lower than Deputies and Sheriffs, and that Reverends are the closest to God. I am a Teacher, which is below Deputy but above Serf.”

“What station are we?” I asked.

“You are Holy Vessels. Once you begin your duties, you will be higher than anyone save Deputies, Sheriffs, and Reverends.”

“And Deacons?” I asked.

“Deacon Jerome,” he said.

I nodded.

“Deacon Jerome stands with the Reverends. That is all I can say.”

I felt the man’s fear, and did not try to force him to speak.

Our lesson the next morning was also about punishment—and retribution. “ ‘The days of punishment are come, the days of retribution are come. Let all realize it. The man who would say otherwise is a fool; the man who denies it is mad,’ ” Deacon Jerome said, “That is from the Prophet Hosea, Chapter 9, verse 7.”

Deacon Jerome said little about that verse. I wondered, What are the days of punishment and retribution? Is he speaking to Matthew and me?

In the afternoons, different men in green taught us to sing. We started with the songs from service. Then, they taught us new songs. They were mostly songs of praise to the Reverends, but some had words we did not understand. As time passed, it seemed to me that the songs became more and more—aggressive, was the best word, I thought. “Onward Scudder’s Soldiers,” made me think of my dream to be in the Army—and Andrew’s belief that he would soon be a soldier. “A Mighty Fortress” made me wonder against whom the Reverends—or God—would need to build a fortress. I thought about the songs I’d learned at home: songs about God’s love, about the Reverend’s protection, and about how we were all part of the Family of God. I wondered why we were being taught something different.

Deacon Jerome looked sad. Then, he read from Lamentations: the sad book. “ ‘Your fathers have sinned, and are no more; therefore, we bear the burden of their iniquities.’ That is from Lamentations 5:7. You understand, don’t you, that since Adam sinned, and since Eve sinned, we are all, male and female, cursed?”

We’d been hammered with original sin since we were children. Matthew and I nodded. He seemed to want an answer. “Yes, Deacon Jerome,” we both said.

“ ‘Thy own ways and thy own doings also have brought punishment onto you. This is thy wickedness—it is bitter, and reaches into thine heart.’ So said Jeremiah in Chapter 4, Verse 18. The Holy Ghost, and the Reverends through the Gift of the Spirit, can see your sins.”

He’s not a Reverend, so he can’t see our sin, our sin of loving one another, I thought as Matthew and I both shivered. Why were we learning these things? I wondered.

That night, in a dream, it came to me. I woke, shivering, and sat up in the darkness. The Reverends know the story of the centurion’s catamite. But it was about a loving relationship. But, they use it to justify rape, for what they do to the boys and girls is surely rape. There’s no love in it. They don’t think we’ll figure out the lie but if we do, they make sure we know all about punishment!

I had tried to count the days, but found I forgot easily. I think we had been in this place for about a hundred days when, one Sabbath evening, I turned off the televisor just as the lock snapped and the door opened. Deacon Jerome stood in the doorway. “You.” He pointed to Matthew. “Come with me.”