MEDIEVAL PUNISHMENT

This short story is from my book "A TIME AND PLACE The Making of an Immigrant." this story has been expanded and will be published as part of an e-book in the future. 

MEDIEVAL PUNISHMENT

Being a sickly youngster in the middle to late forties the American Red Cross sent me and many other children to summer camps. This story took place at the last camp I attended.

The boys slept in one large hall on single beds. After being told to get into bed, we were allowed to talk and swap stories with a neighbor for a few more minutes. However, the second the light was turned off, all words had to cease immediately resulting in total quiet.

My bed was near the front and close to the light switch. One night, the instant the lights went off, I, being in the middle of a sentence of some tale, finished my words one-second after dark. The counsellor called on me, made me get out of bed, grabbed my arm, and led me away.

I remember having to walk up one flight of stairs with wrought iron rails on the side. Once up at the chosen landing, the counsellor told me to wait there while he stepped into a room.

He returned shortly with a triangular split piece of firewood. He laid the wood on the floor, sharp edge up, and told me to kneel on it. Very adamantly, finger pointing at my face, he told me not to get off or make any loud noises for half an hour. He made sure my bare knees were squarely planted on it. He warned me not to rear back onto my haunches; if he caught me doing so, or getting off the log in any way, he’d make me stay on that sharp edge for an additional 30 minutes.

Outside of his room, there in the hall, no way to ease the unrelenting pain, I suffered. At first I thought I could tough it out. The only solace being that I truly despised that man. All the wishing that he would fall over dead did nothing to my pain and  agonizing mind. I slobbered and huffed in torment. . . .I heard a lady friend in the room with him. Sounds of pleasure and giggles came to my ears. I knelt there and faced the partially open door. I, a beaten slave.

Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes like hours. Suddenly the door sprang open. He checked on me with a smirk on his face. I must have been a pleasing sight, kneeling there, looking up, quiet tears streaming down my cheeks from the unbearable pain. Satisfied, he said nothing and went back to his room.

Frightened anew, the conviction to obey his orders, stabbed even deeper into my heart. I dare not get caught trying to ease the suffering.

How much time had elapsed since this horror began? . . . Did he keep track of time? . . . Will he remember me out here in the hall? . . . Does anybody love me? . . . Will this ever end? . . . God have mercy on me!