Excerpt
Placing the note on his desk he said,
“So, this is your first day at St. Julian’s and you seem to have managed to
turn the place inside out. Everything was peaceful here and was going
along just fine. In the village, you have a reputation for being disruptive,
and you think you’re going to bring that same attitude into this school.
Well, I can assure you you’re not.” And extending the note across the desk
to Ken, he said, “This note says ‘thrash this boy.’ So, I am going to do that
in the hope that we will never have to do it again. I want you to understand
that you must obey the rules here.”
“Take down your pants,” the headmaster ordered.
“I beg your pardon?” Ken said.
“I said, take down your pants and bend over that stool,” he said, picking
up a thin, flexible cane and giving it a few swings. It looked much like
a fly-fishing rod but the sections were bound with cord so that when it
whistled through the air the tip bent backwards, but when it made contact,
the tip curled around the object it was lacerating.
Ken did as he was told and as he bent over the stool he put himself into
a sort of dream. “I’m not going to let this affect me,” he promised himself.
“I’m just not going to allow it.”
The blows rained down on his bare buttocks leaving thin, raised welts.
Ken felt physical pain but it was as though the pain were being inflicted
on someone else. When the headmaster was done, he said, “There. Now I
hope we don’t have to do this again.”
A hush fell over the classroom as Ken entered and sat, his face expressionless.
“Maybe you’d like to come to the blackboard and try again,” the master
said. “And this time perhaps you will take this matter seriously.”
Ken walked to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk and drew an entire
flock of birds crashing into a brick wall. He drew one bird flying overhead.
“Ah, so we’re still being funny, are we?” the teacher said. “And what do
you suppose that means?”
Ken answered, “I think the point of this is that you want to have all the
people obeying foolishness so that everyone eventually will be crashing
into the wall. The one up here that is flying along – that’s me. I’m not
crashing into your wall.”
The master said nothing. He bent over his desk, wrote another note,
folded it and handed it to Ken. “Take this to the headmaster,” he said.
Ken knew what to expect this time. But, although the thrashing was
harder, he didn’t make a sound. When he returned to the classroom he
felt a fire burning in his stomach. If this was a war, the school had lost,
because anyone who had to resort to violence was already defeated. This
place that was supposed to impart higher education really had nothing to
do with learning. It thrived on brutality and fear.
Libros Libertad 