Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 8

The house was as silent as a tomb when I got up. It was six a.m. and I wanted to give myself plenty of time preparing my appearance, to give a good impression when I applied at the auto plant.
Soaking the wash cloth in steaming hot water, and holding it against my face like I had seen my dad do when he wanted to get a particularly close shave, I felt my life was about to take a new direction. The stubble gathered in a narrow ring around the top of the water in the sink, as I rinsed the razor between each new swath.
Outside the bathroom door, I heard the muffled sound of someone in slippers. I glanced down to check the door was locked and looked back at my clean shaven face.
"Johnny...is that you kid?"
"Yes Aggie. What do you want?"
"Let me in for a minute. I just want to see you."
Unlocking the door, I opened it slightly. There she stood in her faded chenille bathrobe, a net stretched over the curlers in her hair.
"Aggie, I've got lots to do, and not much time to do it."
"Please kid."
"Well okay."
I opened the door further and let her in. In the bright light of the bathroom she squinted, and yawned. She smiled sleepily, and felt my smooth chin.
"Nice...like a baby's bottom."
Wetting my hands, I rubbed them through my hair, and began combing myself.
"I only wanted to wish you luck...and don't get mad for me asking, but I just wondered if there was anything I could do to help."
"I'm not mad Aggie. I appreciate the way you look after me. I really do. There's one thing you could do, if you don't mind."
"Name it kid. You know how I get such a bang outa doin things for you."
"I was going to press my pants. But if you wanted to do it, it would sure help me."
"I'll look after it. I'm making a big breakfast for you. You're gonna be a working man now. You'll need lots of nourishment."
Touching my bare back as she left the room, she slid her hand across it slowly, sending goose pimples up the sides of my chest and arms.
By the time we finished breakfast it was seven thirty, and she caught me looking at the alarm clock on the cupboard.
"Cool it Johnny. Those white collar guys don't start work until nine. You've got loads of time. More coffee?"
Pushing my cup towards her I began daydreaming. It was difficult to believe I had only been living here for six weeks. Looking around the kitchen, I saw her old gas stove, thick with accumulated carbon. Aggie didn't pride herself on her
housekeeping skills, although she was a very good cook. A crumpled dish towel hid the base of the milk bottle, with its white drip tracing down its side. I sipped slowly on the steaming coffee.
"They'll take you. I'm willing to bet on it. By the time you come back tonight, you'll already have done a day's work."
"I sure hope so. I'll feel a lot better once I've paid you back."
"It's not just the money that's bothering you kid. You just don't like to take something for nothing. You'll make me feel better when you pay, cuz I know that's what you want."
"Ten to eight. Is that the right time?"
"Right on. I set it with the radio last night. Stop fidgeting. You don't want to let them see you fidget. Go in there and show them how much you're willing to learn. You're gonna make it kid. I know that for sure."
My thoughts drifted back to our kitchen in Brewster. All the other children had gone to school and dad had left for work. There was just me and mom. She had kept me home to treat a cold. We were having breakfast together, and I was enjoying being alone with her. I loved my mother very much.
"Sure you've had enough to eat?"
For a second Aggie sounded like my mother.
"Yeah...it was great. Thanks again Aggie. God it's eight already. I better get started. Don't want to be late my first day."
The crisp winter air felt good on my Smooth shaven face as I walked briskly to the auto plant. Bus after bus passed me, carrying the factory workers. At the gate. I entered through the guardhouse with the other employees.
"Hey kid...You. Where's your badge?"
"I'm here to apply for a job. Where do I go?"
"Ihat red building over there. Go to the back, and up the stairs. That's the personnel office. They'll look after you."
There were several chairs along the wall of a narrow corridor opposite glass partitioned cubicles. A janitor was busy emptying waste baskets and sweeping the hallway. I sat down under the industrial mural that covered the wall behind the chairs. No one else had arrived looking for work.
At five to nine, the entrance door opened, and an attractive young woman in her early twenties greeted the janitor and smiled at me. Soon the offices began to fill up, and the chairs on both sides of me were taken by guys wanting jobs. Men began lining up in front of the reception desk, and I began to feel I was being squeezed out of my chance to get a job.
"You over there. Yes you. You were here first." It was the lovely young girl who had smiled at me.
"Fill out this card and take it into office number one, Mr. Forest."
Completing the card I took it to the office which was empty. In another cubicle, two men were talking and one nodded when he saw me. Mr. Forest returned to his office and took my card and offered me a chair.
"John Martindale...seventeen. Soon going to be eighteen. No previous experience. You'll have to pass a medical Mr. Martindale."
"Is there something wrong.?"
"Not at all. Just routine. Our doctor checks you for rupture and things like that. Take your card down to the end of the hall and turn left. You'll see a sign that says 'Clinic'. After that, if everything's okay, you come back here and I'll see where I can use you."
Walking down the hall I noticed all the cubicles were full. I hoped I would get a job before they ran out. A stout nurse, wearing glasses greeted me when I entered the clinic. Soon she had me standing in front of one of the factory medics in my shorts.
"Have you had any operations?"
"Just tonsi1s."
"Accidents?"
"Broke my leg once when I fell out of a tree."
"Which leg?"
"This one, the right leg."
He felt around the muscle and had me raise it.
"Ever been ruptured?"
"Not that I know of."
He pressed the hollow on each side of my groin and had me cough. I was given a bottle for a urine specimen. It took the nurse another twenty minutes to complete some forms which I took back to Mr. Forest.
"That didn't take long."
He opened the envelope and studied the contents.
"No problems here. You must understand, since you haven't had any previous experience, your job possibilities are limited. I've got four places I could start you, and maybe in a few months, you could apply for a transfer."
"Does that mean you're hiring me?"
"Sure does. You'll start at $1.10 an hour, and you'll get an extra nickel an hour when you go on the midnight shift."
He had selected me to work in plant one as a stock chaser. Handing me a factory badge, and a safety pamphlet, he told me to return to the receptionist for further instructions.
"Congratulations. I'm glad you made it."
She took the card from me and read the instructions.
"Plant one is across the street, the long building beside the river. Report to the guard at the gate. He'll look after you."
"Thanks again."
Leaving the personnel office I looked back at the receptionist. I could see her lips were wishing me good luck. The guard had me wait outside his guardhouse until I saw an elderly man walking towards me. He was balding, wearing a shop apron,
shiny from use. He looked at my badge and extended his hand.
"K817...I'm Red Corfield. Welcome aboard."
"I'm John Martindale, Mr. Corfield."
"Just call me Red. All the guys do. I suppose everyone calls you Marty."
"That suits me fine."
We entered the bowels of the complex that roared with the grinding, clanking, pounding machines, that shaped the various parts of the automobile. He had to shout over all the noise to make himself heard.
"Helluva racket. But you'll get used to it. By tonight your arse will be drag in' and you'll still hear the pounding in your ears. Then suddenly, without actually realizing it, the pounding stops, and the noise doesn't bother you any more."
He took me to the time keeper to get a card issued and showed me where my card would be located in the rack.
"There's one thing you gotta be careful about. In this business time is money. If you're more than three minutes late, they nail you for fifteen minutes pay. If it's fifteen minutes, they get you for a half hour. The same is true when you punch out at quitting time. You punch out too early, you're gonna lose money. They got you coming and goin."
A shrill whistle pierced the thunderous roar of background noise and Red and I went to a protected area outdoors to have our lunch. It was cold, but refreshing after being inside the hot plant. Soon several other workers joined us. Some had greasy clothes; others looked like displaced white collar workers, all had prison pallor complexions. Most of them ate in silence. Some didn't eat at all.
"How come those guys aren't eating?"
"They munch sandwiches while they're working. The company doesn't like it, but they haven't been able to stop it. This way they get a chance to have a snooze. You might even do it yourself after you're here awhile."
"How long you been here?"
"Seventeen years. Started before the war. I was too old to fight, but I wasn't too old to work. They were crying for guys then."
"That's a long time."
"Not really. If I wasn't here I'd be working someplace else. A guys gotta live. It's not such a bad job. Things are a helluva lot better since we got the union. By the way Marty you'd be smart to join too."
"Do you have too?"
"No. It's not compulsory yet. We're trying' to get it that way. But you gotta take what you can get. Know what I mean."
"You make it sound like I might have a tough time if I don't join."
"Smart kid. That's what happens. Us union guys look after our brothers. You're goin to be okay kid."
The whistle blasted again when the half hour was up. Sleepy forms rose from the concrete surface and wandered back to their machines. Red took me on a tour of the plant. As a stock chaser I would have to know where the major departments were located. It was my job to deliver parts and supplies to the various sections. It meant knowing the parts depot as well. The orders were given to me, and I would pick up the parts on a push cart and deliver them on foot to the appropriate department. It was a very tiring job.
By the end of my shift, I was exhausted. I must have walked miles, pushing tons of metal on my cart. The constant battering of the machines had also worn me down. The whistle ending the shift came as a welcomed pardon from this dismal cavern. Throngs of workers ran to the time clock when the final whistle sounded. I hadn't seen any of them move so quickly on company time. It was as if that sudden burst had given all of us a new lease on life.
Trudging wearily back to Aggie's, I was glad I didn't have to fight for a place on the many busses which lined up in front of the factory gate at quitting time. I stopped at the Cosmo, and read the menu again. Sounded terrific. Not much longer now. Two weeks, and I'd have my first pay check, and I was going to pay Aggie everything I owed her, then I was going to splurge.
As always, Aggie heard me come in. "Well, was I right, or was I right? Didn't I say you'd get in a day's work today? Didn't I say it?"
"You sure did Aggie. I got the ,job."
"This calls for a celebration."
"God no. Just let me hit that bed. I'm whipped."
"I still want to do something nice for you. Why not get some sleep, and when you get up, we'll go to the Cosmo, and I'll treat you to the best food you've ever had."
"Sounds great. Call me in a couple of hours. If I don't wake up, keep shouting. There's such a loud noise in my head I feel like I've gone deaf."
The bed felt wonderful. The pit in the centre pulled the pillow in around my ears and deadened the noise which continued to pound. How the hell could guys spend their lives working in a place like that. I knew for sure this wasn't going to be my fate.
At the bottom of the pit, the noise stopped. I was asleep.

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Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 7

The watchman at the gate told me Christmas week was stock taking time in the auto plant. A small staff of senior employees were taking inventory during the holiday season, while most of the workers were using the time off as part of their vacation. Applications were not being taken at this time. Seeing I was disappointed. he assured me I'd stand a good chance of being hired after the men got back to work.
"How about the other factories, the steel plant, and that place that stinks so much, where they make chemicals?"
"Same all over. Except for those who are paid extra to do the inventory, all the guys get time off at Christmas. But if you're looking for a factory job, take my advice. Try here first. The auto plants pay the best, and they really look after their guys."
"Thanks."
As I walked away, I glanced back over my shoulder at the plant. The factory was located on the river front. A conglomeration of bluish black piles of coal, and pale yellow pyramids of sand, and several large crates of varying sizes filled up the outdoor storage area, enclosed by high fences, topped with barbed wire. It looked more like a prison compound, than an industrial complex.
I took my time walking back to Aggie's, about five blocks away. Stopping in front of the Cosmo Hotel, a favourite eatery of the working crowd, I read the smorgasbord menu; prime rib roast, succulent milk fed pig, barbecued spareribs, Polish sausage,deep fried pickerel with shoestring potatoes.My mouth watered so much, part of the drool began to freeze on my lips. It was those days when you could have all you could eat for $2.50. Searching around in my pocket, I pulled out my last quarter.Reluctantly I left the vision of all that great sounding food and headed for home. I hated to face Aggie with the disappointing news, but I had no choice.
As I entered the dark hallway, I could see she had left her door partly opened. She rushed into the hall, before I could make it to my room. "Well. What's the good news?"
"No luck Aggie."
"They turned you down?"
"They're closed for stock taking over the holidays. Won't be hiring until after the new year."
"Damn it. .I knew that. Wonder why I didn't think of it."
"Sorry Aggie. Got to ask you to wait a little longer for your rent."
"Do I look worried?"
She followed me to my room, and closed the door behind her. "Kinda tough eh kid?"
"Sure is."
Digging into the wide pocket in the apron she was wearing, she pulled out a five dollar bill and handed it to me.
"Here. I want you to have it."
"Thanks Aggie...but no thanks. You've helped me enough already."
"Come on take it. I'm not giving it to you. It's a loan until you get back to work. Besides, I think you're kinda cute."
With this said, she left my room.
Unzipping my jacket, I draped it over a chair, and dropped onto the ridiculous mattress which was so body worn. It was like Aggie, lots of miles on it, but it still gave some comfort. The way it sank in the middle, there was the uncomfortable feeling that once swallowed up by it, you might suffocate. It was the same feeling I was getting with Aggie's forced affection. I wanted it to stop. I wanted to start taking responsibility for my relationships. Being financially destitute. I didn't want to say anything to Aggie which would,jeopardize my survival.
During the following week I tried to avoid her as much as possible. She was still feeding me, and made no effort to get the rent. I hated this feeling of obligation. She could sense I was avoiding her.
"What the hell's happened kid? You're avoiding me like I had a dose or something."
"It's not you Aggie. It's this whole set up. I just can't be happy depending on you for everything."
"Have I ever complained?"
"No...never. That's part of it though. Honestly Aggie I feel like I'm your kept man."
"Jesus H Christ. It's that goddamned conscience of your's again ain't it?"
"I've tried Aggie. But it's no use. As much as I've enjoyed being with you. I can't stop feeling that the whole thing is wrong."
"You gotta give it time Johnny. You don't change like this over night. I can wait. All I ask, is that you let me help you."
"That's another thing I've got to change. I've got to start doing things for myself. Aggie please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't want your help anymore."
The colour drained out of her face. Suddenly she began to look like the other deadbeat women who filled this big house.
"Don't want my help anymore...who the hell do you think you are. talking to me like that? Have I ever asked you for anything?"
"Aggie...you don't ask. You...just take. People have been taking me all my life, and it's got to stop."
Instead of getting angry, her face lit up again, and she placed her hands on my shoulders.
"See. I told you it would work. For once you're getting it off your chest. You're getting things under control just like ,you want. That's no reason to get rid of me. We're friends aren't we Johnny?"
"Yes, we're friends Aggie, but I think we've got to keep it at that."
"So we're right back to dirty old sex again. Well I don't care what you've told your narrow little mind. You enjoyed it as much as I did. I'm no retard. I know when a man's turned on, and I know what to do about it, and believe me kid, I gave you my best."
"Aggie please, don't take this the wrong way."
"Take your hands off me. For two cents I'd tell you to screw off. But I'm not like that. I said I'd help, you until you get settled on your own, and I keep my word. But you better believe it kid, you've hurt me more than you'll ever know."
I felt sorry for Aggie. She needed love desperately. She let me put my arms around her.
"I think you're a wonderful lady Aggie. Really I do. I just want you to know how badly I've been feeling because I can't repay you for all your loving kindness."
"Just being here is all I ask of you Johnny. I just want you to stay."
"I have no intention of running out on you..."
She retaliated with a deep sexual kiss. Poor, unfortunate, Aggie. She thought this was the only way to keep me. I didn't let it get out of hand this time. I told her I was going out, and I did.
It was Saturday evening, and the January sales were on. I roamed around downtown, watching the milling crowds hugging the buildings in sheep-like lines, to avoid the splashing slush of passing cars.
Standing in front of Kresges's, I watched the people waiting at the counters in Harold's, exchanging Christmas gifts. The old man allowed exchanges, but he wouldn't give anyone refunds. From across the street, I could see the shiny black hair of Judy at the perfume counter. I'd love to talk to her again, but I didn't know what would happen if I went back into that store.
A young girl, holding a religious tract, wearing a cloth coat and colourful kerchief, stood in a doorway of the dime' store. As I slowly walked past her she spoke.
"Would you like to know how you can have Christ as your personal saviour?"
She had a pleasant voice and an inviting smile.
"And if I do, what's in it for me?"
"You will spend all eternity in Heaven with him. You can be one of the chosen."
"Are you one of the chosen?"
"If it's God's will."
"You really believe there's a God?"
"Certainly. Everyone should believe in God."
A small group of nine or ten people were gathering, listening to our exchange. I could see the young zealot was beginning to feel uneasy. I was very bitter about my religious experience at Amston, and I still resented Aggie's exploitation of my dependence. I found myself wanting to ridicule this young girl, to get even with the whole system which had caused me so much grief.
"I suppose you also believe everything that's in the bible?"
"Of course I do. The bible is the revealed Word of God."
"Then how can you say you believe in God, when the bible says there is no God."
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Of course you don't. You and your kind are programmed to spout pat answers, but when it comes to debating a religious issue, you show your ignorance."
Our audience was wondering what I was getting at. More people had stopped to listen to me. It felt good saying these things. A policeman approached when he saw we were blocking the entrance to Kresges's.
"All right you. Move along. I don't want any trouble on my beat."
"I'm not going anywhere. I have as much right to stand here and spout my beliefs as she does."
The girl eased her way through the crowd, and went further up the street, and stopped in front of another building. One of the spectators urged me to follow her and continue my debate. The crowd came along with me.
"Don't you want to hear the rest of my argument?"
"Please. I'm not here to argue. I just want to give people the message of Christ. If you don't want to be helped, I won't help you."
"Jesus Christ. Everybody wants to help me. Let me help you for a change. You said you believed in the bible, and I say the bible says there is no God."
"I'm not familiar with that text."
"Of course not. The quotation says, 'The fool has said in his heart, there is no God'. Changes the meaning doesn't it?"
"Yes it does."
"Yet there are thousands of you so called bible punchers doing just that, taking phrases out of the bible, out of context, and interpreting the word of God to suit yourselves."
The policeman arrived again. "Look. I thought I told you people to go. Now let's break this thing up before I give you a citation for disturbing the peace."
"If I go, she's got to go."
"Look Miss, you've had a tough night. Why not call it quits until another time. This guy's not going to leave you alone."
She looked back at me as she put her religious tracts into a small brief case.
"I'll pray for you."
If that cop hadn't been there, I'm not sure what I would have done. My roommate at Amston always ended our debates by threatening to pray for me.
Walking away, I felt miserable inside. There was no justification for attacking this sincere young girl like that. I hated myself, feeling intense remorse as I wandered back home alone.
Entering my room by the side porch I avoided another confrontation with Aggie. Exhausted by all this inner conflict, I passed out on my bed.
Something heavy pressing down on me, suffocating me, awakened me from my fitful sleeping. Laughing hysterically, my drunken landlady buried me in the deep depression of this godforsaken mattress. I struggled to get out, but I was unable to
budge the dead weight on top of me.
"So my lover boy came back. Good old Johnny. It's me kid. Your ever loving Aggie."
She must have been drinking ever since I left. The stench from her breath was sickening. Grabbing me around the neck she forced her mouth on mine and slobbered all over my face. Her attempts to kiss me were disgusting.
"What's wrong sweetie? Don't you love little Aggie no more? Don't bother getting pissed off about me drinking. You're the one who made me do it. I've been doin real good with my drinking until you hit me with that bomb today. Why did you do it Johnny?..why did you hurt me so..."
She began to cry, her body rising and falling on top of me. I could taste the salt of her tears as she held me trapped under her heaving form.
Aggie was blaming me. Everyone blamed me when something went wrong. My father almost killed me because of Ruthy. My confessor lied about me because he wanted to continue exploiting me. Now Aggie was blaming me for her drinking.
"Please Aggie. Let me get up. You're hurting me."
"I couldn't hurt you enough after the way you treated me today. What you called me and all. I told you I would try not to love you, but Jesus kid, I couldn't help it. I do love you, and I don't want to lose you."
"Go to bed Aggie. We'll talk about it tomorrow after you've had a good rest."
"I don't want to go to bed without you Johnny. Don't send me away. Please don't...I need you tonight like you needed me on Christmas Eve. Let me stay. I'll be good."
"Okay. You can stay, but please don't ask me to make love. I'm dead tired."
"That's my Johnny. You're not such a bad kid. Yes honey I'll stay with you. You like me Johnny, but you don't love me. That's okay. I understand. Will you help me get undressed?"
The top two buttons had already pulled open, or maybe they had never been done up. She pulled the dress over her head and stood there in her slip. It was all she had on. Her body had lost all its tone. Loose masses of flesh waved as she moved.
I helped her roll into the bed and I moved in beside her. That cursed bed had only one direction, which brought Aggie and I closer together despite my efforts to ignore her. She began playing with me until I felt all my energy throbbing in my groin.
Opening up her full bodied thighs, I slipped into the well worn groove and heard her purring as she drifted into a drunken stupor.
When morning came, we were still pressed together. Aggie had a self satisfied expression on her face, as she slept soundly. Outside I could hear the ringing of church bells. It was Sunday morning.
I left my room to go out and watch the people walking to church. I wanted to go in, and ask for forgiveness but I didn't have the courage to end my sin. I was still trying Aggie's way, and the more I tried it, the easier it became. I had to keep God out of my mind. Tomorrow I would try again to get a job at the auto plant.

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Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 6

Snow had been falling since early morning. It was Christmas eve in Chathurst. Along Davin Street the coloured lights sparkled in all directions. The glorious night enhanced the miraculous birthday of God made man. Hundreds of years ago, in a humble stable, a tiny babe changed the world.

This was my first Christmas away from home. Sitting alone in this manger of a room, I thought of the new born infant wrapped in loose bands of cloth, lying on jagged straw. The straw made me remember that night in the barn with Donna. Still burdened with the scruples implanted at Amston, I quickly dismissed this memory of her warmth. The image of Christ tortured on the cross, took the place of my first love. If he was God, why did he endure such a horrible death? From such a humble beginning, he deserved a nobler end. The cross is such a cruel reminder of man's
inhumanity to man. It is all so unjust.

Injustice had brought me to this bleak manger, no promise of shepherds or wise men to lessen the pain of loneliness. Fear of my father's wrath when he learned of my curiosity with Ruthy made me lie. Am I really so full of sin?

The falling snow no longer seemed beautiful. In my depression. I saw it as a way of concealing evil. It was a blanket of purity blotting out the world's filth. It was the priest's hypocritical smile, when he had molested me, then asked for permission to continue to help me. How much of what had happened had been caused by me? The nuns taught us it is not a sin unless there is full knowledge of the act, and full consent. Was I sinful, or was I the victim of circumstances?

My examination of conscience was interrupted by a knocking at my door. It opened, and there stood Aggie, beaming, with a sprig of holly against her red velvet dress.

"We're ready to start the party. You coming, or are you gonna stay here in the dark, feeling' sorry for yourself?"

"Give me a few minutes to freshen up. Be right in."

Everyone stood up when I entered Aggie's living room. Six women in their early fifties or older, had obviously put on their best dresses for this Christmas celebration. In her early forties, Aggie was the youngest.

"Ladies, it gives me great pleasure to introduce the newest member of our family, Johnny Martindale."

As everyone applauded, I took the chair beside Aggie. In the corner of the room, stood a skimpy tree on a table, decorated with cotton batting and a silver cord made from discarded tin foil of cigarette packs.

"I told the girls about your hard luck, losing your job and all, and they insisted they fix up a few presents for you."

"You shouldn't have. Aggie...you know I don't have anything to give them."

"Stop complaining. They want to give you something. Isn't that what Christmas is all about?"

As each lady brought her small gift from under the tree and gave it to me, Aggie introduced them.

"Dora's been with me the longest. Ain't that right Dora?"

"That's right. When my George was killed, Aggie was the only friend I had."

"That was a long time ago Dora. This is Christmas. Time for happy memories."

Dora had knitted me a pair of socks. Must've taken her a long time to make something as personal as this for a perfect stranger.

"Thanks Dora. They're really nice."

"Well don't just shake hands. Give the lady a kiss. It's Christmas."

I didn't like the way Aggie assumed she could manage my life like this, but I realized these strangers wanted to generate a friendly feeling for themselves as well as for me. I gave Dora a quick kiss on the cheek.

"That's more like it." said Aggie. continuing to bring me small gifts and presenting each lady. There was Mable. Irene. Violet. Grace. and Vanessa. Their presents were all handmade, except the gloves from Vanessa.

"Try them on. If they're too small. I can always exchange them."

I pulled them on. "They're fine. They fit very well. But you really shouldn't have bought them."

"They weren't much. Besides. I'm not like the other girls. I've never been very good working with my hands."

"This is really great what you've all done. I hope next Christmas I'll be in better shape. and be able to repay your kindness. I was ready to spend this time alone. but all of you with your friendliness have made this a memorable Christmas."

"You ain't seen nothin yet. We'd better get on with the party before you have us crying' in our beer. Dora, come to the kitchen, and help me get the wine and goodies."

Sitting there, surrounded by these sad people with their forced smiles gnawed at my heart. The room was filled with many lifetimes. No one asked me about my family. I guessed Aggie had briefed them about it.

Aggie had several water glasses filled with wine on a TV table she was using as a tray. "Help yourselves to the wine, but wait until I propose a toast. This being Christmas and all, I think it's only right we toast the newest member of our family. Here's to Johnny, and may you have many more happy times ahead."

They clinked glasses and said my name. Aggie kept referring to me as family. I didn't know how to tell her how painful it was hearing this, knowing my own family were probably sick with worry, wondering what had happened to me. I could see Aggie expected me to reply to her toast.

"Aggie! You and all the ladies have started those happy times tonight. Let me extend my best wishes to all of you, and tell you how much I appreciate this chance to share Christmas with you "

"I'll drink to that", said Aggie.

Returning to the kitchen, she brought a gallon jug of wine, and filled the glasses again. I didn't tell her this was my first experience with drinking. It tasted slightly bitter, but the warm feeling bubbling inside gave me a pleasant glow.
Finishing the gallon, Aggie and Dora came back into the room with a case of beer.
"Here we are girls. Gotta keep a good thing goin'. Help me open them will you Johnny?"

A bottle of beer foamed up and bubbled over my hands, making them sticky. I kept it for myself, passing out the others to the ladies who were now getting louder.

Vanessa struck her bottle with a spoon to get their attention.

"Si..ilent Night. Ho..oly Night."

Every time we got to the end, Aggie would wave her hands in front of us, and shout the first word in our faces, starting us all over again. Dora relieved the monotony, by catching Aggie off guard with the opening bars of "No.oh el, No..oh el."

My stomach swelled like homemade bread. A volcano was seething inside of me. I tried to hide the way I felt, but it couldn't last. Somewhere in the midst of the "Little Town of Bethlehem", I keeled over the table in the corner and knocked the
skimpy tree to the floor. Suddenly I was in Bethlehem, and there was no room in the Inn. The putrid smell of wine rose up from my shirt when I came to. In the distance I could faintly hear Aggie talking.

"He's gonna be okay. John! Can you hear me son?"

I didn't like her calling me son. Aggie Conway, my alcoholic landlady was calling me son. It was Christmas eve, and I was alone in this crowd, and she kept calling me son. I couldn't hold back any longer. I began crying. My legs folded under me as Aggie led me from the room. The humiliation was unbearable. I seemed to be a screw up, no matter what I did.

Drowsy and dejected I sat on the edge of my bed while Aggie took off my shoes. The alcohol didn't seem to bother her. She was very sympathetic as she spoke softly.

"Guess that goes to prove, you shouldn't mix your drinks."

"I've never had a drink before Aggie. I'm sorry I busted up your party."

She began unbuttoning my shirt.

"We'd better get this smelly thing off. Stinks like hell. Don't worry about the girls. They'll hardly miss us."

She had enough sense to leave the light off when she brought me in. I didn't feel as embarrassed in the dark. Taking a cloth, she wet it and wiped the smelly stickiness from my chest. Her hands felt wonderful against me. I hungered for some closeness.

"Jesus kid. You got a terrific body. Lots of muscle. You could easily pass for over twenty."

I didn't try to hurry her, as she fondled the muscles of my arms, taking her time with her self-appointed task.

"You should try and get on at one of the car factories. They tell me they're hiring now. Pay's damn good too. Don't worry about money though. You can stay on here. I ain't gonna press you for the rent. And as far as eating's concerned, I'd like ya to eat with me. I hate eating' alone." She continued passing the face cloth over me as she spoke.

"God you're good looking. Lots of hearts gonna be broken before you're through. In fact, if I was twenty years younger, I'd have a go at you myself."

Aggie must have been very attractive in her day. Now plumper than she liked to be, in her red velvet party dress she looked real nice. I watched her as she stood looking out the window, the reflections of coloured lights on the snow bouncing light back into her dreamy eyes. At forty-two, Aggie did look twenty years younger tonight. Even her full body showed promise as it moved under the red velvet dress.

My head was still spinning. I was afraid to close my eyes, because I didn't want Aggie to leave. I couldn't stand being alone tonight.

"There are lots of girls in their twenties would like to look as nice as you do tonight. You're a wonderful lady Aggie."

My words moved her. Her ample breasts, outlined by the evening light coming in the window, moved tightly against her party dress. She came back to the bed and sat beside me.

"You're real sweet kid. Too bad you've been hurt so much along the way."

She put my hand in hers and placed it in her lap. I could feel her thighs through the velvet, firmer than I had expected. Bending over me, her breast brushed against my face. Annoyed at the sprig of holly she had pinned on her dress, she pulled if off and threw it on the floor. My head throbbed in anticipation. The faint smell of wine on her breath when she kissed me was pleasant, like the first taste of a forbidden fruit. It was a hungry kiss. Her whole body quivered with passion from months of frustration. The elegant red velvet dress was soft against my bare chest. Reaching behind, she unzipped it, letting it fall beside my bed. She stood up and dropped her underwear on top of the dress. When she came back to bed, we got under the covers now warmed by our caressing.

Soon I was swallowed up by the wonders of Aggie and my first Christmas away from home. I must tell her to stop calling me son. Making love with a woman who calls you son doesn't do much for a guy who already has his share of hangups.

I awakened in the middle of the night to be sick again. My stomach burned like I had been poisoned. Not wanting to bring up in bed, I darted to the basin in the corner, stabbing my foot on the prickly holly Aggie had thrown on the floor. I wasn't sure when she had left. All I knew was she had left me physically exhausted.

Not only my body rebelled at the treatment I had given it, my conscience also was in great turmoil over what I had done. I always seemed to be sinning in retrospect.

The acrid smell of vomited beer and wine rose up from the basin and mixed with the torments of my guilt. I fell back onto my bed, sinking into the hollow of the mattress where I had felt the weight of Aggie's eager body pressing me into hell. Instead of the pains of fire in the depths, there was the joy of satiated desire. How could something which felt so good be so bad?

Why was it there always seemed to be someone making me sin? If they made me sin, then it wasn't a sin after all. I was innocent. and they seduced me. But I wasn't being honest with myself. I wanted Aggie as much as she wanted me. I deliberately said things to make her know I desired her. If I believed what the Church teaches, I had just committed a mortal sin, and if I should die in this spiritual state without forgiveness, I would spend eternity in hell.

Would Christ recognize his teachings if he came back and saw the evil done in his name throughout the centuries? I was trying desperately to make my actions acceptable, but there was this constant gnawing in my heart that it was wrong to enjoy these physical pleasures of life. If it felt wrong, I was taught to believe it was wrong. It was a serious sin. Oh how I enjoyed Aggie. Even now. remorse or not. I was ready to sink again between her fleshy thighs and feel the comforting warmth of her naked legs entwining mine.

God only knows all we did together was give each other love. But I didn't love Aggie. I just loved doing it with her. Being inside her made me feel like someone really cared. Exhausted, I stopped rationalizing and let my mind take me again deep into the warm loving body of my new friend.

When I awoke, the sun was shining brightly on Christmas day. Still feeling miserable. I had finally gotten my stomach under control. Sourness from the basin I had used hung heavily in the room. Filled with disgust at the mess I had made around the basin, I pulled on my trousers and a jacket. and slipped into my shoes. I took the basin outside onto the side porch, and wiped it out with snow. I wanted to clean up before any of the ladies saw what I was doing. Rubbing some of the soft flakes on my face, I felt refreshed.

Aggie was making my bed when I came back into my room. She was startled by my unexpected entry. "God kid! You making a practice of scaring hell outa me? I thought you were gone for the day. What've you been doing with that basin?"

I put it back on the corner table. and tried to avoid looking at Aggie. Seeing her again was destroying me with guilt.

"Hey Johnny. What's wrong son?"

"Would you stop calling me son. I'm not your son Aggie."

"Jesus aren't we in a great mood today."

"I'm sorry Aggie...I've got problems."

"You can say that again."

Aggie looked younger and fresher than I had ever seen her before. Her hair was pulled up in an attractive style, and she had used a little makeup to accentuate her sensuous mouth which had given me so much pleasure.

"Take off your jacket and come on over here and sit down. Maybe it would
help if we talked."

"I haven't anything on under my ,jacket."

As soon as I said it. I felt silly. She had seen me completely naked, and now I was pretending I didn't want to show her my bare chest.

"Oh that's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Morning after remorse."

"Guess your right."

"Of course I'm right. You enjoyed it last night and now you're gonna punish yourself."

Aggie's down to earth wisdom impressed me.

"That's about it."

"Sure it is. I don't know who the hell screwed you up so much inside, but one thing I do know, you gotta smarten up, or you're gonna go nuts."

"It's my conscience Aggie. I feel what I did with you was a sin."

"That's a crock. What we did is what two friendly humans with any sense of compassion would be glad to do. We shared ourselves. I'm not stupid enough to think that because we made out together that means we are in love. It was wonderful. You were wonderful. What you did last night...what we did, made this one of the great Christmases in my life."

"But you're the first woman I've ever done that with."

"What the hell. You saying you were a virgin?"

"No. Not exactly."

"I didn't think so. Then what do you mean I was the first woman?"

"You're the first grown woman."

"So you've done some sporting around with younger chicks?"

I hated her tact1essness.

"Why do you deliberately say things you know will embarrass me?"

"Well you better get over being embarrassed. That's the way I am. I don't believe in pussyfooting around. That's how I finally got rid of that bastard husband of mine. I spoke up for once, and told him what I really thought. You've got to learn to do the same thing Johnny. No more holding it in. You expect to get rid of this nonsense that's in your head, you gotta feel free to say what's gotta be said."

"Then you don't think what we did last night was a sin?"

"Jesus... I can't ever remember meeting such a priest-ridden kid. I suppose you believe that cock and bull story about eternal damnation and all. The way I figure it, religion was invented to keep dumb folks under control. The only thing it was ever good for, was scaring the hell outa people. You've gotta grow up Johnny. Get rid of all that crap that's filling up your insides."

"But don't you believe in God?"

"I had to when I was a little girl growing up. I was force fed the same garbage as you. It was like a chain letter that threatens you if you break the chain."

"But I can't understand how you can just put God out of your life."

"I was trapped just like you. Trapped by my own conscience. It's inside of you, and only you can get rid of it."

"Get rid of conscience?"

"Of course. What good is it? It only smothers you with guilt after you've done something you would've done anyway. You gotta get rid of it."

"But how?"

"Simple enough. Do what you want to do, if you really want to do it, and stop examining your insides after you've done it. If you don't go at it this way, the goddamn voice inside will plague you until you're in your grave."

"That sounds pretty cold blooded to me. What kind of world would we have if everyone acted 1ike that? "

"There would be a lot more honesty. People are so screwed up by religion, they end up living two different lives. On the outside they pay lip service to all that religious bull, and on the inside they want to give in to their real selves. but they are scared shitless."

"I'd like to believe what you're saying Aggie. It makes so much sense. But you're right. I'm scared stiff. I'm not sure I can do it."

"I'll help you. We can help each other. And about last night, stop punishing yourself. We were real good to each other. I hope you'll want to enjoy more of me as time goes on. You have no idea how hard it is wanting to be a part of someone else, and there's no one there."

I put my arm around her and kissed her deeply, her searching tongue penetrating me like I wanted to do with her. She pulled off my jacket, and saw the swelling in my trousers. Her skilled hand touched me, then squeezed me. How was it I didn't mind Aggie doing this, but when my father confessor did it, I was so
violently repulsed?

My conscience was screaming it was all wrong. Soon we were back in bed, the bright sun letting me see the beautiful pink flesh of this sensuous woman. Her mouth warmed my entire body, and when it came time to melt into her, it was a slippery path into hell.

"Please be good to me Johnny. It's been a long time since anyone has been rea1ly good to me."


View summaries of other Johnson novels by clicking here.

Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 5

The piercing wind of the December night chilled me to the bone as I trudged along the highway in the dark. In my confused state of mind, I hardly noticed the weight of the suitcase that banged against the side of my leg. Thoughts of what had just happened kept me from freezing. If only I could've gone home and talked it over with dad. But what's the use. He wouldn't have believed me. It would've been like old times; dad punishing me because I'd said something bad about a priest. No it was better that I go someplace else, on my own... Chathurst maybe.
Freezing in the blowing snow, as I trudged along, I thought of the moral values I had been taught as a boy. Somehow they lost their meaning. There's no such thing as good or bad when a man who is in the position of a spiritual leader can be so corrupt. I could still feel his hand touching me... embarrassing me. His actions made me think of what I had done with little Ruthy when I had given her a bath. That was an accident. It wasn't like it was with this man who knew full well what he was doing. God! Where were you, when I needed you.
The 1ights of the huge transport almost blinded me as I waved for a lift. Suddenly I heard him gear down, and the air brakes strangled the heavy wheels, tossing snow and gravel on the side of the highway. I ran as fast as I could on my numb legs.
"Get in before you freeze to death." The driver reached down and grabbed my suitcase and I wouldn't let go.
"I'm ,just going to toss it in back so you can have some leg room."
"Thanks a lot for stopping. Hitch hiking's pretty deadly tonight."
"Yeah. This ain't much of a road for rides. You should have got on route 7. You're chances would've been better."
"Now that I'm in out of the cold this suits me fine."
"You sure picked a helluva night to be on the road. I couldn't see you until I was practically on top of you."
As the warmness tingled through my body I wondered if I had done the right thing. Maybe if I had told Brother Philip he could've fixed things up. I'm sure they would've given me a chance to stay if I'd asked for it. But I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to get away.
"How far you going?"
"Huh?"
"I asked how far you going?"
"Oh! Chathurst. I thought I'd try to get a job there."
I felt awkward about the way he looked at me. I was afraid if he pressed further I'd tell him the whole thing and I didn't want anyone to know.
"You feeling okay?"
"Yeah... I'm okay now. I was sure cold."
"What's the matter? Running away from home?'!
I decided if I told him I was leaving home he might stop prying.
"What happened? Fight with the old man?"
"Yeah. We've never been able to see eye to eye."
"Well don't worry kid. It'll work out. I had a fight with my old man when I was your age. I ran away and joined the Navy."
His frankness was comforting. Our conversation helped me to take my mind off other things.
"Don't make the mistake I did. Keep to hell outa the service. If you gotta go to war, wait until they come and get ya."
He told me about his problems as a boy. I guess most young guys have conflicts at home which eventually result in going it alone. It's part of growing up.
We arrived in Chathurst early in the morning. The sun was trying to cut through the low hanging frost that bound the buildings together. The streets of this big city had not come to life as yet. Its tall buildings hovered like giant tombstones.
The sound of the diesel engine pierced the silence, echoing and re-echoing ahead of us.
Chathurst was an industrial city. Automobiles, steel, and chemicals were made there. It had its snob hill, and its skid row. As we passed a beautiful park, with massive sandstone buildings north of the city, the driver told me it was the
University of Chathurst.
We stopped outside an all night restaurant and he let me out. He continued to the market, where his truck would be unloaded. I was on my own again.
The smell of coffee drifting above the grill invigorated me for a moment, but the heat of the small eatery made my limbs feel tired. It was a few minutes past six. I slumped into a booth and ordered a coffee. My eyes were scratchy from lack of sleep and I rubbed them, noticing my fuzzy reflection in the steamed covered window. I stalled drinking my coffee, knowing full well, I would have to venture out into the morning dampness which seeped through to one's marrow.
Daylight was breaking fast. I ordered another coffee and told the cook to hold it until I finished in the washroom. Splashing cold water on my face refreshed me. Returning to my booth, there was a discarded evening newspaper on the seat
opposite me. I searched the ads for a place to live, unsure of how to make a selection. I chose one that had a furnished room for seven dollars a week. At least I had the first week's rent. I still had the ten dollars my father had given me. I asked the cook where 417 Davin Street was. It was about nine blocks from the restaurant, near the automobile factory. I paid him, and went out into the nippy morning air.
Exhausted by the time I arrived at the rooming house, I saw it was a sooty grey from years of neglect and factory pollution. A sign in the window read, "Rooms for Rent, by Day or Week". It was a large house, like the one in Amston.
I was reluctant to go inside. The front door was unlocked, so I entered quietly. The inside hall was dark. Across the back wall of the hall was a partly opened door. Pushing it open further, I went in. There was the smell of someone sleeping, filling the room. Standing beside a rumpled bed, I looked down on a middle-aged woman, who was breathing loudly and deeply, emitting a faint wine odour.
Not wishing to startle her, I cleared my throat and waited. She stirred slightly, but didn't wake up. Impatient from fatigue, I touched her on the shoulder.
"Pardon me lady. Could I see that room you have for rent?"
She opened her puffy eyes, and squinted at me in the darkened room.
"Huh...what the hell you doin in here?"
"Mam. About the room for rent?"
She suddenly jumped up, wrapping a blanket around the slip she was wearing.
"Get out...get out of my bedroom or I'll call the police."
"But lady. I'm exhausted. All I want to do is rent a room. I saw your ad in the paper."
"Oh yeah...that room I got."
She came closer and took a careful look at me.
"Jesus, you're only a kid. Gawd you gave me a helluva scare. At first I thought you were that bastard husband of mine who took off a long time ago." Her breath was heavy with the stale smell of wine. I was ready to drop. I interrupted her chattering.
"You still got that room for rent?"
"Sure...you want it, it'll be seven bucks...in advance."
I gave her the money.
"Why don't you take your things off here and use my bed and I'll get your room fixed up for you. I don't usually get such a quick reply to my ads."
This tangled bed, saturated by the penetrating smell of body odour did not appeal to me, but I was so tired, I agreed. Together we straightened the sheets, and she puffed up the pillows. Wrapping a faded chenille robe around her, she left.
As I pulled the covers over me, I could still feel the heat of her body. Over tired, the images of those two men in their black cassocks, threatened me. My chest still hurt where the rector had struck me. I vowed to get even with them someday. It
wasn't just them I hated. I despised everything that hemmed in my mind. The face of my father forced its way into my nightmare. I could hear him saying, "If I ever get my hands on him, I'll kill that little sonofabitch." What was even worse, the poor man
thought he knew how to bring up kids. The dreaming finally stopped. I became unconscious of everything; the school, my father, and this room.
Several hours later I was wakened abruptly by the coarse voice of my newly acquired landlady.
"What the hell you trying to do. sleep your life away? It's seven o'clock at night. You've been sawing' em off all day. Or do you figure if you stay in that bed long enough, I might join you. Well if that's your thinking, I got a real surprise for you. I hate men."
Focussing my eyes on her, I could see she didn't look as frowsy as she had when we met this morning. My stomach was growling with hunger pains.
"Well you gonna, just sit there staring at me, or are you gonna get outa here, so's I can get some rest?"
"What day is it Mam?"
"Damned if you don't sound like me when I've had a rough night. I don't want you to get the wrong idea I drink a lot. I just don't see anything wrong with takin' a social drink. Now you... take that bastard I married..."
"Please lady. Would you answer my question?"
I was to learn that she loved talking about her husband and resented being interrupted when she was on a roll.
"It's Thursday, and has been all day."
"Thank you. Now if you'll be so kind as to leave and let me get some clothes on, I'll clear out of your room."
She remained standing by the bed. "What's your name kid? We didn't actually get introduced this morning."
I was going to give her a phony name, but then I realized my own name wouldn't mean anything to her.
"John Martindale...and you?"
"Agnes Conway. Just call me Aggie."
The room I had rented was small, and there was that ever present lived-in smell. On the old fashioned brass bed was a beat out mattress that had only one direction, downwards and towards the centre. The dresser had a mirror with a crack across the corner. The window blind was dark green with frayed edges. What I
thought was a closet door, led to a side porch. The musty closet in the room was covered with old newspapers and magazines. This was to be my new home.
Starving, I headed for the centre of town. The stores were still opened, catering to Christmas shoppers. At a large department store called "Harold's", there was a great mass of pushing people. Harold must've been delighted. I pushed my way through to one of the counters and asked where Harold was.
"Do you mean Mr. Silverman?" His attitude was condescending.
"Is he the boss?"
"Mr. Silverman owns Harold's, if that's what you mean."
People were pushing to get at this clerk. I asked again, more politely.
"Could you please tell me how to get to Mr. Silverman's office?"
He pointed to an office which was located behind a counter used by the customers to check out their purchases. I could see this man liked to be near the heart of his business. I went behind the counter, and knocked on the door.
"Come in." Harold looked very business like with tight curly hair and
glasses, examining a ledger.
"Yes young man. What can I do for you?"
"I need a job sir. I'd like to work in your store."
"Have you had any experience as a sales clerk?"
"No sir. But I'm willing to learn."
"You'll have to dress better than that if you expect to work for Harold's. Do you have a good suit at home?"
"This is all I have Mr. Silverman. But if you would let me buy one of your suits, I'll pay you so much a week out of my salary."
"You've got spunk young man. I like that. That's how you get ahead in this world. I haven't even hired you yet, and already you're talking about how you're going to spend your salary. What's your name son?"
"John Martindale."
"Well Mr. Martindale, you've got yourself a job. It pays nineteen dollars a week and ten per cent off any merchandise in the store. How does that sound to you?"
I extended my hand and accepted the meagre offering. The clerk in Men's Furnishings helped me select a brown suit for working in the store. With my discount it came to thirty-nine dollars. I agreed to pay seven dollars a week. After paying my rent this would leave me with five dollars a week for food. It meant I would be living on hamburgers and coffee. In those days a hamburger with all the trimmings cost a dime, and all the coffee you could drink was a nickel.
Now that I had a job, I splurged. At Kresges I ate three hot dogs, and drank a couple of root beers. This was all I had eaten since leaving Amston. Roaming through the streets of the great city, I carried the box with my new suit under my arm. I had no idea Chathurst was so large.
The job of sales clerk would not have been so cumbersome if I had not had to share the same counter with Silverman's son. He constantly bugged me with details. He briefed me on the different sizes in shirt collars and sleeve lengths. We sold the numerous odds and ends that complete a man's personal ensemble. Our department was one of the most popular in the store because our items were in the price range that most people cared to pay for gifts.
The long hours of standing bothered me most. Young Silverman often criticized me for leaning on the counter instead of standing up straight, looking sharp. He was grooming himself to take over the business when his father passed on.
It was at Harold's that I met Judy. She was a lovely Jewish girl who worked in the cosmetic department. She had come to our department to do some Christmas shopping. Old Mr. Silverman encouraged the staff to buy in their own store.
"Hi. Where's David?"
She wore a form fitting black rayon dress which glistened like her black hair. Her eye makeup was professionally exquisite. She had extended her lipstick slightly in the corners of her mouth to give more dimension to her radiant smile.
"Dave's in the stockroom. May I help you?"
"You're new here aren't you?"
"Been here a week. I've seen you though. You're in cosmetics."
"That's right. I'm Judy. And you?"
"John...John Martindale."
She was a few years older than me. The more we spoke, the easier it became. She was exceptionally beautiful. She stopped talking and looked at her watch.
"Oh goodness. My lunch hour is almost up. I'd better get back to work. Don't bother telling David I was here. It wasn't that important. See you around."
While we were cleaning up after closing the store, without thinking I told David about Judy.
"Who told you her name?" His tone was demanding.
"She told me, that's who. Why? What's it to you?"
"Keep to hell away from her, you understand."
He was becoming more hostile by the minute. I had been pushed around enough. I wasn't going to let a snotty Jew-boy have his licks at me now.
"I'll talk to anyone I choose and I don‘t need your advice, or anybody else's."
He threw down the broom he was using, and huffed away sulking. I didn't know she was his girl. He hadn't said anything, and even if he had, that still wasn't going to keep me from seeing more of her.
I changed my coffee break to correspond with Judy's who used to frequent Kresges across the street from Harold's. The clerk who had switched with me gave me a warning.
"You're asking for trouble you start mixing it up with Silverman's girl. There's plenty sharp dollies you could play with without sticking your neck out."
"I know...,but I think she cares for me. And she's so...nice. If Dave wants me to keep away from her, why doesn't he put a ring on her finger."
Judy and I had a coke and she let me know in no uncertain terms she'd like to go out with me if only things were different. I was sure she would be with me if she could be sure no one would find out.
As Christmas approached, the crowds at Harold's got bigger. Judy and I had no chance to be together. We exchanged waves when I would go to the stockroom to bring out more supplies. It looked like the Silverman family were going to have a good Christmas.
We were so busy selling, that we ran out of size 15 shirts. I told Dave about it.
"Don't come to me with your problems. You've been here long enough to know you shouldn't let your stock run low. Go on back and get some more."
He didn't like it when I walked away while he was speaking, but he had made his point and I was tired of listening to him ramble on. The trip to the stockroom gave me a chance to pass Judy's counter again. I discovered we were all out of size
15 flannelette shirts. I returned to the front and told Dave. He pulled me aside and whispered.
"Take a pair of scissors back with you and manufacture some fifteens."
"You trying to make a fool outa me?"
Seeing I was annoyed by his suggestion he explained. "We've got lots of size 151/2 shirts back there. Take some scissors and cut off the half size marking on the tag, and bring the shirts up front. Do a lot of them. We can get rid of those
extra 151/2s we've got."
"But that's cheating Dave. When a guy buys a shirt, he expects it to fit."
"Stop your arguing, and do as you're told. The shirts will shrink when they're washed anyway."
I hated to admit it. The kid had the makings.
When I passed Judy this time, she didn't wave, but nodded. Amongst the tall shelves in the back of the store, I began making size 15 shirts. It was dark in the back room, and I took my time.
"Hi John. Going into business for yourself?"
As she stood at the front of the aisle of shelves, the scent of the girl from the perfume counter wafted over the clothing.
"Hi Judy. What're you doing here?"
"Thought I'd come back and see you instead of going out for coffee. You know how Mr. Silverman frowns on staff talking to each other out front."
"Which Mr. Silverman? The father or the son?"
"What do you mean by that?" Her breast brushed lightly against my arm. I wanted to embrace her, and enjoy her softness.
"I never told you but Dave threatened me because of you. He is really a jealous lover.
"What's with you two anyway?"
"Oh David and I have had dates. My parents would like me to marry him someday. After all, this whole business is going to be his. And besides, he's Jewish."
"Do you love him?"
"David is too selfish. The only one he loves is David Silverman. I'd rather go out with a nice looking fellow like you Johnny. You're not Jewish are you?"
"No I'm not Jewish. Does that make a difference?"
"It would make a difference as far as my parents are concerned, but it doesn't make any difference to me."
She put her arm on my shoulder and the dim light in the stockroom came to life in her deep brown eyes. I couldn't hold off any longer. She was offering herself to me. My arms folded around her and I felt her wonderful body take the shape of mine. Her mouth was so warm and inviting. She moved herself against me, letting me know she liked what was happening to me. Our intimacy was interrupted by the angry voice of David Silverman.
"So that's what we pay you for. Get to hell outa the way Judy and let me at this bastard."
His blow caught me on the side of the head, and knocked me to the floor. I could hear Judy shouting I had made her do it. She was making a desperate try to hold onto her little Jew-boy. I came up from the floor and buried my fist into the mid-section of young Silverman and followed it with two fast punches to his face. He fell in a heap between the shelves of stock boxes. Judy ran to him and knelt beside him crying that I had forced her into my arms and that she loved only him.
My head was throbbing from his blow, as I hurried to the front of the store. My new brown suit was all covered with dirt from the stockroom floor. I pushed my way into the office of Mr. Silverman. He was shocked to see my dishevelled appearance.
"I've just had a fight in the stockroom with your son, over his little bitch from the perfume counter. I'm quitting before you get the chance to fire me. Take the money that's coming to me and put it on this suit you sold me. If there's anymore owing on it, send your kid out back to manufacture some more shirts in the popular sizes. It wont take you long to make it up."
He never spoke a word. He just looked at me in stunned amazement.
I left the store and went home. Aggie heard me come in. There wasn't much she missed.
"What're you doing home so early?" Coming closer, she saw the bruise on the side of my head.
"What the hell. You been fighting?..did you win?"
I nodded yes.
"Come in the kitchen and let me put some ice on it for you."
Aggie liked drinking cooking sherry. There was a partly filled glass on the cupboard as we went into the kitchen.
"I'm using it to make us a nice Christmas cake. You're going to spend Christmas with us aren't you?"
"I've got no place else to go. And now I haven't even got a job."
"Don't you worry about nothin. I'll look after you till you get yourself another job. You shouldn't have gone to work for those goddamn Jews in the first place. They'll cheat you every time."
I never told her how I had brought about a lot of this on my own. Aggie had already made up her mind who was to blame. Who was I to shake her prejudice.
Aggie was crude, but there was something about her I liked. I began to enjoy living in this old house and I liked the people in it.

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Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 4

The farewell at Brewster High was loaded with emotion. My whole family went with me to the school before going to the railway station. Many students had shown up to wish me luck in my studies at Amston. Jeff Walker, the student president, spoke.
"We're all going to miss Mr.Quiet Man, John Martindale. As Chairman of the dance committee, he made our past year really enjoyable." Everyone applauded and cheered, and someone began singing
"For he's a jolly good fellow."
"Hold the singing. I'm not through yet. We've got a little gift here ,for you John. I hope it will help you remember all of us."
Their gift was an exquisite pen and pencil set in a holder, with a small plaque engraved, "To the Quiet Man, from all his friends at Brewster High."
"Thanks for coming to say goodbye. And thanks for the nice
gift. Whenever I use them in my studies, I'll think of you, and the good times we had together. Also I want to say how grateful I am for my family. They've had to make a big sacrifice to send me away to school. I'll work hard, and make all of you proud of me...I promise."
The singing began in earnest. Mom and Dad were beaming.
"See mother. I told you our boy has a God given talent. He talks real good. Someday, he'll have many people listening to him speak."
Little did he realize how prophetic his remarks were. We walked from the school to the nearby railway station, followed by all my friends. Dad carried my suitcase, an old brown Gladstone. with several small cuts and scratches, tied with two
black belts. As I climbed aboard the train, I looked back and waved. In the crowd. I saw Donna. surrounded by several of the guys from school. A sudden twinge caused a dull aching in the pit of my stomach. I didn't really want to leave home. But it was now too late to stop it.
Soon the monotonous clacking of the train lulled me into a reverie. I began feeling an urgent self-pity. None of this would have happened, if my father had taken the time to show me some affection. All I ever hungered for as a child. was his love. Now I was about to pursue a vocation which I really didn't want, in the hope he would be proud of me. Watching the open fields, and telephone poles racing by, I fell asleep. The conductor's shouting awakened me.
"Next stop Amston. Bring your luggage forward. That's your stop son." He took my ticket stub from the corner of the window blind.
Amston looked peaceful at dusk. The historic stone bridge across the Nith River, joined an old flour mill, which still used water power to turn its grinding stones. The station was one of those old fashioned, high ceilinged, Victorian structures which dotted the landscape along the railway. Descending the steps with my old suitcase, I felt uncertain, leaving the train. Someone was supposed to meet me. I walked slowly towards the station entrance. A slender young man in black
approached me.
"You must be John Martindale. The lad from Brewster."
"Yes I am. Are you from the Brothers of Christ?"
"I'm Brother Philip. Do you have anything else to pick up?"
"No. Everything's in here."
"Then let's be on our way."
Driving to the school, he told me all about Amston. It had been founded by a small group of hard working pioneers who wanted to establish a cooperative community, based on Christian principles. Many of the old structures had been built with the stone from a local quarry. Spring water had filled the excavation in the quarry with clear sweet water, making a natural swimming hole used sometimes by the students.
Entering a long curving driveway, Brother Philip explained that this property was the estate of Amston's only millionaire, a fundamentalist Christian, who converted to Catholicism on his death bed, and willed all his possessions to the Church. It was a large, gothic building with many dormers, and a slate roof with a wrought iron railing surrounding a widow ‘s walk.
"The old house is where you will go to classes and chapel. The building you'll be living in is out back. It's a modern residence, built during the last five years."
The grounds surrounding the buildings were very well kept. Tall trees and bushes isolated the school from the town of Amston. Behind the buildings were open fields where the staff and students planted their vegetable garden which supplied them with much of their food.
He took me to my room, and helped me get settled. There was another bed. He explained that because of limited space, students shared their rooms. We went to the kitchen where he got me something to eat, and I returned to my room dead tired, but unable to fall asleep... I could still see the proud look on my father's face as the train pulled out of Brewster. Surrounded by all the guys was beautiful Donna. I couldn't get her out of my mind.
Mass the next morning was at six thirty in a pleasant chapel in the largest room of the old estate. It was the nicest room in the building. The remaining rooms did not measure up to what was promised by the exterior of the building, which I had seen the previous night.
Ray Dougan my roommate from Chathurst, arrived later that morning. A youth of slight build, weighing about a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet.
Meticulous in appearance, he greased-down his shiny black hair, which looked more like a plastic wig. He wore thick horn rimmed glasses and a roman collar when
studying. Ray wanted to be a priest more than anything else in the world. We didn't hit it off too well. Ray was willing to accept everything he was told, as gospel, whereas I was always ready to debate the reasons for doing everything. One of the
rules which I found distasteful was the requirement to report to our superiors if we heard anyone talking about someone behind their back.
"This type of squealing on each other is an insidious thing. I can't understand why full grown men would resort to such childish actions."
"You're missing the whole point John. Talking behind someone's back is not very Christian."
"How Christian do you think it is running to our superiors and reporting it?"
"This is the way to develop trust in the community."
"Ray. You're too gullible. You're too willing to accept whatever they tell you."
"See...You're doing it right now. You're criticizing the rule. I could report you if I wanted to."
"Report me then. Do your duty. Be a little creep. I don't give a damn."
"Please John don't swear. Try harder. You do want to be a priest someday don't you?"
"I'm not sure any more."
"I'll pray for you." That's how most of our debates ended. Ray was always going to pray for me.
It didn't take long for me to find out why the grounds around the school looked so well kept. For two hours every morning, we were given manual tasks to do. It was a relief to get outdoors for awhile. The Brother who assigned the work detail sensed I wanted to be with the others and he deliberately kept me on menial chores which separated me from them. He probably thought he was teaching me obedience. I hated it. I decided to question him when he was making the assignments. I drew him aside and spoke to him.
"Brother, I've been doing a lot of the inside ,jobs around here, like scrubbing floors and painting rooms. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind letting me work outside for a change with the others?"
"So you're not very happy doing those things. Well we'll see what I can do."
I didn't like the tone in his voice. I was already sorry I had approached him like this. As he went about passing out the work he kept my assignment to the last.
"John, you'll go down the basement and clean the ashes out of the furnace. Take them outside and spread them on the compost pile in the garden. And make sure you sift them well, and save any lumps of coal that we can use again. We must learn economy."
My ears were burning as I listened to my assignment. I couldn't resist. "Thanks for the outside job."
He grabbed me by the shoulder. Realizing what he was doing , he pushed me away, and began to blast me in front of the others.
"You're nothing but an impudent pup. There's no way you'll ever become a priest. Get in there and do your work, and don't let me hear another word out of you."
My chest was pounding as I went to the dark cellar to begin my chores. I was always running from something since I was a small boy. How I wished I had the courage to lash out at all these unbearable pressures. He made me remember when my father struck me at the supper table, and wouldn't give me a chance to explain.
The furnace job was filthy. Dust and grime filled the air as I shook the grates and tried to do a worthwhile job. Again I thought of my father, and all the dirty jobs he had to do to get the money to send me to Amston. I mustn't let my father down.
For the moment, I spent my vengeance on the filthy furnace instead of how I might get even with the Brother who had given me such an odious task. Somehow Brother Philip heard about my encounter with the man who assigned our work details, and the Brother was relieved of his duties. Down deep I felt I was getting even with my father.
We also took turns working in the kitchen. The first week of kitchen detail I was assistant cook, then the second week I had the responsibility for the preparation of all the meals for the twenty three students and staff. The fellow I assisted was very good at this ,job, and he taught me several things which helped me fulfill my duty as chief cook the following week.
It was during this special assignment I got into more trouble. The very first morning as chief cook, everything went wrong. When I checked the large pot of bubbling porridge, I was sure there would not be enough to go around, so I added more to the already thickening paste. This resulted in the fresh oatmeal being enclosed by the gooey pulp that was forming. When I tried a mouthful, the raw stuff in the centre puffed out of my mouth like sawdust. I was afraid to serve it, but I had no other choice.
Putting the sticky cereal into four large serving bowls, I had my assistant take it into the dining room, while I watched through a crack in the door. The expressions on their faces, as they bit into my concoction, was priceless. Small puffs of white squeezed out of the corners of their mouths as they chewed into the gooey lumps.
I wasn't finished with them yet. I had observed the previous cook put loose coffee into a huge pot. I was convinced if I bound up the coffee in a rag and suspended it in the boiling water, I could make a better cup of coffee. The only suitable rag available was a clean dish towel. My assistant warned me against further experimentation, but what did he know. After all I was the chief cook. I tied the coffee in a ball in the dish towel and carried on with my plan. When the water appeared the right colour, I removed the towel and poured the fragrant liquid into the large serving pots. My assistant and I then went into the dining room and began filling the cups.
Returning to the kitchen, we watched the reaction through the crack in the door. I was terror stricken, when I saw the rector literally spit out a mouthful of my brew and begin coughing. Soon the whole dining room was in an uproar. Apparently the bleach which had been used to wash the dish towel, came out in the boiling coffee, and the end result was a disaster.
Near the end of my stint as chief cook, I ran into more problems. Early in the afternoon, as I was preparing for supper, I realized all there was in the refrigerator was a small chunk of cold roast and a cabbage. I checked everywhere, only to confirm this was it for supper. Soon there would be thirty people arriving, expecting to be fed. They had become accustomed to surprises during my duty as chief cook, but this would top it off. The novice master had his room above the kitchen. I could hear him pacing back and forth as he prepared his Sunday sermon. I regretted having to disturb him, but I needed help.
A rather gruff voice called out, "Come in." He was still pacing with a handful of papers as I entered.
"Can't you see I'm busy? What do you want John?..and be quick about it."
"Father, I'm supposed to make supper tonight, and I don't have hardly enough food to go around. What would you suggest I do?" He sensed a note of sarcasm.
"You give me more trouble than all the rest put together." His reply struck a cord that made me want to fight back. I had enough of peoples expectations.
"For Chrissake, what am I supposed to do? Perform the miracle of the loaves and fishes?"
"That's about what I would expect from you. You haven't got enough humility to become a priest."
"You don't teach someone humility, by humiliating them."
I stormed out of his room and ran to the barn which was at the back of the property. There I found a bag of seed potatoes. Loading up a pail with them, I returned to the kitchen where I prepared a meal that night, at the expense of next year's potato crop.
Each of these incidents sickened me more. I knew I was getting close to my decision to leave Amston. I shouldn't have been there in the first place.
One of the routines which I felt was worthwhile, was having a father confessor who through weekly confession, would help a person develop spiritually. In theory the idea had merit. The confessions took place in the personal rooms of the priest
concerned. My father confessor was a very understanding man. Often during my confessions, he would place his hand on my ,shoulder and give me a fatherly caress. I appreciated this parental gesture and believed he really wanted to help me. As with all young men in their teens, I was having problems with masturbation, a terrible sin in the eyes of the Church. My brief encounter with Donna plagued my imagination and I found it intensely difficult not to pleasure myself when I had finished another unhappy day at Amston. As much as I hated to do it, I sought consolation in the Sacrament of Penance. It seemed every time I went to see my father confessor, I had to tell him that the sin of impurity was devastating me. Waiting outside his door, I was trying to get up the courage to enter. He must've sensed I was there. He opened his door.
"Did you want to see me John?"
"Yes Father. I would like to go to confession if it's not too much trouble."
"Not at all my son. Come in. Did you want to talk first, or are you ready to go to confession now?"
I wanted to get it over with, and get out of there as quickly as I could.
"I'm ready to go to confession."
He put a purple stole around his neck and sat back in his comfortable chair, bowing his head and whispering a prayer. He gestured for me to kneel beside him.
"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It is six days since my last confession. I accuse myself of having impure desires about ten times. I accuse myself of giving in to impure actions with myself three times. I have also been uncharitable in my thoughts about some of the staff. For these sins, and all the sins of my past life, I beg penance and absolution of you Father if you please."
He placed his hand on my shoulder.
"About these impure desires my boy, tell me more about them."
He had never questioned me before. Going to confession is normally a very impersonal thing.
"What is it you want to know Father?" I kept my eyes closed as I answered because I felt embarrassed.
"Did you desire to have sexual relations with a girl?"
His question stunned me. I could feel my groin tingling. I didn't like it at all. Still I knew I was protected by the sanctity and the seal of the confessional.
"Yes Father, I did want to have relations with a girl."
"Is this a girl you knew, or was it just any girl?"
All of this was most unnecessary, but I couldn't pull away from this man. I knelt before him and God, and felt a painful pounding in my chest.
"It was a girl I knew before I came here."
"Did you and this girl ever make love?"
Thinking of Donna and our experience in the snowy barn made me relive the whole thing and I was getting a full blown erection. My eyes still closed, I was fast forgetting this man was a priest. I continued kneeling beside him, my face burning,
and my body trembling. I didn't know what it was at first. There was a gentle caressing of my throbbing passion. I opened my eyes, and was absolutely stunned to see the man was placing his hand on my uncontrollable swelling. He looked at me and smiled.
"Don't be afraid my boy. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help you."
He was pressing his hand against my crotch, squeezing my organ. The realization of what was happening, left me speechless. Panic stricken, I slapped his wrist as hard as I could, and pushed myself away from him.
"You're nothing but a goddamn queer."
"Wait my boy. You don't understand."
He grabbed my sleeve, but I tore away from him and got out the door before he could touch me again. I ran across the yard to the residence. Ray was in our room studying. He could see I was in a state of shock. I dropped onto the bed and began weeping.
"John! What is it? What's the matter?"
"He attacked me Ray...my father confessor attacked me while I was confessing to him. Isn't that a great one. I've got all the luck. I've even got a fruit for a father confessor."
He became livid with my remarks, and slapped me across the face.
"Stop saying those terrible things. You're hysterical. You don't know what you're saying."
"So help me God it's true. The bastard tried to molest me. He grabbed me by my cock and said he only wanted to help me. I've never had such a humiliating experience in all my life."
Ray refused to listen anymore. Storming out of the room he slammed the door. I buried my head in my pillow and began to sob. All the bitterness that I had been holding in during these three months at school, now burned into my cheeks.
The voice of the school's rector shocked me back into reality.
"Mr. Martindale! Come to my office immediately."
Standing behind the rector, was Ray, cowering behind authority. He wouldn't even look at me as I brushed past him. He came through with flying colours. What a waste of God's grace. My father confessor was waiting when we arrived. He nodded
to me as we came in, and his face wore that hypocritical grin and creamy expression which belied the evil of which he was capable.
"John, I've been given a very serious report about your conduct this evening when you were talking with your roommate. What's the meaning of this?"
He represented all the authority figures which had made my life so miserable. I was fed up with authority and with being pushed around. I detested both these men, and I decided to push back.
"I was attacked tonight Reverend Father by this...this queer... my father confessor."
The rector was shocked by my statement. "Have you gone mad? Do you realize you could be damned for all eternity for such a lie."
I became more caustic. "Lies. You think I'm lying. Why don't you ask your pansy priest what he was doing to me with his hands, while I knelt before him and God, confessing my sins. Did you hear what I've said? My sins seem like nothing compared to the grossness of what he tried to do tonight."
The rector couldn't stand it any longer. He rushed at me and struck me with his fist against my chest. The blow stunned me, as I fell backwards. I could barely hear him ask the priest.
"What's this all about Father?"
"This young man has been having a very difficult time making a healthy, psychological adjustment since reaching puberty. I'm sure if you will leave him in my care, I can help him overcome these bad things he has been imagining. I'm willing to forgive him Reverend Father, if only you'll give John another chance to stay in the school."
I couldn't believe my ears. This devil was actually making the rector believe it was all my fault.
"You're a Goddamn liar...a hypocrite. You're nothing but a seducer of ,young boys. You can shove this school and everything in it. I wont live a lie anymore. It was a lie that got me into this filthy mess, and I'm glad to be rid of it."
I ran out of the office, back to my room. Ray was standing by the window when I came in. "I had to do it. You were saying such terrible things."
I pushed him out of the way, and began throwing my clothes into the beat up Gladstone bag. I wanted to get out of this hell hole before anyone tried to stop me. Within minutes I was through the gate, heading on my way out of Amston.

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Freement by William James Johnson Chapter 3

The sole reason for the existence of Brewster, was the repair depot of the Central Railway Company. For thirty years, dad was employed as a yard engineer, shunting trains back and forth that came here from all over the CRC eastern division, for regular repair, and refitting. Our population was as stagnant as promotion possibilities in a small railroad town. About two thousand people lived in Brewster. Because of the limited work available, many of the younger men headed downstream to Chathurst, and lifelong indenture in the auto and steel industries. Blessed by a natural harbour, Chathurst became what Brewster could never be.
My dad, Frank Martindale, quit school at the age of fourteen, and took a job on a CRC work gang, when his father was killed by a shunting freight car in the stillness of the night. The company gave him a chance to work, as a concession for the unfortunate accident, that had left his family only a tiny pension. Dad saw his duty and did it. A strong youth for his age, with determination to see things through, he made a career out of railroading. Although lacking in formal education, he had street smarts. It was this instinct which led to his engineering training. Even if it meant he could only operate the big locomotives in the confines of the work yard, he was a proud man.
A few years later, he met Louise Chapman, and after a whirlwind courtship, married the young lady when he was only eighteen, and she was seventeen. It was a marriage of convenience; mother was pregnant with me, and grandmother kicked dad out of her home. Grandma was a strict Catholic, and even though my mother, who was not a Catholic at the time, became a devout convert, she was never again allowed to enter grandmother's home. I'm surprised both my parents continued their religious obligations after the treatment they had received at the hands of that pious old bigot.
Father worked shifts so much, we hardly ever saw him. He was a stern man. Mother often asked him to punish us. I can still hear him saying to her, "How do you expect these kids to learn to respect me, if all I ever do is give them beatings? Get a stick yourself, and learn to use it. My old lady used one on us, and we didn't turn out so badly." Mother would just keep quiet, and let him rant on.
When we were young, I could tell he wanted us to love him. But he was always so tired when he came in from work, he had little energy left for us. He'd stand by the kitchen sink, and take off his dirty clothes, and drench his face with water, splashing everything. He hardly ever spoke to mother. She was always telling us how important it was to learn to love and respect him. I doubt they ever loved each other.
There weren't many Catholic families in Brewster, so we only had a small chapel as a parish church. There were two masses on Sunday, one at nine...the Children's mass, and the other at eleven. We weren't allowed to go to the later mass, because that was grandmother's mass. Every Sunday morning, at a quarter to nine, the seven Martindale children paraded to Church. Father would lead us if he didn't have to work.
Mother, because she always seemed to be pregnant, stayed at home to look after the younger children. It was her chronic pregnancy that led to my discovery there was a connection between my mother's frequent bouts with obesity and the production of children. This was a happy discovery, because I thought my mother was an attractive woman, and I resented her periodic putting on of weight. Now that I had figured it out, I wasn't so perturbed. Somehow, I was certain my father was connected with it, and this further estranged us.
Although my father's attendance at Church was very infrequent, he used to say, "I don't have to go to Church. That's why God gave me kids. They'll get their old man into Heaven." Still he considered himself a staunch Catholic. He was particularly proud when one of us made our 'First Communion', or were 'Confirmed' when the Bishop visited our chapel.
I've already said that mother was a convert. I think she knew more about our religion than us. Every Saturday during the school year, we had to attend catechism classes in the chapel. No one in our family would dare miss a class. To miss, meant risking a beating from my father. He was going to get us into Heaven, even if it meant beating us through the 'Pearly Gates'. I'm telling you about our religious upbringing because it plays such an important part in the background of my present philosophy.
At the ripe age of ten, I had my first religious confrontation. It was a warm Saturday morning in spring, and we were confined to a stuffy chapel, listening to a severe looking nun, trying to explain the doctrine of the Trinity.
"The Church teaches there are three Divine Persons in God: God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. Each person is truly God Himself, yet there is only one God."
I shoved up my arm and began calling out.
"Sist...Sist."...never quite finishing the word, "Sister".
"Stop waving John...you'll get your chance. There is no need to shout. Remember, this is the House of God."
"But Sister..."
"Don't but me...Have you no respect for the Sisters?"
"Sorry Sister...I'd like to ask a question."
"What is it?" She always seemed annoyed when we questioned her.
"It's what you said about God. It doesn't make much sense ."
"Young man!...are you questioning the teaching of the Church?"
"I can't see how you can have a three-in-one God."
"That's because it is a mystery John. We will never be able to understand it, until we get to Heaven."
"That's the trouble with our Church. When it teaches something we don't understand, it says it's a mystery, and leaves it at that."
The nun became livid. Standing directly in front of me, she stung my face with a slap. She wouldn't be able to get away with that these days. She was so frustrated with me, she sent the class home early. The other kids felt I got what I deserved. She wrote a letter to my parents, and they also punished me. They wanted their children to respect authority, even if they had to beat it into us.
Father was always very strict with us. There was only one way things were to be done at home...his way. He had assumed the responsibilities of a man when his father was killed, and he expected me to have the same sense of responsibility, because I was the oldest in the family. I never came up to his expectations as a boy, and even less as a man. This meant that when he and mother would go visiting, I would have to look after the others. As with most kids, this was the time they would let loose, and I often found myself trying to quell a riot. Often I would threaten them. Why not...it worked for my parents. I was sure it would work for me. When mom and dad returned home, my sisters would give them a blow by blow description of my attempts at discipline .
"Haven't I told you a thousand times, keep your hands off the younger kids?"...Smack...right across the mouth. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a bully." Smack...on the other side of the face. "Now get to hell outa my sight." Boot in the behind. "I catch you touching one of those kids again, so help me Christ, I'll kill you, you sonofabitch."
Don't think our life at home was as cheerless as I've described. We had some happy experiences. Dad bought a '29 Chev, and we used to look forward in the summer to rides along the river. Mother would make sandwiches and we'd stop and buy a gallon jug of apple cider. This was really living. We always went the same route, and never to Chathurst. The grand tour usually ended on a sad note near the railway yard, where we'd sit and listen to dad tell us about the great things he had done. Then we'd get out and walk along the tracks to a spot outside the yard.
"This is where he was killed. On a night, when there are no stars, it's blacker than hell here. The freight car was going into the yard. They figured it was released up there, by that switch. With normal noise and all, your grandfather didn't hear the car coming at him. He was walking between the tracks because it was so dark, coming in for the midnight shift. The damn thing sneaked up and smashed into him, and dragged him into the yard. He lived for five days after the accident, only half a man."
My parents tried as best they could to show their support for their church. It had the unusual name of " Our Lady of Prompt Succour". We were so embarrassed about the name, we would call it OLPS when we were asked what church we went to. The parish priest often was invited to have Sunday supper with us. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else who just happened to drop in . Dad would never let anyone leave our home without being fed.
Once, when Father Dunphy came for supper, my little sister Ruth, who was only three years old at the time, after saying goodnight to everyone, went upstairs to bed. The priest commented on how well behaved she was. A few minutes later, she was heard returning down the stairs. Mother remarked she was probably coming down to kiss everyone, before going to sleep. When she came into the living room she was completely naked, and the bottom of her pajamas, which she held out in front of her, dripped water on the rug. All she said was, "One of you guys left the seat up, and I fell in." Father Dunphy shook with laughter at her remarks, and his sense of humour was Ruthy's salvation.
I've stressed dad's severity, because I feel it was in large part one of the reasons I became Freement. The worst beating I ever suffered was caused by Ruthy. Mother was too busy to take care of all the kids, and much of the routine work was delegated to me. She asked me to give Ruthy a bath before supper. I had bathed her several times in the past. This time, she was six, and I was fourteen. As I lathered her, I began feeling a pleasurable sensation caressing her smoothness. On previous occasions, I had given her limbs only a cursory washing. This time, she busied herself with a wooden scrub brush that drifted lazily in the bubbles. She had made a harbour between her outstretched legs. Unconsciously, she gave me the chance to examine her more closely. I convinced myself I was thinking only of her cleanliness. It was her innocent remarks which interrupted my sensuous reverie.
"I like it when you rub me there Johnny, cuz it feels so good."
"I'm only trying to get you clean. Hold still, so I won't hurt you."
My face was burning, but I was sure if I made any more of it, she might tell someone. Just to be safe, I stretched my legs out against the bathroom door, then I looked back at Ruthy.
"Do that again Johnny, please...Do it again."
"Do what?" As soon as I said it, I was sorry I had spoken.
"Rub me with your hand...down there...See."
In her innocence she spread herself to me, and the pink of her childlike flower thrust itself boldly to my discomfort. I wanted to say we shouldn't do this, but I couldn't. Instead I took the wash cloth, and meticulously, and gently made an attempt to bathe her decently. My own throbbing passion, was pressed hard against the bathtub. Neither of us knew what was happening. I suspected what was happening to me, but innocent little Ruthy never once guessed that her brother was becoming a young man that afternoon.
When it was over, I wiped her hurriedly, and she dressed herself and went downstairs. I was still feeling the after effects of my experience and I was afraid if I went downstairs everyone would know something had happened. I went to my room to lie down, but in this position became more keenly aware of the physical change I had undergone.
At supper, I thought my world had come to an end. We were all gathered at the table and as was our custom. Everyone was silent, except the younger children, who bantered among themselves. Even they were quiet this evening. Ruthy broke the silence.
"Mommy...Can John always give me my baths?"
As soon as she spoke, I felt like I had been smashed in the stomach.
"My heavens...whatever for?"
"Cuz he makes me feel so good when he rubs me here, " pulling up her dress, and touching her tiny cleavage.
Father struck out blindly at me, his blow catching me on the side of the head, knocking me to the floor. I didn't get the chance to get back onto my feet. His heavy body pressed the wind out of me, and I felt my eyes bulging as he squeezed my throat with one hand, striking me with the other.
"I've warned you about touching any of these kids, and now you sonofabitch I'm going to kill you."
It took two of my brothers and my mother, to pull him off. As the eldest in the family, I was expected to set the example for the others. Now humiliated by what had happened, I became a stranger in my own home. Sometimes I feel sorry for my father because of the ridiculous way he handled the whole thing, which was in fact an accidental awakening in my life, with no sense of malice or evil as he had construed it. But that was the kind of guy he was.
I felt deep rejection because of what had happened, and sought solace in prayer. This may seem odd for a youth of only fourteen, but it was because my father put so much stress on the seriousness of my sin. I begged for God's forgiveness, even though I doubted that I had intentionally offended him. These mixed emotions about the whole experience found me inventing excuses for what happened and the formula prayers I had been taught, did not comfort me.
Since it was an immoral act that had brought about my rejection, I decided the only way I would be able to regain the love and affection for which I hungered, was to become noticeably virtuous. I learned this technique by studying, "The Lives of the Saints". The more I delved into their lives, the more I became convinced they were a mixed lot of masochists, and spiritual exhibitionists. Of course you must understand, I was too young at the time to characterize them as such. That came much later. I was now using rationalization as they did, getting a spiritual thrill out of my parental rejection, and offering my loneliness to my suffering Lord.
My mother noticed the change that had come over me. She saw how I preferred to be alone, and seldom took part in the activities of the family.
"Is there something bothering you John?"
"No mom...Why do you ask?"
"You've become so quiet lately. Not the John I know."
"I'm not a child anymore. I've got to start thinking of my future."
She unplugged the iron, and stood it up. Putting her arm around my shoulder, she drew closer. "It's been hard for you, hasn't it son?"
Tears were beginning to form and there was a huge swelling in my throat that made it difficult to speak. "Oh mom! I've been so lonely...so left out."
"You don't realize what this has meant to your father. He loves you son. It tears his heart out when he has to punish you. He asked me if he should tell you he is sorry for what he did, but you know dad, once he says something, he seldom goes back on it."
"But this is no reason for avoiding me. Why doesn't he talk to me?"
"Pride Johnny. Your father is a proud man. He doesn't know how to say he's sorry."
"But I'm not asking him to apologize. I just want him to know I'm here. I need him."
"It's going to take time son. Ask God for help...and St. Jude, he's the patron saint of difficult cases."
"I've done all that. And I think God has given me the answer."
"What answer?"
"What I'm going to do with my life. I've decided God wants me to become a priest."
"That's such a serious decision."
"You don't want me to become a priest?"
"I'd be very proud of you, if that's what you truly want, but if you're saying this because of what happened,...That's not a good reason for becoming a priest."
"Dad was right...what I did was a terrible sin. I just hope Ruthy can forgive me someday. I've had so much time to think about my life, and I really believe God has chosen me."
"Your father'll be so proud."
Without realizing it, my mother had revealed the true motivation behind my decision. So you see Gregory, we're like two peas in the same pod. I glowed in the attention my new life brought me.
Father spent more time talking to me about my future. Mother had the others pray that my vocation was a genuine calling. The experience with Ruthy was never mentioned again. At last I was beginning to feel like a somebody.
The parish priest had been told about my intentions, and he too began to take a personal interest in me. The small congregation of St. Patrick's Chapel had never given one of its members to the service of God. It would be years before their hopes would be realized. Father Dunphy gave me spiritual books, and frequently asked me to visit him. He worked very hard to make my vocation bloom.
"You're a very fortunate young man. I've watched closely, and I'm convinced you've got all the marks of a religious vocation.
"I'd like to be a priest Father...only I'm afraid I might not be good enough."
"That's understandable. Prayer...That's what you need...lots of prayers. I remember you everyday when I say Mass. God calls many, but most ignore his call. As long as we pray, and stay in the state of grace, he'll never leave us."
"But how do I know for sure he has called me?"
"Your desire my boy, and your good life. And another important quality which I have seen in you...you're very studious. Studying for the priesthood takes many years of hard work. But with God's help, you'll make it."
"I hope so Father. It would make my parents so happy."
"It would indeed...but understand. Your vocation must have purity of intention."
"What is that?"
"You must want to serve God, because you love him...because you want others to know him. You should never want to become a priest for any selfish reasons. A priest must give himself like Our Lord did,...on the Cross."
Everyone liked Father Dunphy. His bright Irish smile was a welcome sight at all the civic events in Brewster, and the non-Catholics liked him as much as we did. No matter how friendly he was, you were always aware of his priestly office, and respected him for that.


Brewster High School was the newest building in town. The old High School had been converted into an elementary school. We had three hundred students in our school. It had been built in the centre of our park. Ideally located for school outdoor sports, it was also the prime meeting place for the social activities of Brewster. I attended Brewster High for three years, and would have preferred staying there until graduation, but dad had other plans.
"When you've finished school this year, I'm taking you to Amston."
"Amston!...why?"
"Father Dunphy feels a young man who is thinking of becoming a priest, needs more spiritual guidance than you can get here in Brewster, so I've decided you should finish your last year of High School with the Brothers of Christ in Amston. It'll be good
training before you go to the Seminary."
"Isn't that going to cost money?"
"Of course...you let Father Dunphy and me worry about that."
"But I could finish school here."
"I know you could. But going to school with girls and all, isn't the best way to develop a religious vocation."
Once the decision had been made that would be going to boarding school the next year, I began making full use of the social activities at Brewster High. I felt that if I was going to be a priest, this could be my last opportunity to enjoy the company of girls. It was this last chance which helped me overcome my reluctance of being with women since that episode with my sister.
The other students recognized the change in my personality, and this change reinforced my social attitude. By the fall of the last year, I had been elected chairman of the dance committee, and I was enjoying my new popularity. Despite this improvement in my status, I still did not favour any particular girl, but I found it difficult to keep my mind on my studies. I was now sixteen, and I was gradually acquiring the lingo of other guys my age. Words like, "nymph, queer, safe, rags on" began to have new meaning.
My voice was changing, and according to my sisters, I was considered by their friends to be a real hot catch. My mother continually told me that I was going to be a very handsome priest. My sister Karen said that many of her girl friends wanted to go out with me, but she discouraged them, by saying I was only interested in becoming a priest.
If the truth were known, I was becoming more and more interested in women. I was careful not to show it, for fear my parents might doubt my vocation, and I would lose their love.
The final year in school, I didn't have to pursue the girls, I became the pursued. Donna Curtis, the daughter of the town banker, was the most beautiful girl in school, and her parents always kept her dressed in the finest clothing. Many of the guys said all kinds of rotten things about her. I think it was only jealousy. She could have any guy she wanted. As much as I fantasized about her, I never took the initiative. We were in the same class. I would subtly stand near her in the hall, and enjoy the fragrance of her perfume. No one realized how she was driving me out of my mind. She barely knew I existed, until I was elected chairman of the dance committee. She was the head cheer leader. We had to work together organizing the first dance of the season. She was great in helping me delegate students to decorate the gym, and she was generous in her praise of me. Quite frankly, I was falling in love with the girl, and I didn't know how to tell her.
The dance was a huge success. The mellow music of Glen Miller's "In the Mood", drifted hauntingly through the trees surrounding the building, touching lightly the couples meandering along the paths, looking for a private spot. Bright dots of light bounced off a slowly spinning mirrored ball, 'darting among the gyrating couples'. Blue and gold streamers draped in long twisting arcs moved gently over the dancers.
On stage, I selected records for the next set of dances when Donna approached me from the wings. She smiled and passed me a record entitled, "Beg Your Pardon". I read the title aloud.
"Clever."
"Not really. Just a nice tune. Besides it gives me a chance to ask you for a dance."
Her beautiful auburn hair sparkled when the tiny coloured streaks raced by us. She had unfastened her pony tail and let the reddish brown strands drape softly on her pastel blue sweater.
"I'd like that, only I have to look after the records."
She touched me gently on the arm and tossed her pretty head to the side so that the loose wave of soft hair that brushed against her cheek, fell back into place.
"You could get someone else to do this for awhile."
She walked to the edge of the stage and called out to one of the fellows who was leaning against the gym wall. They spoke for a couple of minutes, and he came up onto the stage.
"Give the kid a break. If she wants to dance, then I say let's dance. Go on. I'll look after the store."
As Donna headed for the darkened wings off stage, he grabbed my sleeve and whispered.
"Play your cards right and you're in."
In the darkened corridor backstage, Donna squeezed my hand, and for the first time, I was aware I was trembling. She wanted me to stay in the dark with her, but without thinking, I pushed open the door. Soon we were surrounded by other young revellers, as we danced out of the doorway into the centre of the floor. Many congratulated me for my part in organizing the dance. Donna smiled approvingly with each compliment. By the time the music stopped, we had orbited the hall. The fellow who had taken my place on stage signalled everything was okay, and gestured we should continue dancing.
"Nice guy."
"He's okay," said Donna, snuggling closer to me.
Her soft vibrant body pressed even closer. The wonderful fragrance coming from her made me squeeze her tightly, and force myself into the mold she was providing.
"Easy Johnny. You don't want to hurt poor little me...at least not in front of all these people."
Her low bawdy laugh humiliated me. I thought the others would think I had made some lewd proposition. My face began to burn, and my palms were damp. I couldn't stop remembering how I felt when I was with Ruthy. When we reached the doorway of the hall, I pushed Donna away, and ran outside.
The fresh air and darkness made me feel better. I could hear the faint voices of couples amongst the trees, their shadows blending into a silhouetted embrace. My hands were still trembling as I wiped the dampness on my pants. The cool breeze
made the hardness disappear, and I started to feel in control again.
Donna followed me outside. Taking my hand in hers, she caressed me gently on the cheek, and turned my face towards her.
"What is it John? Was it something I said?"
"It's not you. It's me. When I'm near you, things happen."
"Things...what sort of things?"
"Please...I'd rather not say."
"You mean I excite you?"
She cupped her hands behind my neck, and drew herself in more closely.
" I excite you John?"
Standing that close to me, she didn't have to wait for my answer. I was so guilty about my feelings. I grabbed her wrists, and pulled her arms away from my neck.
"I haven't had much experience with girls. You'd better go back inside before something happens."
"Are you serious? All the girls think you really know the score . "
"Please...don't make fun of me. Now that you know, why don't you just leave me. Get yourself some other guy who knows what you want."
She embraced me again and whispered. "I'm not leaving you...no way. I don't care what you think of me. I like you a lot. I can teach you how to get over being
afraid of girls. Would you like me to show you how to love a girl?"
My answer was smothered against the moist lips of my young teacher. The tip of her tongue slipped easily between my tight, inexperienced lips and I found myself imitating her. The trembling began again, and surprisingly stopped when she placed
them against her firm breasts. I could feel them rising and falling with her rapid breathing. She was very expert for a girl of fifteen. Suddenly she pulled away.
"I'm not going to give you everything the first time. I want you to come back for more. If you think you'll want more my sweet?"
At that moment, Donna was the most exciting person I had ever met. I did want more. I wanted it now.
"Donna, you make me feel so great. My whole insides feels like I want to burst out of my skin. Please don't quit now. Teach me more my darling. I love you Donna."
"Not so fast. It looks as though young John Martindale is ready to become a man. Not now Johnny. This is not the place nor the time. But it will happen soon. I promise you. Now let's get back inside."
We returned to the hall. I was glad it was dimly lit. I could feel my face burning, and I was sure everyone could see its redness. It was the same feeling I had the last time my flesh started to creep on me.
It was not until later that winter that I had a chance to be with Donna again. I couldn't get her out of my mind. The kids at Brewster had made a great skating rink on the sports field. We had a gala winter carnival of skating, and a huge bonfire,
followed by an old fashioned hay ride, which left the school grounds and went out into the country. I didn't have a girl to cuddle up to so I wasn't going to go on the ride. Donna saw I was alone.
"You can't stay back here after doing all the work. Be my partner on the sleigh. We'll go in the last one."
"I've gotta check on the lunch and hot chocolate."
"You know Johnny, things aren't going to come, to a halt just because you have a I little fun. You coming with me or not?"
"Of course. I'd love to be with you."
The last sleigh was loaded to overflowing. We could hardly find room to hang on. The horses trotted briskly, and soon we were out into the country, on a beautiful winter night of soft scattered flurries freshening the path of the sleighs. When we
started through the surrounding woods, we got into very deep snow, and the fun began, with couples pushing each other into the soft billowy snow banks piled along the sides. The driver made the horses run faster, and those who were pushed off trudged wearily after the sleighs. Donna and I got pushed off into a deep snow bank, and the others urged the driver to make the horses run faster. Before we could get back to our feet, the sleigh was disappearing into the night. The voices of our friends laughing and shouting faded away with the sleigh. We made a feeble attempt to catch it, but soon gave up.
"Very clever Johnny. You'd think we planned it this way."
"We can still catch them if we try."
"Forget them. I just want to be with you."
"I've missed you so much Donna. I couldn't stop thinking of you after that dance."
"I was a real bitch that night wasn't I?"
"In a way. You have no idea how much I wanted to be with you."
"You still feel that way about me?"
"I'll always want to be with you. I love you Donna."
"That's sweet...but I'm puzzled Johnny."
"How do you mean?"
"The kids at school say you're going away next year."
"That's right. I'm going to a boy's school at Amston.",
"They say, you're going there to be a priest. I don't know much about things like that. I'm not Catholic. Is it true, you're going to be a priest? "
"The school in Amston is a pre-seminary. It's run by the Brothers of Christ. I'll finish my last year of High School there, and if they think I have a vocation I'll go to study in the Seminary."
"Do you really want to be a priest?"
I didn1t know how to answer. All I really wanted to do. was get away from Brewster. and do something that would make my father proud of me.
"A priest is a very high calling. I don't know if I'm good enough to be a priest. It's not going to hurt to give it a try."
"But they say a priest can't have girls. You wont be able to have a wife. Is this the kind of life you want to lead?"
She was making me see for the first time how involved I was getting in the lie I had been telling my parents. I knew I would never be a priest. But I couldn't tell my father I had changed my mind. It had taken so long to earn his love. I didn't want to
risk losing it now.
"How can you go through with this, when you say you love me? You do love me don't you?"
"Donna, you're the only girl I've ever kissed. I've spent hours dreaming about making love with you, and I don't even know how it's done. Of course I love you."
Across the field was the faint outline of a barn set back against the trees.
"I think I'm in love with you too John. Come on. Let's wait in that barn until they come back. We'll be able to hear the sleigh bells." She ran ahead of me through the snow.
"Help me get the door open darling. It's not much, but it's home."
We both laughed as we found a straw pile in the dark. She dropped onto the straw and grabbing my arm pulled me on top of her.
"Surely you're going to be a gentleman and keep a lady warm on such a cold night."
The zippers on her snow suit slipped easily and my hands felt the firm roundness of her breasts. She took my hands and shoved them under her sweater. She wore nothing underneath, and her flesh rippled with delight as I toyed with the hardening nipples.
"Taste them if you want my love."
My tongue traced the dimpled flesh around her nipples and then I sucked them fully into my warm mouth. She purred like a kitten. Her hands squeezed my throbbing groin and I felt her pull down my zipper, and the cold air struck my yearning erection.
"Pull my zipper down further dearest. We don't have to undress to make love."
I did as she asked. I was trembling with anticipation. She felt so slippery and warm. Holding me firmly she guided me into her hungry body, and immediately my tense erection pulsed uncontrollably, flooding her with my seed.
"You were too fast my love. You're going to have to learn to wait for me. so we can come together."
"Come? I don't know what that means."
"What you just did. Orgasm...come...going off. It's so much better when lovers come together."
"I'm sorry Donna. I'm so ignorant about these things."
"You don't have to be sorry about anything. Let me make it
hard again, and this time I'll show you what I mean. You're going to love this." ,;
That freezing night in the barn gave me memories for the rest of my life. We did it again, and she was so pleased when I did whatever she asked of me. I never suspected that people would use their mouth in such intimate ways. The taste of her body will always be in my memory.
The sound of sleigh bells ringing in the distance ended our love making. Slowly, arm in arm, we trudged through the deep snow back to the road.

View original art by William James Johnson at www.noozoon.com