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.

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