Cribben had been suffering a severe headache all day. Migraine, Magda had informed Maurice when they were alone one day, a condition Augustus had endured all his adult life and which was made worse when they were caught up in an air raid, the house they occupied demolished by a German bomb. Augustus had been trapped in the parlour, beneath half the ceiling that had fallen in, sustaining a serious injury to his head. His life was spared, but from that day the migraine attacks were even worse than before. So bad had they become that sometimes the pain carried him to the very brink of insanity. The attacks were punishment for his past sins, her brother had declared, and this he truly believed even though his life had been pure, his adoration of the Lord absolute.
But one day, Augustus suddenly knew what must be done to relieve this sickly pounding in his head, for it came to him as an epiphany: only further pain, further punishment, could release him from his affliction; only this further penance could absolve him of his sins and thus take away his suffering. Pain defeated by more pain. Magda would have to punish him to the limit of his endurance so that his sins would be washed away by the physical contrition.
One night, as Maurice prayed with Cribben, intoning prayer after prayer, most of them of repentance, the guardian had leaned his head on the bed, his hands clawing at the single sheet. Cribben's face had been ashen all day, his treatment of the evacuees even more stern than usual. At times he had clutched his head in his hands and moaned and even Magda had been wary around him, as if he might explode into violence at any moment. Instinctively, the children had become more subdued than usual (if that were possible) and had avoided even meeting his pain-raddled eyes. They crept quietly around him, never once raising their voices beyond a murmur.
Maurice, kneeling beside Cribben at the bed, watched with a kind of awed anticipation as his master's shoulders jerked with smothered sobs.
After several moments, Cribben seemed to pull himself together. He turned towards Maurice, who saw his guardian's gaunt face was even whiter than usual and drawn with the agony of his headache; tear trails glistened on Cribben's hollowed cheeks.
'You have a duty, boy,' he said to Maurice tightly. He pointed to the commodious wardrobe that dominated one side of the room. 'You're tall, Maurice: you can reach it.'
The boy was confused as he gawked first at the wardrobe, then back at the kneeling figure.
Cribben's order seemed squeezed through his lips, as if pain and impatience were constricting his throat. 'Fetch it, boy!' he hissed.
Bewildered, Maurice nevertheless scuttled over to the big wardrobe. He regarded it blankly.
'You'll find it hidden away on top,' Cribben told him fretfully. 'If you stretch you can reach it. Hurry, fetch it to me!'
Anxiously, Maurice stood on tiptoe and raised his arms above his head, his taut belly pressed against the wardrobe's closed door. He ran his fingertips along the edge and felt nothing at first. But when he stretched himself even higher, his whole body straining with the effort, he touched something lying there out of sight. It was light, for it moved easily when he nudged it. Working his fingers to draw the object closer, he soon realized what Cribben wanted brought to him. He pulled the long thin stick off the wardrobe and faced the guardian with it.
Like the punishment cane Cribben flogged the children with, this was split into several strands at one end; however, there were tiny iron studs impressed into the separate slithers of wood, there to inflict even greater pain when used as a scourge.
'Yes,' was all that Cribben said as he rose from the bed, his eyes glazed with either tears or fervour, and proceeded to remove his jacket. The rest of his clothes followed until he was completely naked. Maurice's eyes widened when he saw the stripes and barely healed weals on Cribben's body, across his chest but mainly across his thighs and lower legs. The studs had also left their marks as small red puncture wounds and short sore-looking scratches. The boy understood that the cane had been used on Cribben before—many times before, for some of the marks were old and faded while others were fresh, almost livid.
'This is my personal instrument of chastisement—it hasn't been sullied by those sinful wretches. You know what to do, Maurice. You must do it fiercely,' Cribben urged—no, he implored—the boy, who was still afraid and uncertain.
He jumped when Cribben screamed at him.
'Punish me! Let the pain absolve me of my sins!'
What those sins could have been, Maurice had no idea, for his God-fearing master was surely without the stain of sin upon his soul. But then, who could tell what dark and covert thoughts tortured the man? Maurice only knew that his own mind possessed many thoughts and images that might be deemed sinful.
Cribben knelt at the bedside again and he threw his upper body across it so that his back and buttocks were exposed. Maurice felt a strange thrill of excitement.
'Make it hurt, boy, let me feel its sting!'
In shock, and without further thought, the boy obliged, though his first couple of strokes were tentative.
'Harder, boy, harder!' Cribben shouted.
Maurice brought the cane down harder, the strokes clearly defined on the guardian's pale flesh, together with small pricks of blood made by the metal studs.
Swish-thwack!
'Lord, let the pain wash away the corruption of my spirit, help me atone for the evil that is mine!'
Swish-thwack!
Maurice struck with more passion, enjoying the sound the cane made on skin and bones, encouraged by the whimpers and cries it brought from his master—excited by the hurt he was causing. Oh, it was glorious. It aroused feelings inside him that he'd never before experienced. It made his groin tingle and caused a new and exquisite sensation, a wonderful feeling that he wanted to go on for ever.
Cribben, his face laid sideways on the bed so that the boy could see his expression, seemed to be in some kind of delirium, his open lips formed into an agonized grin, his eyelids fluttering as if he were about to faint. His hips were inches away from the bedside and Maurice saw something he didn't quite understand, something he'd never seen on any other man or boy before.
Cribben's erection was enormous, its engorged globular tip pressed into the bed's thin mattress.
'Yes,' the guardian moaned in a low, parched voice. 'Yes, more. Harder now!'
Eventually Cribben had had enough. 'Good boy, good boy,' he gasped as he rested his head and shoulders on the bed. 'Go to your room now, boy, and pray for your soul. Mine too. Go.' He sounded exhausted.
Maurice had walked to the door and opened it to find Magda waiting outside on the landing. She had been silent but a wisp of a smile had told Maurice she was pleased with his labours.
The flogging of his master was not the last. It was just the beginning.
57: FRIDAY EVENING
Lili had closed the shop and gone upstairs to her flat. It had been a slow day, unusual for a Friday, but the lack of trade hadn't bothered her too much. Business was always good around Christmas-time and, of course, in the summer months when tourists were like locusts in this part of town. She could have used some distraction that day, however.
She took a bottle of wine from the fridge, uncorked it, then filled a glass almost to the top. She went into her small but neat sitting room, taking both glass and bottle with her. Still standing, she tasted the wine before setting the bottle down on a glass coffee table.
Put the TV on, or not? She weighed up the option in her mind. Not, she decided. Even if it meant having some kind of company in the room, there was hardly anything worth watching nowadays and she hated reality shows (whose reality was it supposed to be anyway? The lives they showed were nothing like her own or anybody's she knew.)