Page 17 of The Reformatory

“Yessir.”

Haddock gave Robert a long look. Then he walked to a shelf in the rear of his office and pulled down a gray shirt, a tie, and dungarees. While Haddock’s back was turned, Robert desperately checked himself to see if any pee had dripped down to the floor. He felt moisture down to his socks. But not on the rug. Not the rug, thank God.

“You get one set of clothes and one set only. You lose or muss these clothes, you get a whupping. You’ll get your Sunday shirt in your dorm. You wear the tie to church. You lose the tie, you get a whupping. Understand?”

“Yessir.”

The long pause confused Robert while Haddock waited. “Well, go’n, then. Strip down.”

Robert had never undressed in front of anyone who wasn’t family except the doc when he had chicken pox blisters all over his body. He fumbled to untie his boots first. Next he unbuttoned his pants, relieved that Haddock was still behind him and would not see any stains. Better to strip buck naked than to let the warden see the mess he’d made. He quickly pulled down his pants, wiping down dampness as he went; he hadn’t had time to find his drawers before the deputy came, so he wasn’t wearing any. He balled the pants on the floor, beyond the rug’s border. Papa’s shirt still nestled him, but Robert saw with horror that urine had carved bright brown trails down his ashy legs. Could Haddock smell it?

“I said strip down. Everything except your socks.”

The buttons of his shirt nearly broke as Robert tugged at them. He dropped his shirt atop his pants on the floor. The cold gooseflesh across Robert’s skin had nothing to do with the hot room. Every part of him was shaking now, not just his legs.

“Bend over. Spread your cheeks. Hurry up, now.”

Robert started to bend right away, blood rushing to his head, but the words spread your cheeks had no meaning. His hands felt ready to shake loose. “S-sir, what…?”

“Your ass cheeks, boy. Gimme a look-see. Make sure you’re not hiding nothin’.”

Robert trembled like he might have if he were naked in the snow. He hoped the lady at the desk outside would not come inside and no one would see him through the windows. While he struggled to grip his skin with slippery fingers, holding himself in this unnatural way, he remembered the card in his sock and wondered if Haddock would find it. Should he say something now? Would Haddock beat him if he didn’t? Or if he did?

“All right, turn around,” Haddock said.

Robert turned slowly, his hands falling to hide himself, his heartbeat a flurry. “You’re not big enough to be worth a damn to me,” Haddock said, half to himself.

“I… I c-cook, s-sir.” All he could remember was Loehmann’s last words: He cooks.

Anything to take this man’s attention away from his bare skin.

For the first time, Haddock looked pleased. “That right?”

“Yessir. A little.”

Haddock stared at Robert a long while. What was he looking for now?

Haddock suddenly tossed the pile of clothes to him, and Robert caught everything except the tie, which fell to the side. When his genitals were exposed, Haddock’s stare deepened and the air in the room grew nearly too heavy to breathe. Papa would not like this one bit. Or Gloria.

Robert thought of Papa’s stories of slaves being carried from Africa, sold at market like hogs. “There’s a pair o’ drawers inside the dungarees,” Haddock said, still studying him.

“Yessir.”

Robert found thin blue boxer shorts, like Papa wore, and slipped them on so fast he nearly lost his balance. He could breathe more easily once the boxers were on. They were a little big too, like the dungarees and shirt, but not as big as his boots. After he’d slipped his boots back on his feet—his socks were a little damp, but not too bad—he carefully picked up the tie and folded it the way he’d seen Papa fold his on Sundays, laying it across his arm. He grabbed the bundle of soiled clothes with his other arm and held them against his hip, hoping the pee wouldn’t smell or stain his new, fresh-smelling clothes. Every motion held his hope that Haddock would not be displeased or find a reason to grab his strap.

“I’m gonna call over to one of your dorm masters to take you to class. School’s in session for another hour. Then you’ll go straight to the kitchen. But don’t lose that tie.”

“No, sir. I won’t.”

Haddock rubbed his temples. “This headache’s got the upper hand now, but I’ll give you your twenty lashes. You just won’t know when, day or night.”

Robert didn’t answer. His tears tried to return. How could he sleep knowing that Haddock might come to beat him at any time?

Haddock walked toward his door. He stopped before the bookshelf with the framed family photo Robert had noticed. “You were lookin’ at this?”

“I…” A lie tried to sprout—What if he wasn’t supposed to?—but Robert told the truth. “Yessir. I saw it.”

“This here’s my family. That boy is me when I was just six years old. Holding my sister.” His voice grew gentle. “June of 1900, so it’s fifty years ago now, almost to the day. But it could’ve been last week, as well as I remember it. Mama wanted to hold her, but she wasn’t up to it. They hired a photographer from town, made a big to-do. That was the tradition back then, or no one would remember your face. I was the only one strong enough. The only one.” Haddock looked over his shoulder at Robert with the same storm in his face Robert had seen when he warned him against running away. “Truth was, I never wanted a baby sister.”