registers as if he were possessed by a demon. And around his cock, dark wiry hairs had started to sprout. He’d
86
imagined this would happen eventually. He’d spent too long living in close confinement with three adult males not to have grasped that at some point his body was going to duplicate theirs. But the reality was simply another source of anxiety. He was leaving childhood behind, without any clear idea of how he could ever become a man.
His grandfather had noticed the changes too. It was hard to imagine how he could be more brutal, yet he seemed to regard it as a challenge to find fresh sources of humiliation. Things had reached a new level of horror when a hawser snapped one morning as they were docking in Hamburg. It had been one of those things that was nobody’s fault, but the old man had decided that someone had to pay the price.
When they’d got back to the apartment, he had ordered the boy to strip. He’d stood shivering in the kitchen, wondering which of the familiar agonies awaited him, while his grandfather had raged through to the bathroom, swearing and insulting him. When the old man had returned, he was carrying his cut-throat razor, the blade open and gleaming like silver in the dimness of the afternoon light. Terror had risen like bile in his throat. Convinced he was going to be castrated at the very least, he’d sprung at the old man, fists flying, desperate to escape whatever lay ahead.
He hadn’t even seen the punch that hit the side of his head like a mallet. All he knew was a moment of crushing pain, then oblivion. When he’d opened his eyes, it was dark. There was a dribble of dried vomit running from his cheek to the floor and a burning pain in his groin that was sufficiently frightening to render insignificant the dull throb in his head. He lay for long minutes, curled on the cold linoleum, afraid to allow his hands to explore for fear of what they might find.
Eventually, he dared. His fingers crept down his stomach,
87
tentative and slow. At first, he encountered only the cold, smooth flesh of his stomach. Then, just above the pubic bone, there was a sudden change in texture and a jagged stab of pain that made him suck his breath in sharply. He clenched his jaw and pushed himself up on one elbow. It was too dark to see anything, but he decided he’d risk turning on a light. It might bring even more wrath down on his head, but he couldn’t bear not knowing what had happened to him.
Almost crying with the several pains that movement brought, he managed to get to his knees, where he paused to let a nauseating dizziness pass. Using the table as a prop, he dragged himself to his feet and tottered the few steps to the kitchen light switch. He leaned against the wall and flicked the switch with trembling ringers. Dim yellow light filled the dingy room, and he steeled himself for a glance.‘
The skin around his genitals was red raw. Every trace of pubic hair had been erased, along with the top layer of skin. There were pinprick scabs of blood where the razor had gone deeper still, but the cruel scraping of the tender skin was the source of the burning pain that coursed through his groin. He’d been more than shaved, he’d been skinned. He’d been reminded forcibly that he wasn’t fit to think of himself as a man. He hated himself then, contempt swallowing him like a black tide.
Looking back now, he realized his panicky rebellion had been a turning point. From then on, his grandfather had been less ready to inflict his tortures. The old man began to keep his distance, relying on the verbal flaying that could still reduce the teenage boy to quivering incompetence. He thought about running away, but where would he run to? The Wilhelmina Rosen was his only world and he doubted his ability to survive in any other. Gradually, as he had emerged into his twenties, he comprehended that there might
88
be another way to gain freedom. It had been a painfully slow
86
imagined this would happen eventually. He’d spent too long living in close confinement with three adult males not to have grasped that at some point his body was going to duplicate theirs. But the reality was simply another source of anxiety. He was leaving childhood behind, without any clear idea of how he could ever become a man.
His grandfather had noticed the changes too. It was hard to imagine how he could be more brutal, yet he seemed to regard it as a challenge to find fresh sources of humiliation. Things had reached a new level of horror when a hawser snapped one morning as they were docking in Hamburg. It had been one of those things that was nobody’s fault, but the old man had decided that someone had to pay the price.
When they’d got back to the apartment, he had ordered the boy to strip. He’d stood shivering in the kitchen, wondering which of the familiar agonies awaited him, while his grandfather had raged through to the bathroom, swearing and insulting him. When the old man had returned, he was carrying his cut-throat razor, the blade open and gleaming like silver in the dimness of the afternoon light. Terror had risen like bile in his throat. Convinced he was going to be castrated at the very least, he’d sprung at the old man, fists flying, desperate to escape whatever lay ahead.
He hadn’t even seen the punch that hit the side of his head like a mallet. All he knew was a moment of crushing pain, then oblivion. When he’d opened his eyes, it was dark. There was a dribble of dried vomit running from his cheek to the floor and a burning pain in his groin that was sufficiently frightening to render insignificant the dull throb in his head. He lay for long minutes, curled on the cold linoleum, afraid to allow his hands to explore for fear of what they might find.
Eventually, he dared. His fingers crept down his stomach,
87
tentative and slow. At first, he encountered only the cold, smooth flesh of his stomach. Then, just above the pubic bone, there was a sudden change in texture and a jagged stab of pain that made him suck his breath in sharply. He clenched his jaw and pushed himself up on one elbow. It was too dark to see anything, but he decided he’d risk turning on a light. It might bring even more wrath down on his head, but he couldn’t bear not knowing what had happened to him.
Almost crying with the several pains that movement brought, he managed to get to his knees, where he paused to let a nauseating dizziness pass. Using the table as a prop, he dragged himself to his feet and tottered the few steps to the kitchen light switch. He leaned against the wall and flicked the switch with trembling ringers. Dim yellow light filled the dingy room, and he steeled himself for a glance.‘
The skin around his genitals was red raw. Every trace of pubic hair had been erased, along with the top layer of skin. There were pinprick scabs of blood where the razor had gone deeper still, but the cruel scraping of the tender skin was the source of the burning pain that coursed through his groin. He’d been more than shaved, he’d been skinned. He’d been reminded forcibly that he wasn’t fit to think of himself as a man. He hated himself then, contempt swallowing him like a black tide.
Looking back now, he realized his panicky rebellion had been a turning point. From then on, his grandfather had been less ready to inflict his tortures. The old man began to keep his distance, relying on the verbal flaying that could still reduce the teenage boy to quivering incompetence. He thought about running away, but where would he run to? The Wilhelmina Rosen was his only world and he doubted his ability to survive in any other. Gradually, as he had emerged into his twenties, he comprehended that there might
88
be another way to gain freedom. It had been a painfully slow
Similar Books
