The Land of Lost Content, Part Seven (Conclusion)


by Will Faber <will_faber@supernews.com>

Chapter 14

Just before five o'clock the door opened and Phillip came into the room. With a gloating smile he declared:

"Hey, how's the Marlboro man? Well, I SEE you're in trouble again. Dad wants you downstairs now. Come on" He gestured for Barron to walk ahead of him. Barron did.

In the hallway he asked his older brother,

"What do you mean, you SEE I'm in trouble again?"

Mockingly Phillip patted Barron on the seat of his underpants and remarked, "This never happened even once to me--You must LIKE going around like that... Well, if you do, you're gonna love what Dad has ready for you!"

"_d_a_m_n_ you to hell, Phillip!" Barron exclaimed just loudly enough for his brother to hear.

Phillip's face lit up even more gleefully as he replied:

"Swearing! Oh, naughty, naughty! Little boys get their behinds spanked for that around here... But I guess it won't be the first time, or the last!"

"Oh, just shut up!" Barron said in disgust. He no longer had the energy to bicker with Phillip. He was sick with dread, but also felt anger welling within him. What could his father do to him that he had not done already? And how did Phillip know about it? Moreover, why did Phillip have to know anything about it at all? Wasn't punishment supposed to be private? Until recently it had been, but now...? Well, it just wasn't fair!

* * *

Their father was waiting for in the living room. So was the rest of the family, even Boyd, who had had a bath and put on clean clothes after his last session of day camp. The moods on the faces ranged from ill-concealed festivity (Phillip) and amused curiosity (Boyd) to the pained but pompous expression of both parents.

Only Annie had been crying. His sweet seventeen-year-old sister stood up, came to Barron, hugged him briefly and said simply, "Welcome home. I've missed you."

Then she sat down, Phillip also took a seat, and Barron was left standing before the stern paterfamilias.

"Barron, son," Pete began in a tone of pained righteousness and sorely tried patience all too familiar to his middle son, "I don't know if you can even begin to understand the shame, the embarrassment, the humiliation, the DISGRACE--never mind such little things as trouble, inconvenience and expense--that you have caused your family. You know that we cannot abide smoking, lying, or foul language, and yet you have knowingly indulged in all three of these vices.

"These are shameful actions for a person of any age, and it is particularly sorry that these are shown in the media as vices associated with adulthood, when the truth is quite the contrary. Do you understand what I mean, son?"

"No, Daddy, I don't."

"Well, then. I'll make it clear. Lying, swearing, and using tobacco are not the actions of mature people. In fact they are among the most immature acts imaginable. I don't know why you'd stoop to lying or swearing. You know how wrong they are. I don't even need to go into that, it's so obvious. But smoking... Every day I operate on people who have ruined their health and finally die from using tobacco. They know it's bad for them, too, but it's an infantile craving that they won't outgrow or channel into some less dangerous form. Those are the key words, Barron: it's dangerous and it's infantile."

Turning to his youngest child, he asked in a gentle tone:

"Boyd, honey, will you tell us all something?"

"Sure, Daddy," Boyd answered readily.

"The truth now, no fooling."

"Sure, Daddy, I always tell the truth."

"So tell us, have you quit sucking your thumb?"

Boyd giggled. "Yes, Daddy. I quit that a long time ago."

"And you don't do it at all any more?"

"Well, sometimes if I'm scared or real tired. But I don't do it a lot and I try not to do it at all."

"Good boy," Pete said proudly. "Now you see, Barron, thumb-sucking is a natural habit that kids outgrow. Smoking isn't. It is not natural, and once they start, most people don't stop until it's too late. But apart from the nicotine addiction it's the same infantile thumb-in the mouth principle.

"So, again, we're going to let the punishment fit the crime," Pete continued. "When you started acting unacceptably childish, it was fitting to let you go around in underpants. Since you've decided to be infantile, then it's fitting that you wear what an infant wears. Take off your underpants."

"Daddy, please!" Barron appealed to him--in vain.

"Do it now!"

Barron did.

As he slipped his briefs off in front of his entire family, something caught his eye. By his mother's feet was a covered basket which she was now opening. She removed several small items and a thick white cloth: a diaper.

"Come here, Barron," his mother directed. He obeyed.

Stand still now with your legs apart," she continued, and again he complied. Soon she had the diaper slipped through his crotch, snugly but not too tightly covering his bottom and his privates, and expertly fastened in place with safety pins.

"There now!" she remarked, patting Barron on the bottom to signify that the job was complete. "It's a little larger size than I've worked with before, but I'm glad to see I haven't completely lost my touch!"

"But what am I gonna do?" Barron asked in chagrin. "I can get one of these things off, but I have to have someone else to put it on me right so it'll fit and not fall off."

"That's the general idea," his father explained. "Once you realize that you can't get by without the rest of us, then maybe you'll be ready to act your proper age again."

"I see," Barron said glumly. "May I go to my room now?"

"No, dear," his mother replied. "After she heard what I'd been through today, Sandy Reed was kind enough to invite us to have dinner with them. It's almost five thirty now. We have to be leaving."

"What!" Barron asked in dismay. "I don't have to go over there like this, do I?"

"Yes, you do," his father declared. "You'll go around everywhere like that for the next two days, unless you want to for longer than that. And if I have to whip every inch of hide off you to make you do it, then I will."

At that instant something crystallized inside Barron. Though many children would have been brought beyond the breaking point by the ordeals to which he had been subjected, within him now arose the courage born of desperation. At least for the ensuing moments, fear was surmounted by anger. Barron looked his father in the eye, and, if only for that instant, Pete Williamson was shaken by the look that he saw on his son's face and the tone that he heard in the boy's steady, voice, a voice initially not raised in panic, but lowered in outrage. However, the pitch rose as Barron spoke:

"Sure you will! You'll whip every inch of hide off me if I don't go around in a stupid diaper! Well, go ahead! I don't care. Kill me if you have to: you're not going to humiliate me any more!"

Even as he spoke, Barron undid the safety pins, tossed them on the floor, and snatched off the diaper. With his last words Barron flung the diaper into his father's face.

"Barron! How dare you!" his mother exclaimed.

"I'm sorry..." Barron replied, "sorry I couldn't poop in it first!"

At that point, though, Barron saw that his father had thrown the diaper aside and had got up from his chair. His face a mask of fury, the man began taking off his belt. Sensing not merely punishment, but danger in the air, sensing it so strongly that what clothing he did or did not have on at the moment ceased to matter altogether, Barron bolted from the room--and the house...

* * * * *

Shortly before five-thirty, Basil Smithfield, never having been informed of his neighbors' change of plans, i. e. their desire to "uninvite" him, set off for the Williamsons' home. He remained annoyed and offended by the assumptions and presumptions that Sandy Reed had communicated to him the other day and apparently had imparted to others since then. Though he did not know the Williamsons especially well, over the years there had been no discord between them, and as members of the town's small, closely knit medical community, the Williamsons would be in frequent touch with the Reeds, would know their views on most matters, and might even be able to change or influence those views.

When Basil was about fifteen feet from the house, suddenly the front door flew open and Barron came running out wearing only a shirt, socks and shoes. The boy was literally half naked, the naked half being the area that people are usually most anxious to cover up. Recognizing Basil, Barron ran to him, threw his arms around him and begged:

"Help, Basil! Daddy's gonna kill me!"

Trying first to calm the child then to discern the situation better, Basil stroked Barron's head and told him softly:

"Take it easy, Barron. I'm here. I'll help however I can. What do you need me to do?"

"Save me from my Dad! He's gone nuts! He's gonna hurt me!"

Just then Pete Williamson came charging out the door. The furious expression on his face was now compounded by a look of confusion.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"You invited me to come at five-thirty for a drink," Basil replied.

"The hell I did! Get off my property!"

"It's your property, and if you're telling me to leave, I will..."

"I am."

"...but not before I'm sure that we both understand two things."

"Oh? And what might those be?"

"First, I happen to be your neighbor, who came here today as your invited guest. I find this sudden loss of memory, civility or both on your part to be appalling,"

"Too bad, What else?"

"I don't believe that I should leave here right now. I'm very concerned for Barron."

A hateful smile played on Pete Williamson's lips as he responded, "Yeah, I bet. I hear you're real concerned for other little boys, too. Now get your hands off my son before I call the police."

Basil felt a gentle hand on his arm. He saw Annie beside him. She beckoned to Barron, who followed her to the carport. There she handed him clean shorts and underwear, and he put them on at once.

By this time Beverley had come outside too.

"Peter! She called desperately. "We're going to be late for the Reeds'."

Her husband ignored her.

Calling Williamson's bluff, Basil told him: "You do that, Dr. Williamson. I think the police would be very concerned by the combination of a half-naked nine-year-old boy and a father with a belt in his hand."

"The police understand discipline."

"They probably do, but they won't understand your systematic, ritualistic, degrading treatment of your son. By the standards of anyone other than Gilles de Rais or Donatien Marquis de Sade, you've crossed the line from discipline to abuse long ago."

"You're a fine one to talk about abuse!" Williamson sneered.

At that Basil actually smiled: "You're right, Pete. Compared to you, I am!"

That was too much for Pete Williamson's overtaxed powers of self-control. He drew back the belt in his right hand as though to strike Basil with it. Perhaps he expected the younger man to be cowed by the threat of force. Instead Basil punched Williamson in the face with all the force he could put into the blow.

Pete crumpled to the ground and lay sprawled on his own lawn. For the next half-minute or so everything seemed frozen. Then Beverley began to wail: "Oh, Peter!"

"Dang!" Barron remarked, in neither approval nor disapproval, simply amazement: "You knocked him down!"

Basil quieted Beverley by urging: "Please, Mrs. Williamson, check his pulse."

She found it and it was regular enough.

"I reacted when he started to swing the belt at me," Basil explained. "I did it in self defense, but I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused the rest of you. Is there anything I can do?"

"Just go," Beverley replied. "You've done enough already. Annie, Barron! Go get the cotton balls, the hydrogen peroxide and an ice pack" Within minutes they had returned with the requested items.

Pete, who had not been knocked totally unconscious, was starting to come around.

Turning to go, Basil asked one final question: "Do you want me to call a doctor?"

Although it had not been addressed to him, when he heard the question, Williamson answered: "Not necessary. I AM a doctor."

"Fine," Basil replied. "In that case, physician, heal yourself! Goodbye."

With that Basil Smithfield turned and walked home, in a neighborhood that no longer felt like home.

EPILOGUE

Twenty-one years later, in 1995, Ronnie Reed, who now went by his middle name--Mark--encountered Basil Smithfield at a book fair. The two were equally surprised and delighted to see each other again, and doubly so that they had both attained moderate success in the same field.

Each likewise was pleased to hear the developments in the other's personal life. Both were married, happy with and devoted to their wives and children. Ronnie--now Mark--had a son and daughter, three-year-old fraternal twins. Basil had three sons, respectively twelve, nine, and four years old.

"I hated it when you moved away! I was just getting to know you, and visiting you was so neat. You're the one who taught me to play chess. Did you know I won the state championship when I was sixteen?"

"Did you?" Basil beamed. "Well, congratulations! I would probably have heard if I hadn't moved out of state."

"Basil, did you move because of my Mom?"

"Yes and no. How are your Mom and the rest of your birth family, by the way?"

"Fine. My folks may retire in a few years, but they're still working hard now. Dad loves medical research and Mom loves administering and analyzing psychological tests. But you didn't answer my question."

"You mean, why did I move? Well, your Mom's misjudgment of me was a part of the problem. She surely poisoned the waters for me with a lot of the neighbors, though there were some. like the Sheltons and the Thompsons who knew me better and remained friendly. But it was pretty much a lost cause after I duked Pete Williamson."

"Why? Eddie Shelton and I thought it was the greatest. I think Dr. Williamson actually treated Barron a lot better after that. Maybe you knocked some sense into him."

"Maybe so, but it didn't help me at all. Being a doctor's son yourself, you may realize that in our town, especially in those days, doctors considered themselves the elite, the highest echelon--virtually above the law. Pete wasn't exactly the creme de la creme of the medical milieu, but he was definitely on the inner track. He had influential connections, and he chose to exercise them to my detriment. After what I told him about his treatment of Barron, he knew better than to try to sic the police or the courts on me, but he got back at me in other ways."

"How?"

"I got fired from my job at the radio station. It had a lot more links to the hospital than I would have imagined. Maybe some of the principal stockholders, even directors on the board were doctors. Anyhow, you get the picture: I raise money on my program--I'm their fair-haired boy; I punch out one of their colleagues--I'm a loose cannon and my career in local broadcasting became dog meat. They wanted me gone--I left. I moved on. I've done OK since then. It's history."

"It wasn't fair," Mark reflected. "You were the first grown man besides my father to treat me like a real person. I wasn't part of a job you had to do, I wasn't someone else's kid that you had to look after or put up with. You cared about ME."

"Yes, I did. You understand it. That's the important thing. Were you angry with your mother?"

"Yes, but what could I do--she's my mother."

"I understand. So, tell me, are you in touch with the Williamsons any more?"

"No, but I know pretty much where and how they are. Annie's married, has kids and works as a school-teacher. Phillip's had two divorces and two kids to support. He's a salesman--athletic equipment. Barron and Boyd are both still single, neither finished college. They share a house and are partners in a house-painting business. They make enough to get by for now, but they're not real happy. Russell tells me they're both alcoholics..."

"Sad! What about Pete and Beverley?"

"Beverley's the same as ever, just older. Mrs. Thompson once called her a Stepford wife. The term still applies. She's still a total satellite to her husband.."

It was almost time for both to be leaving for separate appointments, when Basil asked the last question:

"So, what about Pete?"

"Pete's retired now. He's at home taking it VERY easy. Last year he almost died from a massive heart attack."

"Mark, when I think how careful that man was about his diet and exercise and consider all the medical knowledge at his disposal, I'm just amazed to hear that he actually had a heart attack!"

"Basil, most people who truly knew Pete Williamson were just amazed to hear that he actually had a heart."

THE END


More stories byWill Faber