THE STATE NEVER MAKES MISTAKES (9)
The Visit
No one bothered to explain his function to Patrick as a chain was clipped onto the front of the visitor's collar but the two youngsters were simply pulled along with Patrick not being able to see to facilitate his progress. It was just as if the youth was dragging a ball and chain behind him. The tour must have lasted an hour and did not come with a commentary. Patrick was no more aware of how the Guard House worked by the end of the tour than he was before undertaking it. He did know that he wasn't fond of negotiating stairs that he couldn't see, and that he hoped that he wouldn't be subjected to whatever was making some of the voices he could hear yell like that.
Patrick felt the chain linking him to the youth released from his collar and, after he had heard a key turning, he found himself in his cell once the hood had been removed and the youth had his neck chained to the bars once more. The hood was replaced on the "visitor's" head and the chain was used to hobble him before his Warder announced that it was time for his interview with the Director of Corrections. He was led away and the other Warder addressed Patrick.
A New Regime
"The Director has decided to alter your conditions again. Keep cool and I should soon be able to present you to him again to get you assessed for release in a couple of days. BUT, if you do loose it again, you WILL end up revisiting some of the facilities that you have just visited. But you'll be staying a bit longer than you stayed today. I'll leave you to guess what that might involve." Patrick nodded.
"The Prisoner will turn around." Patrick felt the harness loosen and the gag pulled from his mouth and, for the first time, he managed to suppress the involuntary groan that usually accompanied that manoeuvre. "Stay there." The warden removed the padlock linking Patrick's cuffs and attached it to one of the bars before departing. Patrick's arms were obviously to remain free but he was still not to be allowed the use of his hands. He was, however, surprised that the Warder seemed to have forgotten to replace that special gag which was still looped round a bar.
The Warder returned with a water bottle and a dog-bowl of food; yes, solid food! He slid the bowl under the door and clipped the feeding bottle onto the bars. Alright, there was still the humiliation of using what was effectively a baby's bottle and the ravenous prisoner would still have to eat like a dog but it was REAL food. Patrick obviously couldn't raise the bowl to his mouth but he made short work of getting onto his mitts and knees and devouring as much of the food as he didn't flick onto the floor. As the Warder approached, he held a finger to his lips before peeling a banana and feeding it to a grateful Patrick. He'd almost forgotten what real food felt like in his mouth. "Well, done, don't spoil it now. I've still got to help you remember about not speaking." So saying, the Warder unhooked a gag from his belt. It had a padded strap but only a narrow, rubber "U" shaped bar in front and, although it clamped the wearer's lips firmly against his teeth, it was by far the least painful gag yet.
As Patrick became accustomed to his new situation, a jet of cold water assaulted him, cleaning the debris from both himself and the cell floor. He was left to drip-dry.
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The next few days followed the usual routine but, after about six meals, the gag got even less strict as a light leather muzzle, without an insert, was strapped on between meals. Patrick's mitts were removed with the first arrival of the muzzle. Although such leniency did nothing to relieve the unmitigated boredom, at least he could see to his more personal needs more easily, if in no greater privacy.
In spite of his hooded tour of the establishment, Patrick was not much wiser about what happened to the prisoners he saw passing to and fro in front of his cell. He could guess from the bruises some of them were displaying that they had been beaten in different manners and certainly not one of those who were being taken to the cells displayed as much spirit as some did on their way out. The hoods that the convicts wore whenever they were out of their cells obscured a variety of the torments that prisoners could expect to endure in addition to their imprisonment if they transgressed rules that were not always made clear to them in advance. Some torments, however, remained all too obvious. Patrick was almost grateful that he had only had to suffer that body belt and various gags and mitts. Some of the metal restraints he saw seemed to have been forged onto the wearers; certainly Patrick could see no signs of locks on some of them.
After he knew not how many days, Patrick saw the Warder arrive with a familiar set of equipment. I don't think it could be said that Patrick was looking forward to having it used on him but, even so, he did experience a surge of hope. As far as he knew, he had not transgressed in any way since his previous public chastisement so surely he was about to be taken before the Director of Corrections again?
Once all precautions had been taken to ensure the security of the prisoner and the safety of the Warder, it took very little time before Patrick was ready for interview. He was expecting the hobble, the mitts, the body belt and the hood but after so long he could see no reason for the tortuous ball that the Warder had attached to his muzzle before bucking it on. At least he knew better than to expect the thing not to be buckled tightly. At least this time the Warder gave him a warning before dragging him out of his cell.
To his surprise, Patrick didn't feel any fingers inserted under his hood this time and the reaction in his groin caused by the anticipation of such a happening soon subsided as the Warder led him by the belt. It didn't seem to have been bucked as tightly as it had been the previous time but Patrick's gait was no less stumbling. He felt the sun on his naked body as he left the cell block, and the open air presented an unaccustomed aroma to his shrouded nostrils. The sensation was too good to last but the odour of the next building was at least not as foul as the atmosphere in the cell that he hoped he had seen for the last time. There was, however, one more aspect of his sentence that he had not forgotten.
The Director of Corrections Again
Once more, Patrick was forced to his knees and he heard a knock on a door.
"Enter."
This time the skinny convict expected to feel the Warder's knees pressing into the back of his own but at least this time his knees came down onto a carpeted floor. This time the Director of Corrections did not spare Patrick from having his ankles clamped.
“Please identify this prisoner.”
“Yes, Sir. This is prisoner HeinP 10/02/12, Sir. He was sentenced to an open term of imprisonment for drug possession without the option of enslavement. . . ." The Warder made his formal report which he was obviously reading. It detailed all of Patrick's transgressions and his subsequent tribulations and it even included a glowing good conduct report in spite of that little slip for which he had already been chastised. He then recommended HeinP 10/02/12 for immediate release following the prescribed public chastisement, which he suggested should take place immediately. Once more Patrick pictured the tumbrel and the pillory and remembered the pain inflicted by the sjambok. His hopes that his trembling was not noticeable were in vain.
“Thank you, Warder. I accept your recommendations and commend you for the way you have prepared and presented your report. You my now withdraw."
“Thank you, Sir.” Patrick heard the Warder withdraw before the Director called for the Corporal to attend and arranged for the details of his forthcoming punishment to be displayed on the public notice board. The technical specifications did not make sense to Patrick who merely understood that he was about to suffer further humiliation followed by more bone-jarring pain."
"HeinP 10/02/12." Patrick held up his head and tried to look towards where he assumed the Director's head to be. "In the light of Warder Fletcher's report, I shall explain the prisoner's situation. The prisoner must understand, though, that even now his conduct might jeopardise his imminent release. He should nod to indicate his understanding." Patrick nodded hesitantly but definitely.
"HeinP will be taken to the public scaffold where he will be subject to a chastisement the severity of which will be determined in the light of his original offence and of his previous chastisement." Patrick knew enough about the way such things worked to realise that he was unlikely to be subjected to the sjambok again; it was certain to be a more severe instrument. Once more he became aware of his own uncontrollable trembling.
"I must now offer the prisoner, HeinP 10/02/12, the opportunity to indicate his acceptance of his imminent chastisement; if he chooses not to accept, he will be returned to his cell until his appeal against it can come to trial." The authorities had been careful, ever since the new laws came into being, to make sure that everyone understood the implications of any such decision. The courts did not seem to be in any hurry to hear contested cases, especially appeals from those who had already been convicted. "If the convict HeinP 10/02/12 accepts the chastisement as decreed by law, he should now nod several times."
Patrick nodded.
Transport For Three
During Patrick's "hearing" a Corporal arrived ready to transport the prisoner to his ordeal. No details were exchanged; it was not necessary as he had obviously read the specifications on his tablet before setting out. Once more, the prisoner was not to be allowed the "comfort" of knowing the nature of the trial before him. He could only expect the worst.
Patrick's ankles were freed from the clamp but the short hobble remained in place and, once again, he felt fingers inserted under his hood before he was dragged outside once more. At least this time the Corporal did not see fit to strike his newly enlivened appendage. Just as had happened previously, Patrick was lifted easily onto the tumbrel and was forced to kneel. The Corporal deftly fastened him in place before curtly addressing someone whom Patrick assumed to be a fellow sufferer. He heard what were obviously two blows followed by two separate, indistinct squeals. Although the nature of his fellow passengers puzzled him, Patrick took comfort from knowing that he would not have to wait for anyone else to be secured.
With his hood removed, Patrick could see not one but two other passengers. Seeming to be only about sixteen years old, they were not exactly the type with whom he expected to share the cart. Having seen them, however, his automatic selfish reaction was to thank his stars that he was probably not sharing his journey with hardened criminals. The good citizens of the town were, therefore, probably going to be less determined to express their disapproval physically as the tumbrel passed. It was not unusual to have juvenile offenders given a short sharp shock for such heinous misdeeds as truancy. Apparently, it has proved a very efficient disincentive to antisocial behaviour as well.
The two youths beside Patrick were sharing a stake so had not been fastened in the customary way. They were back-to-back with the stake in between them and had been allowed the dignity of rather brief white aprons that just about covered any embarrassment most of the time. As was common with youths who had been convicted of minor misdemeanours, they had black plastic bits pulled painfully back in their mouths. The bits would do little to muffle any cries of anguish but the wearers would certainly want to do nothing that might prolong their insertion.
Very little rubbish was thrown at the three defaulters but what there was seemed to have been directed at the more strongly built, darker youth by the younger members of society. Judging by what he heard as he passed, Patrick guessed that bullying had probably played a part in his offences.
The painful journey was over soon enough, the tumbrel was fastened to the dais in the Town Square and the draught beast, who seemed to have been more skilful than the previous one, knelt. The Duty corporal approached the tumbrel with two hoods in his hand.
Three For the Scaffold
The shorter, brown-haired youth was soon hooded, a process that involved an initial clip round the ear as he vainly tried to avoid the black bag being slipped over his head. Just to balance things up, the other youth also received an initial slap before he too was dispatched into darkness. With the youngsters having been hooded safely, it was time to remove the straps that were securing them to the tumbrel. They were not attached to their common stake by individual body belts but a wide strap encompassed both their waists, digging into them and causing obvious abrasions as they were thrown around during their journey. Another wide strap entrapped their necks. It had not been tightened completely but each time one moved either voluntarily or otherwise, the other was caused more distress.
To ensure that the youngsters could not change the directions in which they were facing, each one's right ankle was attached to the other one's left with straps which also enclosed metal staples protruding from the floor of the trolley. Patrick had no idea how long they had been kneeling like that but they were both noticeably bruised wherever the straps bit into their flesh. Each boy had leather cuffs on his wrists that had been padlocked overhead and behind the intervening pole before a transverse rod had been passed through it preventing them from lowering their wrists and forcing them both, but particularly the shorter one, to maintain a very upright posture. It had not been a fun journey.
Patrick looked round with increasing trepidation as he saw the set-up of the public scaffold. It was equipped with what resembled a football goal but an oversized and very substantial one. Patrick had seen this set-up many times before. The worst bit about it was that, unlike the pillory or the horse, the victims were not able to make a reasonable guess concerning the nature of their forthcoming ordeals. It could be used in so many ways. All he knew at the time was the purpose that the two substantial timbers hanging from the crossbar via block and tackle arrangements were likely to serve; they were a common sight when juvenile offenders were due to be publicly chastised. It was the vacant space beside them and under the third block & tackle that Patrick would soon occupy but the nature of that tenure was completely unclear.
There was less of a crowd around the dais than there had been for Patrick's previous visit but the average age of those who were present was noticeably younger. However, even from the back of the dais, Patrick could see Jeremy where he had claimed a place close up against the crash barrier at the front of the structure. He had been to the Square every day well before the time when information concerning the day's chastisements was published on the bulletin board. He knew that there would be no "extras" accommodated after the 09:00 hours posting and, whenever he had not seen his boyfriend's name by then, he would return to his desolate home with mixed feelings until his visist the next day. He did not look good.
Patrick's heart sank. Jeremy looked distraught and had obviously not been looking after himself and the convict could not even say anything to comfort him. Their eyes hardy parted until Patrick was taken from the tumbrel.
TBC