Wednesday, November 21, 2012

“A Child Is Being Beaten”


We here publish, for the first time on this site, a fragment of a hitherto-suppressed manuscript, known among connoisseurs of incunabula as Murphy: the Early Years.  It begins with his time in the reform school for wayward boys.

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            “Murphy.”
            “Yes’m.”
            “You been bad.”
            “Yes’m, I know’m.”
            “You know what that means.”
            “No’m.”
            (Incredulous.)  “ ‘No-ma’am’?!  You don’t know by now?  --   It means you get whipped.”
            “Yes’m.  I know’m.   Reckon that’ll happen.  Happens alla time.  But I -- just don’t  -- know what it -- means….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
            Murphy was never alone in the empty corridors.  Always there was the echo of his footfalls:  sometimes on the heels of his steps, sometimes slightly in anticipation, leading him on.
            “I know you’re there,”  he said.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            “Murphy?”
            “Yes’m?”
            “You been thinking those bad thoughts again.”
            “Yes’m.”
            “Better tell ‘em to me Murphy.”
            “No’m.”
            “Better tell me or I whip you good.”
            “Yes’m.  Reckon you’ll whup me either way.”
            (The keen and screwed-up eye.)  Was that a smart remark?!  -- Why I’ll--“ (reaching for the switch.)
            “No’m -- not smart.  A really dumb remark -- I see that now.”  (Trembling as he spies once more, the instrument of his sharp distress.)  “But a true one, ma’am. -- Can’t help it, ma’am.”  (Wincing, wincing;  shriveling beneath the blows.)  “Can’t half help it.”  (Wincing deeper now -- wincing even beneath the wincing skin.)  “Gotta find some’n, someth’n, help me help it….”
            (Furious)  I’m helping you!”
            (More in sorrow)  “No’m.  All respect, ma’am, but -- no, you’re not helping, not helping at all.”
            (The blows fall thick and fast -- herself almost at liquefaction, as in a dream -- while young Murphy shrivels, dwindles, to but a tiny remnant of his former self.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Sometimes, by himself in a room,  his eyes would turn inwards;  thoughts would buzz around his head like flies.
            He did not belong here;  so it seemed.  And yet -- he definitely belonged here.  They had sent him here, and he was not allowed to leave.
            He was in the place, but not of it.
            Slowly, he began to leave it, through a tiny hole in the back of his brain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Murphy, small of shoulders, bowed of head,  shuffles up to the office.
            “Ma’am I?  -- ‘scuse me, ma’am.”
            (Looks up sharply.)  “Murphy!  Young rascal.  What brings you here.”  (Softening a bit, though;  the boys seldom show up spontaneously, voluntarily.)
            “Well I -- no-one else to ask, ma’am.  I just got nobody, no, not one person, in the whole wide world.”
            Definitely softening, and settling back -- almost reflective.  “So… What’s on your mind, young Irish scamp?”
            Awkward;  fumbling for words -- then finding them.  “Well I -- I just wonder what --  what it is, really:  that makes me so bad.”
            She frowns;  is silent;  purses her thin lips.  “I reckon it was just… a bad seed…”
            “Bad seed, ma’am?”
            She purses further.  “There are two seeds in the spirit -- two of them, and don’t you forget it.   You just happened to get the bad one. “
            He is silent, not understanding;  and yet, and yet … yet beginning to understand.
            She decides to level with him.  “You know -- you were conceived in iniquity, by a very bad woman, with a very bad man.  But bad as she was -- he still should have stuck by her;  made an honest woman of her, or near as anybody could with material like that. -- But he skedaddled, soon after soiling your young mother’s bed.  He was a coward, and a welsher, was your dad.   And the apple does not fall far from the tree.”
            Had he ever known the man, this might strike Murphy like a blow;  but he had never known the man.   “So… I guess I was just -- born to sin;  that right?  Just plain -- simmered in it, ‘fore I was ever even born.  That so?”
            (Somewhere  her heart smarts her;  yet she must be stern in the truth.)  “That is so, Master Murphy.  You were born in sin, like a squid in ink;  and will certainly be damned.”
            Since this prognosis seems only to confirm the daily burden of his present life, it daunts him less than one might think.  He simply verifies.  “So:  no hope, is there.”
            “No;  none.  -- Well… there is… Jesus;  but he is not for the likes of orphans, or reform-school boys…”

[To read the complete series, click here:
http://murphybros.blogspot.com/search/label/memoir ]

[Watch as Murphy, wiser now, confronts two souls in extremis:


Flash update!!
Actual footage from Murphy's reformatory !!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzD3xJRRyGA&feature=related

-- Alright okay ... something even deeper than that:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BHRFZFmEq9o&feature=related

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