Lou's Life Chap 18 "Humiliated and Alone"
I was naked, lost, alone and evidently in league with the Devil. And I had no idea where Quinn was or how to find him. Could my day get any worse?
I have to say, this was the first day that I became enamored with the legal system. Even now in 2009, The Law, the judicial system and the entire legal process is something that greatly fascinates me. That is one reason why I decided to become a lawyer in the first place. The entire judicial system has always seemed flawed. I have felt for a very long time that if you don't like the way something is done, don't just complain about it. It takes someone special, someone motivated to do what they have to do to get themselves in a position to change it.
That is what I'm working on. It is just my opinion, but the biggest problem is with finding a fair and impartial jury. I know, if you look JURY up in the dictionary it says: A body of persons sworn to judge and give a verdict on a given matter. In this case when I use the word jury, I don't just mean 12 people sitting in the front of a court room. I mean a "jury" as a person, or group of persons that decide your guilt or innocence. That can be the Sheriff that arrests you, the judge behind the bench, or, of course, the 12 people in the box. A jury could even be 3 elderly nuns. My main issue with the system is this: you humans are flawed. You are not perfect, you make errors in judgment. It is damn near impossible to find a truly honest, fair and impartial jury.
On the ground level, you have the police officers. I understand that they get very little pay for doing, what can sometimes be, a very dangerous job. But it is too subjective, if the officer has had a bad day, or has gotten yelled at by his Captain, or has had a fight with his wife, he can have a short fuse. And you could be having some minor infarction, like speeding or not having you're insurance card in the glove box where it belongs. On any other day he would let you go, but today he's in a bad mood and he judges you to be guilty of your "crime". The next thing you know, you are in a world of hurt. Your slammed up against the car, and this cop acts like he's trying to dislocate you shoulder as he puts cuffs on you. That's just so wrong in so many ways.
The Hulks were still holding me by the arms. The Sheriff had set the stool and the rope down at his feet. He folded his arms across his massive chest and just stood there five or six feet away to my left. Sister Marguerite came forward and stepped towards the Sheriff. He unfolded himself enough to pull a dirk out of his boot and hand it to the Sister hilt first. Sister Marguerite stepped to me and started cutting the stays that fastened my dress. I looked at her in horror "What are you doing? Surely you cannot mean to completely undress me here in front of the entire town. Sister, I beg you, please do not do this vulgar, indecent thing." She continued, walking around behind me to cut the laces on my corset. With my wrists handcuffed behind me, there was nothing I could do to stop her. "Cry out! Cry out, demon for your Dark Lord to save you this humiliation" she taunted me. As she said this, my dress, corset and all fell to the ground at my feet. I was standing there in my chemise and pantaloons. She pulled my wimple from my head, took down my braid, and released my hair. It was blowing around my face and helped hide me somewhat from the prying eyes in the crowd, for which I was grateful. The Sister then came around my front. She continued with cutting my underclothes from me. "We must behold the bare flesh to check for the Devil's mark." She finished tearing my clothes from me. I stood there in my nakedness and peeked through my hair at the crowd. I was on the verge of tears, my embarrassment was palpable. I was straining against my captors where they held my arms. I was trying to bend myself at the waist, to curl myself in to a ball and hide as much of my exposed parts as I could.
I could clearly see the entire crowd, could see each individual face. Most of what I saw horrified and disgusted me. Every male in the crowd between the ages of 15 and 65 was looking at me with point blank stares, moths hanging open, and undisguised lust. The younger boys were whispering and pointing, laughing behind their hands. One old man was brazenly vulgar enough to have his hand down the front of his pants, touching himself. The women all looked at me with disgust, like I was a foul bug they would like to squash under their shoe, and they all had their noses wrinkled like they had just gotten a unpleasant whiff of cesspit odor. Suddenly my attention was grabbed by a very small pair of eyes that were almost the color of Quinn's.
Right in the middle of the crowd, holding on to her Mother's skirt, was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six. She wasn't looking at me with hatred or disgust. She actually had a simple curious look on her face, like she was trying to figure out what was going on and why this was happening. I immediately stopped struggling and stood up straight. I did not like the fact that the child was having to witness this spectacle. She was innocent and that innocence should be preserved. I didn't want to have to think about the nightmares that poor child might have if she had to witness me being beaten or anything more horrible than was already happening. I stood and let my hair fall forward across my chest to cover myself, there was nothing I could do about my nether regions. It was unbearably humiliating to stand there, not moving, not crying, but I forced myself. I don't know why that little girl's opinion of me mattered, only that mattered more than anything. The only thing going through my mind was that when that little girl was an old woman and she remembered this day to her grandchildren, I wanted her to say I was bravest person she had ever seen.
While Sister Marguerite removed all my clothing the Sheriff had built a small fire. I was afraid for a moment that they were going to burn me at the stake, but he had not put a stake in the middle of it, and they were not dragging me towards it, this was just a small campfire. My Hulks lifted me up off the ground again and the Sister scooped up my clothes from under my feet and threw them in the fire. Sister Marguerite yelled to the crowd "The cloth has burned, it is obviously not from the Devil, but that alone does not prove innocence. She could have clothed herself in human garb" I stood like a statue, not moving, not even breathing, staring straight ahead with my head held high.
The Sister was still yelling at the crowd "Let us see if something from her person will burn. If she has been in league with the Devil, her hair will have been exposed to the Fires of Hell. If it escapes the flames and does not burn, she has been to Hell to conspire with the Devil to tempt our poor soul's away from salvation." She pulled all of my hair away to one side, gathered it in one hand, and cut through it with her dagger right above her hand. I now had no hair to hide behind, I could feel what was left barely brushing the tops of my shoulder's. She threw it on the fire and it began to burn. "Her hair burns, but the trial is not over. If Lucifer is present, we must be vigilant and ferret him out."
She came back in front of me with her knife, and turned and faced the crowd. "Now the accused must be inspected for the Devil's Mark. A soul cannot commune with the Devil and come away unscathed." She walked all the way around me three or four times. I realized what she was looking for. I have a small rose-colored birthmark the size of a shilling on the outside my left thigh. The Sister focused on this and yelled "Behold the Mark of Satan!" I turned and looked at her, and for the first time I focused on her and it was like I had never seen her before. She had a bizarrely ecstatic expression on her face. She was fairly bouncing up and down, like a child that had just received a gift from Saint Nicholas on Christmastide. I was appalled.
She knew I had this birthmark, because she was looking for it. She had to have seen it at some point in the 11 years I lived in the Convent. Common sense would tell you that my birthmark had been seen more than once in 11 years by every single sister that had ever attended my bath. For her to be acting like this now, practically bursting with glee at her discovery, that just seemed immensely ridiculous. How can a harmless little birthmark be deemed completely unimportant by this old Nun, and now when it serves her purpose to accuse me, now suddenly it is the Devil's Mark. Before I could stop myself, I started laughing and once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. I threw my head back and fairly roared with laughter. She just looked so funny! The Hopping Habit, the Shifting Sister, the Capering Cleric, Sister Marguerite. Those were traits more welcome in a sheepdog, not an Abbess. I laughed so loudly I could hear my laughter echoing off the valley walls. Good thing the Sheriff's goons were holding me up, else I would have been rolling on the ground. I finally opened my eyes to see the good Sister just standing there, no longer bouncing, her mouth hanging open.
"Madness!" she turned to the crowd again. I looked and they were also all standing there with their mouths hanging open, looking at me like I had sprouted three heads and a tail. "Surely, you can all witness that she is stark raving mad! Let us be done with this! Sheriff, bring the stool and the rope! We will dunk her and let the holy water of the river, fed by the water that comes to us from God in the heavens, determine her fate!" My goons hauled me over to the stool and slammed me down onto it. It was rough on my bare bottom and they were not being gentle.
While they were so occupied, Sister Marguerite walked to the edge of the water and began blessing the water in the river. I stole a peek at the crowd and saw several of them crossing themselves, others just looking at me with disgust and disappointment, and the little girl, still just staring at me with the same blank, innocent expression she had wore before. Once they had my hands and feet tied to the stool, the goons picked me up, stool and all, and walked into the water carrying me between them. We were deep enough for the water to cover my feet, but it was up to the goons knees when they turned and faced the Sister. She came to stand before us, looking "May God have mercy on your soul!" She crossed herself, sprinkled me with holy water from a small vial, and motioned for the Hulks to proceed into the water. They turned us around, and began to walk deeper in the water. We stopped when the water was up to my shoulders and it came to about the middle of the goon's chests. "Release her to God's will!" was Sister Marguerite's final proclamation. And with that, I inhaled, the Hulks released my arms and they walked back to shore without so much as a backward glance.
I began to sink under the water. It was cold and dark. The cold didn't bother me of course, but it was dark enough that I couldn't see anything as I sunk to the bottom of the river. The first thing I began to do was released my hands from the ropes. It really was quite easy and within moments I was free of the stool. It sunk to the bottom with a thunk. I could still see the crowd standing on the bank, although it was distorted by the water. I staid under the surface of the water and worked my way through the rocks. Suddenly I was grabbed by a very strong current and felt myself being swept away. I was pulled into rapids and they were slightly difficult, it felt like I was pulled in five different directions at once and I got bashed against the rocks more than once.
I think I must have gone over a small waterfall because there was a sensation of falling and then I was underwater deeper than I had been before. If I had been human, I would have drowned within minutes. I was struggling to reach the surface so that I could get my bearings, but the current was still to strong and it was pulling me along under the water. Then as suddenly as it began, it suddenly got calmer. The current lessened and I was able to come to the surface. I swam for shore and climbed out of the water, naked and bruised. I felt no real pain from my injuries, but my left leg wouldn't support my weight very well.
I skimmed my hands over my thigh and could tell my femur was broken. I simply stood where I was and looked around me. The tree line was at least 100 yards away, so I was going to have to make it that far before I could find a sapling to fashion myself a walking stick. I looked up and down to river and even with my considerable eyesight, as far as I could see in both direction, I saw I was alone. How far downstream had I traveled? Quinn was supposed to be waiting a mile downstream from where I was taken in. WHERE THE HELL WAS QUINN??
That is what I'm working on. It is just my opinion, but the biggest problem is with finding a fair and impartial jury. I know, if you look JURY up in the dictionary it says: A body of persons sworn to judge and give a verdict on a given matter. In this case when I use the word jury, I don't just mean 12 people sitting in the front of a court room. I mean a "jury" as a person, or group of persons that decide your guilt or innocence. That can be the Sheriff that arrests you, the judge behind the bench, or, of course, the 12 people in the box. A jury could even be 3 elderly nuns. My main issue with the system is this: you humans are flawed. You are not perfect, you make errors in judgment. It is damn near impossible to find a truly honest, fair and impartial jury.
On the ground level, you have the police officers. I understand that they get very little pay for doing, what can sometimes be, a very dangerous job. But it is too subjective, if the officer has had a bad day, or has gotten yelled at by his Captain, or has had a fight with his wife, he can have a short fuse. And you could be having some minor infarction, like speeding or not having you're insurance card in the glove box where it belongs. On any other day he would let you go, but today he's in a bad mood and he judges you to be guilty of your "crime". The next thing you know, you are in a world of hurt. Your slammed up against the car, and this cop acts like he's trying to dislocate you shoulder as he puts cuffs on you. That's just so wrong in so many ways.
The Hulks were still holding me by the arms. The Sheriff had set the stool and the rope down at his feet. He folded his arms across his massive chest and just stood there five or six feet away to my left. Sister Marguerite came forward and stepped towards the Sheriff. He unfolded himself enough to pull a dirk out of his boot and hand it to the Sister hilt first. Sister Marguerite stepped to me and started cutting the stays that fastened my dress. I looked at her in horror "What are you doing? Surely you cannot mean to completely undress me here in front of the entire town. Sister, I beg you, please do not do this vulgar, indecent thing." She continued, walking around behind me to cut the laces on my corset. With my wrists handcuffed behind me, there was nothing I could do to stop her. "Cry out! Cry out, demon for your Dark Lord to save you this humiliation" she taunted me. As she said this, my dress, corset and all fell to the ground at my feet. I was standing there in my chemise and pantaloons. She pulled my wimple from my head, took down my braid, and released my hair. It was blowing around my face and helped hide me somewhat from the prying eyes in the crowd, for which I was grateful. The Sister then came around my front. She continued with cutting my underclothes from me. "We must behold the bare flesh to check for the Devil's mark." She finished tearing my clothes from me. I stood there in my nakedness and peeked through my hair at the crowd. I was on the verge of tears, my embarrassment was palpable. I was straining against my captors where they held my arms. I was trying to bend myself at the waist, to curl myself in to a ball and hide as much of my exposed parts as I could.
I could clearly see the entire crowd, could see each individual face. Most of what I saw horrified and disgusted me. Every male in the crowd between the ages of 15 and 65 was looking at me with point blank stares, moths hanging open, and undisguised lust. The younger boys were whispering and pointing, laughing behind their hands. One old man was brazenly vulgar enough to have his hand down the front of his pants, touching himself. The women all looked at me with disgust, like I was a foul bug they would like to squash under their shoe, and they all had their noses wrinkled like they had just gotten a unpleasant whiff of cesspit odor. Suddenly my attention was grabbed by a very small pair of eyes that were almost the color of Quinn's.
Right in the middle of the crowd, holding on to her Mother's skirt, was a little girl. She couldn't have been more than five or six. She wasn't looking at me with hatred or disgust. She actually had a simple curious look on her face, like she was trying to figure out what was going on and why this was happening. I immediately stopped struggling and stood up straight. I did not like the fact that the child was having to witness this spectacle. She was innocent and that innocence should be preserved. I didn't want to have to think about the nightmares that poor child might have if she had to witness me being beaten or anything more horrible than was already happening. I stood and let my hair fall forward across my chest to cover myself, there was nothing I could do about my nether regions. It was unbearably humiliating to stand there, not moving, not crying, but I forced myself. I don't know why that little girl's opinion of me mattered, only that mattered more than anything. The only thing going through my mind was that when that little girl was an old woman and she remembered this day to her grandchildren, I wanted her to say I was bravest person she had ever seen.
While Sister Marguerite removed all my clothing the Sheriff had built a small fire. I was afraid for a moment that they were going to burn me at the stake, but he had not put a stake in the middle of it, and they were not dragging me towards it, this was just a small campfire. My Hulks lifted me up off the ground again and the Sister scooped up my clothes from under my feet and threw them in the fire. Sister Marguerite yelled to the crowd "The cloth has burned, it is obviously not from the Devil, but that alone does not prove innocence. She could have clothed herself in human garb" I stood like a statue, not moving, not even breathing, staring straight ahead with my head held high.
The Sister was still yelling at the crowd "Let us see if something from her person will burn. If she has been in league with the Devil, her hair will have been exposed to the Fires of Hell. If it escapes the flames and does not burn, she has been to Hell to conspire with the Devil to tempt our poor soul's away from salvation." She pulled all of my hair away to one side, gathered it in one hand, and cut through it with her dagger right above her hand. I now had no hair to hide behind, I could feel what was left barely brushing the tops of my shoulder's. She threw it on the fire and it began to burn. "Her hair burns, but the trial is not over. If Lucifer is present, we must be vigilant and ferret him out."
She came back in front of me with her knife, and turned and faced the crowd. "Now the accused must be inspected for the Devil's Mark. A soul cannot commune with the Devil and come away unscathed." She walked all the way around me three or four times. I realized what she was looking for. I have a small rose-colored birthmark the size of a shilling on the outside my left thigh. The Sister focused on this and yelled "Behold the Mark of Satan!" I turned and looked at her, and for the first time I focused on her and it was like I had never seen her before. She had a bizarrely ecstatic expression on her face. She was fairly bouncing up and down, like a child that had just received a gift from Saint Nicholas on Christmastide. I was appalled.
She knew I had this birthmark, because she was looking for it. She had to have seen it at some point in the 11 years I lived in the Convent. Common sense would tell you that my birthmark had been seen more than once in 11 years by every single sister that had ever attended my bath. For her to be acting like this now, practically bursting with glee at her discovery, that just seemed immensely ridiculous. How can a harmless little birthmark be deemed completely unimportant by this old Nun, and now when it serves her purpose to accuse me, now suddenly it is the Devil's Mark. Before I could stop myself, I started laughing and once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. I threw my head back and fairly roared with laughter. She just looked so funny! The Hopping Habit, the Shifting Sister, the Capering Cleric, Sister Marguerite. Those were traits more welcome in a sheepdog, not an Abbess. I laughed so loudly I could hear my laughter echoing off the valley walls. Good thing the Sheriff's goons were holding me up, else I would have been rolling on the ground. I finally opened my eyes to see the good Sister just standing there, no longer bouncing, her mouth hanging open.
"Madness!" she turned to the crowd again. I looked and they were also all standing there with their mouths hanging open, looking at me like I had sprouted three heads and a tail. "Surely, you can all witness that she is stark raving mad! Let us be done with this! Sheriff, bring the stool and the rope! We will dunk her and let the holy water of the river, fed by the water that comes to us from God in the heavens, determine her fate!" My goons hauled me over to the stool and slammed me down onto it. It was rough on my bare bottom and they were not being gentle.
While they were so occupied, Sister Marguerite walked to the edge of the water and began blessing the water in the river. I stole a peek at the crowd and saw several of them crossing themselves, others just looking at me with disgust and disappointment, and the little girl, still just staring at me with the same blank, innocent expression she had wore before. Once they had my hands and feet tied to the stool, the goons picked me up, stool and all, and walked into the water carrying me between them. We were deep enough for the water to cover my feet, but it was up to the goons knees when they turned and faced the Sister. She came to stand before us, looking "May God have mercy on your soul!" She crossed herself, sprinkled me with holy water from a small vial, and motioned for the Hulks to proceed into the water. They turned us around, and began to walk deeper in the water. We stopped when the water was up to my shoulders and it came to about the middle of the goon's chests. "Release her to God's will!" was Sister Marguerite's final proclamation. And with that, I inhaled, the Hulks released my arms and they walked back to shore without so much as a backward glance.
I began to sink under the water. It was cold and dark. The cold didn't bother me of course, but it was dark enough that I couldn't see anything as I sunk to the bottom of the river. The first thing I began to do was released my hands from the ropes. It really was quite easy and within moments I was free of the stool. It sunk to the bottom with a thunk. I could still see the crowd standing on the bank, although it was distorted by the water. I staid under the surface of the water and worked my way through the rocks. Suddenly I was grabbed by a very strong current and felt myself being swept away. I was pulled into rapids and they were slightly difficult, it felt like I was pulled in five different directions at once and I got bashed against the rocks more than once.
I think I must have gone over a small waterfall because there was a sensation of falling and then I was underwater deeper than I had been before. If I had been human, I would have drowned within minutes. I was struggling to reach the surface so that I could get my bearings, but the current was still to strong and it was pulling me along under the water. Then as suddenly as it began, it suddenly got calmer. The current lessened and I was able to come to the surface. I swam for shore and climbed out of the water, naked and bruised. I felt no real pain from my injuries, but my left leg wouldn't support my weight very well.
I skimmed my hands over my thigh and could tell my femur was broken. I simply stood where I was and looked around me. The tree line was at least 100 yards away, so I was going to have to make it that far before I could find a sapling to fashion myself a walking stick. I looked up and down to river and even with my considerable eyesight, as far as I could see in both direction, I saw I was alone. How far downstream had I traveled? Quinn was supposed to be waiting a mile downstream from where I was taken in. WHERE THE HELL WAS QUINN??
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