22. The pissers
Translated by Angela Telles-Vaz
Or maybe they didn’t ridicule because that was such a common show?
Every morning, an older student was assigned to sniff at the pissers. He would approach the row of the younger ones, put the back of his hands on top of their thighs and put aside the poor one that was wet. If he had any doubts, he would touch the place with his nose and smell it. Gradually, a small group of pissers was formed. Paddle of correction. Depending on Antonio’s or Sinuca’s mood, they used the smooth one, otherwise the one full of holes. One day, two mother smacks, the wooden spoon down slowly and pious, another day, using the violence of an executioner. If the victim bent his arm for fear, the fingers would snap. And for each fearful withdrawal, a more furious and insensitive smack. The hands swelled, turned blue.
The one who was considered to be a chronic pisser, having been plundered several times with the wet suit, went to sleep in the pisser’s dorm. That place was the reconstruction of a piece of hell, with chosen but not different torments.
All mattresses were no longer mattresses. In the middle with almost no filling, there was a huge hole in the rotten cloth that showed moldy and stinky smelling straw. Manger for the Son of Man. Thin mangers having underneath the bed wire frame, the poor children tried to sleep on the edge of the mattresses but ended up inside that hole.
What about the smell? When we passed by the door of their dorm, before entering ours, we trembled. I didn’t know how to overcome it. That’s why I don’t believe in hell. All the imaginable torments, since Sisyphus punishment to the circles of Dante and the four walls with no way out of Sartre, it would hurt less on the second day, therefore it would soon be part of the routine. And do they wish that this routine extend to eternity? Unless, suffering after today’s sorrow would go out of my memory. Then of course, on the next day, it would turn into a horrible novelty. The idea that everything would be repeated for eternity would be the only torment for these victims. I give this idea with gratuity to the zealous theologians.
Let’s move from the theologian’s hell and return to the hell of the King Vulture, the pope of the scavengers. I saw once the torment and from time to time everyone commented on it. However, needless to say how often this kept repeating.
Before sleeping, the boys would be grounded. Imagination didn’t go too far. It was needless. The most famous pisser had to stand up. The others had to stand upside down around him, resting the weight of their bodies on the one in the center, with their feet leaning on him. Then, a disjointed cone was formed. They needed to keep themselves in balance for a given time.
The variant was to reverse everything. The middle one had to be upside down and all the others standing up, supporting each other.
Sleep made them stagger and, if one shook the whole pyramid would crumble like a thunder. The Babel Tower would spread on the ground and they would never reach the kingdom of heaven. And yet all spoke the same language muted by terror.
Due to the mattress, the stench and the pyramid, no one desired to be demoted as a pisser. The morning routine was an ordeal.
Although it was not frequent, I pissed on my bed until the age of ten years old. By distraction or not, going to bed with a full bladder and waking up during the night with the need to run to the bathroom, that weird, tiny, damp and dark, but adequate bathroom. We released the urine which spread hot under the body. To wake up soon after and find out that it was a dream and the bathroom was just a bitter lie.
Two things allowed me to escape the dorm of horrors. Firstly, my bladder exploded as soon as I felt asleep long before dawn. I was already or almost dried when morning came. Secondly, it was due to that general protection that kept me inside a sturdy wall. I recall that sometimes my clothes were a bit damp and the sniffer would stop quickly and then continue his inspection. Moisés, again! Maybe it was, maybe I’m confused. Every time he went straight, without including me in the group headed to the correction paddle, each time, I felt a cool relief on my whole body.
My friends adopted a strange method. I tried it once but woke up frightened at night and went to the bathroom without having to carry out the horrible experience (maybe it was at the beginning because I didn’t get lost in the darkness).
They tied the foreskin of their penises with a string, putting a lot of pressure. They stayed that way all night. In case they pissed the string prevented the urine to escape and they woke up in pain. Then, they had time to run to the bathroom without wetting either mattress or overalls.
Once, Zé da Silva woke up late, opened his fly and showed it. His little penis was swollen, a huge ball at the edge and the dark skin taunt and shiny like a balloon to be blown. He went to the bathroom and returned completely dried, smiling with victory.
to be continued on next sunday.
