November 23, 2013
Some say that the moment we leave the womb, suffering begins. In Beauregard's case, one might say that that became particularly true once the woman with the dark hair took him away from South Carolina to her apartment in Manhattan, where he lives now.
The first night away from his brothers, his mother, his father and uncle, he was put in a cell, which was itself placed in a lightless room. He cried all night.
The next night he was removed from the cell and put in a prison, with the only difference being that his jailer --the woman with the dark hair-- slept at his side throughout the night. The next day the jailer decided to put his prison on the elevated platform where she slept. He didn't cry so much that night.
The jailer started controlling his life immediately, making him sit before she would put down his food and water, and taking both away as soon as he was through. Whenever he was let out from prison for a brief time, he would attempt to get out of her sight --but she watched him like a hawk, murmuring "Uh-Unh!" each time he approached an area not in her immediate control. Of course, he got used to the sound --and recogned that it meant he ought to move away from the area into which he had ventured. A few times he tried letting her know what he thought of her by putting down markers on her rugs --but it was counter-productive. She just got upset.
When Beauregard did what she wanted --peeing and defecating on the paper sheets she put down, one after the other-- she would tell him he was "good", and signal that he would get a reward. That reward was one more bead of food --which he only got after he assumed the "Sit" position. All that for one bead of food!
Beauregard's mouth hurt, so he would chew things to try to ease the discomfort. Here he had to be careful, because he could chew some things, but not others: the jailer didn't mind him tearing at the rug in the bathroom, but didn't like him nibbling at books or newspapers or hanging tassels. And she didn't think it was funny when he occasionally took one end of a Wee-Wee pad in his mouth and paraded around the apartment with it.
The jailer liked throwing him things to run after and bring back to her: a ball, a rolled-up sock, a large plastic shampoo bottle. In the mornings, she would get her jailer's whistle and blow --one of those high blasts that only he could hear-- then shout "Fetch!" --the signal for him to run to pick up the thing thrown. After he picked it up, she would say "Come!" and when he approached she would wrench it from his mouth, saying "Drop it!" --Why?
If she had to go out, the jailer would pick him up and put him in prison, closing the door of the room where she slept behind her. He would cry a little bit at first, but Beauregard was resigned after a few minutes, knowing his protests were in vain. Sometimes though, his jailer would pay attention: in the morning, for instance, when his cries always ended with his jailer opening the prison gate and picking him up, then placing him on the kitchen floor near the Wee-Wee pad, standing over him until he peed.
His joy was short-lived, though. After doing #1, his jailer would pick him up, put him back in prison and go back to sleep. On these occasions, at least, he could get some of his own back: if he'd slept enough, he'd keep crying until finally, the jailer had to get up, remove him from prison and go get him his food. By that time, the jailer was fully awake, whether she'd slept enough or not.
The funny thing was that the jailer could be very nice sometimes. She was always regular with the reward after he peed --so much so, that he peed at every opportunity, so he could get another bead of food. And she would occasionally give him a little piece of a pig ear, or a frozen carrot stick --and even a biscuit, sometimes. So even though she was a tyrant, she wasn't without feeling.
She let him bite her shoes and socks, and didn't mind if he gnawed at her cycling shoes. And she would bring him things to chew on --today she brought him a yellow rubber "pacifier" and a tennis ball, too. And when he slept at her feet, she would interrupt her reading and stroke his back, which felt good.
The nicest thing about her was that in the evenings she would hold him in her arms and put him in her lap, where he could fall asleep so fast it was as if his eyes had been sprinkled with sandman's dust. That was the best time. At moments like those, he felt Oh! So close to her!
Then she would go and spoil it all by telling him he had to go back to prison and locking him up again.
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