第4章：夢會希特拉(2)
第二天早晨我6點45分就被警報器閙醒了，我趕緊起床跟著其他人跑進擁擠的洗臉室，迅速地跟上看起來似乎是最短的一排後面。梳洗後，在當席修士的監察下，我們換上制服，包括外衣、領帶和擦得發亮的黑鞋。我們一排排走進教堂，像紳士般，一點都沒有昨晚那調皮搗蛋的跡象。彌撒接下來吃早餐和上課，就這樣，我渡過了在聖十字架學校的第一個二十四小時。
想不到我的第二天更加令人震驚。晚上，正當我要隨住眾人進入自修室時，突然記起我把手帕遺留了在洗臉室——我已經洗過它了，打算把它掛在我床頭桌後面的欄上，但不知怎麼搞的就忘記了。
“就等一分鐘嘛，我得趕快回到樓上去，”我告訴站在樓梯底的已經準備好的William。
“哦，你最好快點。” William有點爲我著急。
我跑步比賽似的衝上樓去，走過老爺鐘、修士宿舍、走向洗臉室，我每走一步，這個空蘯的木質地板就發出沉重的撲通聲，我趕緊拿回手帕，掛起來，跑回樓下去。
當我到了自修室時，門已關上，我推開門，驟然看見一百雙眼睛盯著我。
“你有聼過‘敲門’(knock)這個字嗎？”一個聲音從昨天晚上保羅修士坐的那個位置傳來，他比保羅修士年青和高大，我後來才知道他的名字叫Patrick修士。
“我…哦…聼過…”
“你去了哪？” Patrick修士盯著我說。
“我…我把東西忘卻在樓上了…”
班上異常寂靜，Patrick修士看起來有點惱火了。
“過來！”正像保羅修士一樣，他伸手進長袍裏，拿出了一根籐條。昨晚體罰的畫面立刻閃過我的腦袋，我萬萬沒想到竟然這麼快就輪到我了。我伸出手來，籐條兩次狠狠地打在我手指上，這次沒有人偷笑，而且真是很痛！
回到我的座位上，William 遞過來一張紙條安慰我：“兩下是輕罰耳。”
那是我學生時代唯一次受到的鞭笞，但卻不是最後的。在聖十字架學校，任何不符合修士標準的行為舉止都會受到處罰，通常是鞭打手指。每個修士都帶有一條一米來長的籐條，或藏在長袍裏，或插在他們綠色的腰帶上，輕微的過犯可能會打兩下，更嚴重的過犯可以是6下，每只手三下。通常，瘀傷要持續達一週左右。在有些情況下，一個遲到換班的的修士會闖進教室，並喊叫那些等候時說過話的學生出來接受鞭打，那時整個班都會一個接一個出來挨打，男孩們的誠實和接受懲罰的大方令人震驚！有一次，一名修士老師說：太嘈吵了！無一例外，人人都要受鞭打，一個叫Michael的中國男孩一直在專心安靜的讀書，他拒絕接受懲罰。
“你，中國佬！想拒絕懲罰，是吧！”修士生氣地朝著他怒吼，然後命令他去見校長。Michael後來告訴我們，他在香港的父母親收到了一封來自學校的信，抱怨他的孩子的“不羈的行為。”
唯一不用籐條的修士是校長Brother John，他帶的是一條短而厚的皮鞭，它打在手上的痛楚是輕一點，而且不留下傷痕，但是我們被這個打的次數卻多很多，John修士教我們物理和化學，他在課堂上對提問一些刁棘的問題饒有興趣，值此鞭打那些回答得令他不滿意的同學。
“下一個…下一個…”他用鞭子輪著指向同學們，直至得到滿意的答案為止，然後他便繞著教室轉，論流鞭苔那些沒有妥當回答的同學。
“什麼是磅達(pound mass)？什麼是磅重(pound weight)？什麼是Bantum Weight？下一個…下一個…下一個…不，不是拳擊，下一個…”
這一次，班上每個人都被鞭打了，然後他說出答案：“那是卡通裏面一只鳥的名字。”
當John 修士鞭打時，他的臉上泛起光，露出放縱滿足的笑容，每課都幾乎沒有一個同學倖免。有一次，他甚至用六便士的罰金代替鞭打，傳言說他用這些錢去買酒喝，甚至有一次有傳言說，有人請John修士出外喝啤酒，他便是唯一曾經越出學校範圍而不受罰的學生。
儘管John修士一派獨裁作風，他的懲罰通常被男孩子們以一笑置之的態度接受，Patrick修士的作風則不同了，在所有修士之中，Patrick修士鞭打的最痛。他已經把鞭打練成了一門藝術，他先把鞭子在受害者的手指上空進行上下而有節奏的拂動好幾次，然後他會急劇地揮下，用鞭子的末端打向手指的骨部，以達到最劇烈的碰擊。Patrick修士的臉上甚少露出笑容，總是一副冷漠，高傲的態度。當他不高興的時候，他的眼睛盯著他不高興的對象，就像猛禽盯住獵物的那般，他的下巴垂落，露出空洞的嘴巴。
許多年後，我聼說Patrick修士去了愛爾蘭，並且成爲了伯多祿修士會的頭子。
聖十字架學校 (Holy Cross College) 的學生們以母校字母的縮寫 (HCC) 給它起了個別號，他們稱它做“希特拉集中營”(Hitler’s Concentration Camp)。以後若干年，我在學校的日子經常在夢中出現，在夢裏我問自己:“為什麼我還在這兒？”，然後當我醒來後，我安慰自己說那兩年是我人生中一段重要的時光。並不是校裏缺乏憐愛和公義的紀律更好地塑造了我的性格，而是我學識了如何接受生命中的賜予。現在我會很開心地享用一頓豐盛的餐宴，也很滿足地渡過清茶淡飯的一日。更重要的是，我很珍惜那些難得的時刻，當憐愛和公義走上我們的路之際。
(英文版）My second day turned out to be even more startling. In the evening, just as we were about to enter the studies, I remembered that I had left my handkerchief in the washroom. I had washed it and intended to hang it on the rail behind my bedside table, but had somehow forgotten it.
‘Just hang on a minute, I have to go back upstairs quickly,’ I told William, who was already at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Oh, you’d better hurry.’ William looked worried.
I raced up the stairs, past the grandfather clock, past the Brothers’ quarters and into the mass washroom. The deserted wooden floor emitted a hollow thump at my every step. I quickly retrieved my handkerchief, hung it out and ran back downstairs.
When I reached the studies room, the door was closed. I opened it to find one hundred pairs of eyes fixed firmly on me.
‘Have you heard of a little thing called a knock?’ A voice came from the seat where Brother Paul had sat the night before. It was now occupied by someone younger and taller. I later learnt his name was Brother Patrick.
‘I … er … yes …’
‘Where have you been?’ Brother Patrick stared at me.
‘I … I left something upstairs…’
The class was quiet. Brother Patrick looked annoyed.
‘Come here!’ In a like manner to Brother Paul, he reached into his robes and produced a cane.
The image of the previous night’s corporal punishment flashed through my head. I could not believe it came my turn so quickly. I stretched out my hand. The cane came down heavily twice on my fingers. This time there was no snigger from the class. It hurt!
Back at my seat, William consoled me with a note. It read: Two is a minor punishment.
Those were the only two strikes I had ever received as a student up to that point, but they were not to be my last. At Holy Cross College, any behaviour that did not conform to the Brothers’ notion of proper conduct attracted punishment, usually a caning on the hands. Each Brother carried a metre-long cane, either tucked inside his clothing or strapped to his green waistband. A minor offence might attract two whacks; more serious offences could attract a maximum of six – three on each hand. Usually, the bruises lasted about a week. On several occasions, a Brother who had arrived late burst into the classroom and demanded that those who had been talking come forth to be caned and almost the entire class would file out to receive the penalty. The boys’ honesty and readiness to accept punishment was astounding! One time the teacher wanted to cane the whole class, without exception, because it was ‘too noisy’. A Chinese boy, Michael Yeung, who had been reading quietly despite the commotion, refused to be caned.
‘YOU, CHINAMAN, REFUSE TO TAKE PUNISHMENT!’ The irate Brother yelled after him as he sent him to the headmaster. Michael later told us his parents in Hong Kong received a letter from the school, complaining about their son’s ‘unruly behaviour’.
The only Brother who did not use a cane was Brother John. Instead, he carried a squat leather strap. It was slightly less painful on the fingers and did not leave a lingering bruise, but we received more of it. Brother John taught our physics and chemistry lessons. He took great delight in asking tricky questions during the classes and whipping anyone who did not offer an answer to his liking.
‘Next… Next…’ he pointed his whip along the rows of students until someone responded with an acceptable answer. Then he walked around the room dispensing punishment to those who had not made the grade.
‘What is poundal? What is pound weight? What is bantam weight? Next… Next… Next… No, not boxing! NEXT!’
On this occasion every class member received a whipping before he gave his answer: ‘It is the name of a bird in a cartoon!’
When Brother John whipped, his face glowed with an indulgent grin. Hardly any boy survived a class unscathed. At one time, he even replaced the whipping with a monetary fine of sixpence – rumour had it he spent the money on alcohol. There were even stories of someone taking Brother John out to treat him to a beer – the only known incident in which a boy ventured out of the school grounds with immunity.
In spite of Brother John’s authoritarian streak, his punishments were usually accepted by the boys with good grace. Brother Patrick’s discipline was far less well received. Of them all, Brother Patrick’s cane hurt the most. He had caning down to a fine art. He would whisk the cane several times in a broad, rhythmic motion just above the victim’s fingers. Then he would whip the rod down sharply, striking the bony flesh with the end part of the cane, to a cracking impact. There was never a grin on Brother Patrick’s face, which was always aloof and unfriendly. When he became displeased, which was most of the time, his eyes targeted the object of his displeasure with a raptor-like accuracy and his jaw dropped slightly, revealing the gaping hollow of his mouth.
Many years later, I learnt that Brother Patrick had gone to Ireland, and become the head of the Patrician Brothers’ order.
The boys of Holy Cross College gave the school a nickname based on its acronym – HCC. They called it ‘Hitler’s Concentration Camp’. My days there continued to haunt me in my dreams for many years after I had left. In my dream I would ask myself, ‘Why am I still here?’ and when I awoke, I comforted myself by thinking that those two years had been an important period in my development. It was not that my character was better shaped by the draconian discipline, which was mostly devoid of compassion or justice, but it did instill in me the acceptance of what life has to offer. Now, I make sure I enjoy a good meal when there is one, but am contented to eat simply when there is not. More importantly, I treasure compassion and justice in those all too rare moments when they do come our way.
