Searching for a barber: consequences p1 by thadeusz

---

This is part 1 of a 3 parts story and it is important to read them in good order
----------------------------------------------------------------------
As a child, I lived with my parents and my father’s parents in a big house, near the capital of our nation. We were happy in a nice house in a very big city. My grandmother used to take me very regularly to the barber, and later to school: both my parents were very busy.

In fact my parents formed a team: my father was an emergency doctor and my mother was his specialized nurse. We lived very joyously together with my grandparents Botcharov (that’s my father’s name) who were both teachers in high school. Our house was full of books.

I must confess that I liked to sit and study, thus I did very little sports. I was very well fed and (second confession) fatter than was good for me. Some of my schoolmates called me "fatty the student", but I was well accepted by all.

One Sunday, shortly after Christmas, one of my school friends invited me to his birthday party. He was precisely 16 and I had not yet turned 15. Nevertheless, we were together in Grade 10.
On that very day my parents and my grandparents went joyfully to another party. It was a very sad day: the four of them had a dreadful car accident. Their car was hit by a big truck. The four of them were left dead on the spot.

The authorities decided that Sacha Botcharov (that’s me) should stay with his mother’s parents, the Oulgov grandparents. The problem was that they were not very educated people. My mother never spoke of them, except to say that for her going to nurse school was a real liberation. I had never met my remaining grandparents before that moment. They lived poorly in a small house in an industrial city, far from the capital. That city was known for its factories (including a well known alcohol factory), its barracks and its prisons.

So, after this dreadful accident, I stayed with my grandparents Oulgov. Their house was not full of books and there was no joy in their house. There was no love for me either. My grandparents had a small shop where they sold newspapers, which they did not read. They also sold tobacco and alcohol. They claimed that they did not make much money and that I was costing them a lot. I did not believe them: their shop was nearly constantly full. A judge gave them all my inheritage and all the nice books were sold. In fact, I had no money coming with me: my parents had no special life insurance.

My new living quarters were reduced to a small apartment without any room for me: I had to sleep in a tiny servant’s room placed in the attic. My grandparents had rented this room specially for me, and they kept telling me that it was expensive and that I should earn a living as soon as possible. An old lady came once a week to do the hard cleaning job and the washing my grandmother could (or would) no longer do. I had to take care of my clothes, and since there was no money to buy new ones, I had to mend and repair my clothes by myself. I did my best, but my clothes did not look very nice. The mending process was very visible, but other boys and girls in my school were in the same situation. In fact, I looked like a beggar compared to the elegantly clothed boy I was before my parents died.

Before the accident, I went to a local school where discipline was reasonable. I was considered as a brilliant learner and I was going to start my 11th grade at the age of 15, one year in advance. The general project was to get a scholarship for me and send me to a university where I would learn to become a Medical Doctor, like my father. Of course after the accident, I had to change schools and that’s how I reached a school where kids had to mend themselves their own clothes. My admission in 11th grade was confirmed, but my only problem was that I was a rather unruly boy. This did not matter in my previous school, it mattered a lot for my mother's parents. They were very anxious because of that, but the teacher in my new school said:
"With time it will pass. We have other boys and girls like him."

At the start of the summer recess, my grandfather looked at my hair and stated:
"Your hair is very long. You keep it clean but that takes time and costs soap and other products. It is not good for a big and poor boy entering 11th grade. Go and ask my barber to cut your hair. Tell him that I will come and pay for the haircut."
"Grandfather, I don’t like your barber: he cuts much too short. Can I go to another one ? A real hairdresser ?", was my reply.
My grandfather did not really like that, but he gave me his authorization plus a little bit of money to pay for the haircut. He added:
"Stay in the center of the town, the outskirts might be dangerous for a boy like you."

Of course, I chose to disobey and I walked through the small dull streets far from the center. Suddenly, I saw a large place closed by a very high grey wall. I wondered what it was and started to follow the wall. Finally I saw what looked like the center of the wall: there was a big gate with grids and on top a national flag. I wondered whether this was a prison. Near that gate, there was a group of about 40 youngsters about my age. Near them, there were policemen who seemed to guard these youngsters. I wondered what was happening and I moved closer to this group of young boys. I saw that they were poorly dressed, with holes in their clothes. Their hair was long: they had probably neither seen a barber for a very long time nor washed their hair as I did every morning in the shower. In fact all these boys looked dirty. I was still wondering and I guessed that they were probably taken to prison by the guards.

In those days, I was curious, more than was sound for me. I decided to go near these boys and try to understand what was happening to these poor creatures.

Suddenly, a man in uniform came to me and told me to take back my place in this group of boys. I first thought he was a guard leading these boys to the prison situated behind the high grey wall. I later learned that he was a Sergeant. I objected and told him politely:
"Sir, I have no reason to join these prisoners. I don’t want to be with these poor guys badly dressed. I am here to find a hairdresser."
The man replied: "My boy, you are here to obey, not to discuss my orders. Go back in the rank where you belong. Inside this building, you will find the barber you really need."
"But sir, my grandfather gave me money to go to his hairdresser."
"Boy, don’t discuss. You are one of these ‘poor guys badly dressed’ as you say. Look at them: they have all been brought here by the police, just like you. Mendicity is forbidden and your clothes have been badly mended, just like the clothes of the others. You are here to be protected against your bad tendencies."
"But you are wrong, I have really nothing to do with these beggars", and I started to run away from this rude man, running as fast as I could.
It was too late for me: the man ran much faster than me, he got hold of me by my hair and dragged me back to the grey wall with its big gate. I protested:
"Sir let me go, I must prepare to go to school. I have no time for anything else."
"My boy, you will find whatever you are looking for inside this building."
That was the moment I started to panic.

This strong man adjusted his hold while telling another guy in uniform:
"Keep this boy by the arm. Bring him immediately inside: he seems to be a rebel."

The other man did as he was told, and he hurt me. While he was doing so, he told me:
"You were looking for a barber, well you will precisely find the best possible one behind this wall" and I was now really in panic, unable to utter one more word.

The man who was dragging me called two other men with the same uniform who were guarding the main gate and told them to hold me firmly because I was trying to escape. He told them to bring me inside and to keep holding me, and I could not avoid passing to the other side of the big grey wall.

I could hear the first man in uniform, the Sergeant, shouting a lot while telling the other boys to stand in line and march proudly through the gate. He then told them to stand watching what happened to disobedient boys.

Since I had been told that there was a school inside, I felt that I had wrongly been forced to enter a boarding school. I assumed that everything would soon be cleared and that I would go freely to my grandparents home. I assumed that the guy who was holding me was one of the educators.

But the man who seemed to be the chief educator spoke to me brutally. He told me to get rid of all my clothes, including my underwear. I objected saying that I could not stay naked in front of other boys, but the man, who l reacted:
"You are going to stay with them 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. So stop being falsely prude, you young beggar."
He told the man who was holding me: "Give this boy five solid ones of the cane."

This ‘educator’ brought me close to a horizontal bar fixed to the wall. He then stripped me of all my clothes, socks and shoes included. He forced me to place my hands in order to have a firm grip on this bar. He attached my writs to the bar using small chains and he adjusted the height of the bar while pushing me in order to expose my nacked buttocks. I started to panic !
This ‘educator’ started to hit me hard with a sort of flexible cane. He carefully calculated the best way to hurt me. The cane made an awful noise while hitting me. I shouted and the other boys started laughing. All that left me bewildered. When the educator had hit me five times he released my chains and the chief educator simply said:
"Boys, this one has been caned because he tried to escape the press gang organized especially for you all poor beggars. If you don’t obey orders, it will be your turn to be caned."
I knew then that I had been mistakenly brought into a borstal !
All the other boys seemed stunned like me !

That’s when I realized why my grandfather had told me to stay in the center: here, in the suburbs, I was too close to the Army barracks and other places where people could be locked in. I now needed some help to get out of this mess I had created. The educators were in fact soldiers and the chief educator was a Sergeant !!!

I was still naked and shivering, not because of the temperature: it was a nice summer day, but because I was anxious not knowing what would happen to me. I also felt humiliated, destitute and frightened. Moreover, being naked in front of all the others made me feel ashamed. I was unable to move, so I stayed where the soldier had left me after freeing my wrists: in front of all the others.

These boys had been told to form a sort of square and stay exactly where they were, without any move. The soldiers (who were in fact Corporals as I learned later) took a rigid position which the Sergeant called "position of attention". He told all the boys to do the same. I was the only one to disobey that order and I received on my still bare buttocks another stroke of the cane for that. I immediately and rather instinctively changed the position of my body, despite being still naked.
Another man in uniform appeared. He had many stripes and a hat different from the hat worn by the Sergeant and the plain soldiers. The Sergeant, whom I soon learned to know as Sergeant Glazkov, turned towards him and said:
"Captain, there is one boy more than foreseen."
"He is not on your list ?"
"No Captain, and he already deserved a solid punishment."
"Tell him to come forward."
The Sergeant made a sign showing me to move forward, which I did hoping to gain my liberty. The Captain looked at me, naked and in shock after these "five of the cane". The Captain asked the Sergeant to look at my clothes, turned them several times in his hands and ordered:
"Boy, state your name and age."
"My name is Sacha Botcharov and I am 15."
"Did you mend your clothes all by yourself ?"
"Oh, yes sir," was my proud answer.
"As of now, boy, when you speak to me you must first say ‘Captain’. Understood ?"
The Captain turned to the Sergeant and told him:
"This is obviously another of these beggars. Simply add his name to the list. Get his address in case he has one. Ask him also if he has relatives living there. I will contact these people."
The Sergeant made a note of my grandfather’s address and phone number, but he did not tell me that I would soon be released.

After that the Captain made a gesture showing me to go back to the group of other boys. I tried to get my clothes back but the Sergeant pushed me aside and added:
"You will soon get your uniform. For the time being I want you to stay naked as a form of punishment."

I moved to the front of the group of other boys and waited, trying to keep my hands in front of me in order to try to hide my private parts, and despite the "position of attention". That’s when the Captain delivered a short speech.
"My name is Captain Akoulov. I am the commanding officer of this Military School. You have been brought here because you are poor homeless boys, without education and without a job. Therefore the government has decided to give you room and board in this respected institution for 3 years. You will also get free clothes and a good education. You will have a good job after that: you will serve as a soldier during 30 years in our glorious Army. There will be more information for you as soon as you are in uniform."
He then turned towards the Sergeant and said:
"Sergeant, dispose of these new Drummers in the usual way."

I raised my hand, as if I were in school. I simply wanted to say that I was not homeless, but the Sergeant looked at me with his most angry look and simply asked:
"Botcharov, do you want another caning ?" This frightened me because the memory of this caning still hurt. So when the Sergeant continued:
"If not, march with your comrades. You will be the first inductee of this levee," by fear I cowardly obeyed his order, not really knowing what was going to happen.

A soldier started producing a repeated rhythm on a big drum. The Sergeant told us to march in step as well as we could, on this rhythm. We were led into a big hall with a long counter. There all the worldly possessions of the other boys were also confiscated. Behind the counter, there were stocks of military clothes, but we did not get any new clothes.

We were now all completely naked without any object from our former life with us, not even a medal or the watch which was my dead grandfather’s last present. I was the only one to have a cell phone and the Sergeant started questioning me, asking brutally where I had stolen it. Finally he placed the object in his pocket and let me go. I was dreadfully frightened.

The next step was the barber. I felt that we were herded there like cows to the slaughterhouse. As promised, I was the first to be seated. The Sergeant told the barber :
"Give him a special one since he is a rebel and must learn where he is now."
The soldier-barber looked at my long blond hair and called me "Sissy". He then got hold of my head and put on his clippers. He brought them next to my right ear, saying "Hearing that, Sissy boy ? It is going to make a man of you." I started to cry and the barber started to laugh. He took complete control of my head with his right hand while holding clippers with his left hand. That also frightened me. I later learned that this barber (a Corporal as I learned later) was simply left handed and very skilful. He pushed my head forward, placing my chin on my chest, and he started to let his clippers go through my mane from front to neck. He did several passes with his weapon without guard and I could feel the metal on my skin. He then brutally pushed my head completely backwards in order to finalize his shaving on my forehead. He continued turning brutally my poor head to the left and to the right, pushing it to my shoulders. The barber even pushed and pulled my ears to let his dreadful clippers shave my head in these little no longer protected places. Constantly the buzzing of the clippers continued until finally the barber stopped it while saying:
"Shaved to the wood now, good for service. Pass your hand on your head, Drummer."
I did what he said and could only feel stubbles. I cried once more pleading for mercy, but the Sergeant shouted:
"No mercy for this drummer ! This guy wanted to escape, so he deserves a special hair shave, in order to make him look like what he is: a real convict."
The barber continued, but without clippers. He took cold water, poured it generously all over my head. He then took an old fashioned razor which he showed me, making a sign indicating he was ready to cut my throat. He then started to pass his razor over my wet head, over and over. It hurt a lot and he even succeeded in cutting me twice. Finally he decided that I was completely bald, and said:
"Your head is clean now, you little convict. I should call you a billiard ball, but you are a soldier now. Step down, Drummer."

This man had called me twice "Drummer" and I did not like it, but in fact I did not really know what it meant. What was worse was the strange feeling I had when I passed my hands on my head. I could not feel anything, not even stubbles. My head was now a real billiard ball !

I stepped down and was told to go back to my place while another boy was seated for an "ordinary" head shave, with clippers but not with a big old razor. This left him at least with some visible stubbles.

As soon as a boy was completely shaved with the clippers, he was brought back to the big hall with a counter. There we had to stand in the nude until several other boys had rejoined us.

The Sergeant let us then move to another big room with 12 showerheads near one wall and 12 near the opposite wall. At the entrance, there was one single small cabin where each of us had to go. He was then sprayed with a strange liquid coming forcibly from a flexible hose. I later learned that it was a disinfection operation. It was only after that spraying that we were ordered to go and stand under one of the showerheads. There each of us received a piece of soap and we were told to wash completely, hair included (or what remained of our hair, for some of us but not me). A soldier passed near us and checked if we had put soap everywhere, head, face, genitals and buttocks. The shower gave only cold water and it was very uncomfortable. I did have my usual hot shower in the morning and I was furious and anxious simultaneously. We had to stay under the cold water for ten full minutes, or so I guessed !

After that, still in the nude, we were finally all herded back to the big hall with a long counter and stocks of military clothes. I was really anxious and also fearful for another caning. That’s where I got my first set of uniforms. First regulation undies. That was my next shock. I was used to wearing a white men's slip with a slit. Instead I received Army green boxers, without any opening, without any slit. I assumed there was a mistake and I complained. The Sergeant heard me, gave me a solid one with his cane and asked "What’s again wrong with you ?"
I tried to explain, but the Sergeant’s reaction was simple: "Listen drummer, here you wear what you get. This is your uniform boxer, put it on."
I was slow doing what he had told me and he gave me two more of the cane.
After that, I received Army green T-shirts, then two green BDUs each with a large leather belt, woolen green knee socks, two pairs of black heavy boots and a small green cap. With all that came a set of metallic badges representing the unit where I had been plunged: a drum provided with two sticks. All that looked ugly to me.

I called the Sergeant and said: "Sir, I want my own clothes. I don’t belong here. I don’t want to wear this filthy uniform."
But the Sergeant replied: "Drummer, your rags have already been destroyed. You can choose: either you put on your uniform like the other new Drummers, or you stand in the nude and get another caning before being sent in the nude to an isolation cell."
I immediately started to put on this uniform, by fear of another caning.

But before I had time to put these clothes on and stop being in the nude, a Corporal passed a military dog tag over my head. This dog tag was forcibly passed above my head so that it was now hanging from my neck. This Corporal told me to keep this dog tag permanently, day and night, even in the shower. I could not refuse what I considered as a humiliating labeling. After that came the next humiliation. I was shown two white pieces of cloth above the left breast pocket of each of my BDUs. On each of them a number was written: 205.176. I was told that this was now my identification number, that my name was no longer important since I was, as of that instant, "Drummer 3rd class Matricule 205.176". I really started to be dreadfully afraid since I did not want to stay and be forced to become a soldier. Stupidly, I did not revolt immediately but I accepted, by fear of a new caning, to do whatever these people told me to do.

The Corporal who imposed on me this dog tag told me to get dressed immediately and to put the clothes I did not immediately need in a big green bag which he gave me. The bag already had my Matricule number on it, but the stuff I did not put on did not fill the bag completely.

I had no cell phone anymore and I did not know how to warn my grandparents that I had been abducted. I knew that the main grid was now closed and that the high wall was too high for me to climb. I felt lost. I wanted to get out of this place, but I was afraid to get another caning from the Sergeant.

The Sergeant led us all to the main courtyard where we were told to stand "in formation", leaving our bags next to a wall. Since we did not know what "formation" meant, the Corporals pushed and pulled us in order to make us all form a big square with nice rows and columns. They also showed us what the "position of attention" was, and they told us to take that position.

I was impressed by one fact: before we got our new clothes (provisional clothes for me), all the boys had different clothes which were mostly in rags. We all looked very different, with different haircuts and our clothes were of different colors. Now, we all looked alike. Just as if we were identical copies of one single boy. And I included myself in that group. Even our hair looked identical since it was cut very short and hidden by our cap. I did not like that lack of individuality.

Suddenly the man with many stripes, the Captain, appeared in front of us. He started to speak and what he said was dreadful.

The Captain started with the following order:
"Drummer 205.176 step in front of the formation."
I did not realize immediately that it was me ! Luckily, a boy on my right, reminded me in a whisper: "That’s you. Maybe he will send you home." I later learned that this boy was named Dmitri.
I started to move through the ranks of other boys, but the Sergeant shouted: "That’s not the way a soldier moves, 205.176."
He then showed me how I had to move "in a military fashion". My hopes of being free were diminishing cruelly. As soon as I was in front of the Captain, in the position of attention, this big chief started to speak.

"Drummer 205.176, you were not press ganged like the others. You nevertheless arrived here by sheer curiosity, defying the authority of your grandfather. You thus got the solid caning you deserved. I just spoke with your grandfather. He told me that you are an unruly boy who needs to be disciplined. He is convinced that solid punishments will be beneficial. Drummer 205.176, your grandfather is glad that you are here: he considers that you will finally become a man thanks to the education you will get here and that you will have a good job after that. You are thus fully part of this unit as of now. DISMISS."

Once more, the Corporal showed me how to rejoin the ranks. I was crying when I reached my place but I could hear the boy on my left telling me in a low voice: "Welcome here, brother in misery. We are both soldiers for 33 more years as of now." I later learned that this boy’s name was Piotr.

The Captain went on with a little speech addressed to these boys, I must say to ‘all of us’ since I was now one of these destitute boys !
"Boys, you have been press ganged according to the law. You are now young soldiers and you will be called ‘Drummers’. Your entry in the military has been decided for your own good since most of you, if not all of you, were living in the streets and were jobless. Moreover you were not going to school and you had to beg or steal for your food and clothes.
From now on you will have a home: you will soon see your dorm. You have already clean clothes, the uniform that you proudly wear. You will have another one for school, because you will go to school. The Army will feed you. Later the Army will give you a small pay.

Of course, there is a price for all that: you will have a Military Obligation to the nation: you will gladly serve during 30 years as your forefathers did. During all that time the Army will give you room and board and clothing, plus a reasonable pay. I am sure you will love it.
In any case, the best Drummers will rapidly be promoted to NCOs. The others will serve as ordinary Privates."

After that, the Captain told us, to my great dismay :
"You are now in the military and you wear a soldier’s uniform. Your rank is Drummer, lower than Private. Therefore, like all soldiers with a rank below Corporal, you will wear a leather collar identifying you clearly as a young soldier. The Sergeant and the Corporals will now fix this collar on your neck."
I was appalled, but also completely submissive and obedient by fear of another caning. In fact I hated what was happening to me: I should have tried to escape earlier when I still had my own clothes, but it was much too late now. I started to sob, but a "STOP that" from a Corporal made me behave better.

The Sergeant managed to be the "adult" soldier who took care of my neck. He first took care of Dmitri, the boy on my right, and fixed a dog collar around his neck. Dmitri reacted by giving the Sergeant a perfect military salute with a big smile as soon as he was "collared". The Sergeant came then to me and told me:
"So you are now one of us, 205.176, and forever ?".
I did not like it, but I dared reply:
"Yes Sergeant, my grandfather abandoned me so I am forced to accept this military situation."
The Sergeant did not like my answer despite the fact that it was a form of acceptance. He placed energetically what I considered as an infamous dog collar around my neck and he tightened this collar in such a way that, contrary to Dmitri, I could not even place a little finger between the leather and my own skin. I told the Sergeant:
"Sergeant, this dog collar is too tight for me, it hurts. Could you release it a bit please ?"
But the Sergeant refused saying:
"Drummer 205.176, this is not a dog collar but a soldier collar which you should wear proudly."
"Yes, Sergeant, but my soldier collar really hurts."
"Drummer, once it is fixed, one can no longer open it except by cutting it, which will only happen after three years of service, and only if you are good enough to be promoted to NCO. Note that yours has been tailor made for you: it has your Matricule number on it."
"Yes Sergeant and this Drummer accepts having to wear one, since he is in the military now. But this soldier collar really hurts: this Drummer can no longer breathe."
"Drummer, your problem will not last long. Until now, you ate too much which is not healthy for a soldier. Eat less: after a few weeks of regiment food and many exercises, you will look exactly like your comrades. Now start by dropping and giving me 50 pushups as a first exercise."
The Sergeant then whispered in my ear:
"There is a ring attached to your collar, Drummer, and it will be used in case you need a leash."
My only reaction was a sloppy military salute before I obeyed and dropped on the ground to give this man the pushups he had required. The Sergeant moved then to Piotr, the boy on my left. This one greeted him with a big and proud smile followed by a perfect military salute.

As soon as we had all been collared, the Sergeant moved to the front and told us to move and try to respect the rhythm of the Drum. Indeed that damned drum started again to produce its sounds at regular intervals. I tried NOT to respect this rhythm while marching, but all the other boys started to follow it as well as they could. Finally, without really willing to do so, I realized that I was also marching more or less "in step", like the other boys.

The Sergeant led us, by groups of 12, to big rooms. Above the entrance of my room, there was a sign "1st Section". Our leader told us:
"From now on, and for the three following years, this is your bedroom. You will sleep on the bed with your Matricule number and use the cupboard with the corresponding indication. Remember that this room must be kept perfectly clean."

The room was long but not very wide, with a big window without drapes in the wall opposite the door. This was bad for me since I always slept in total darkness. There were 12 military bunk beds, 3 double metallic beds on the right side and 3 double on the other side. There was a metallic ladder attached to each bed enabling the boy sleeping on the top to go easily up and down from his bed, but creating a sort of prison grid for the guy sleeping underneath.

Each bed was equipped with a plain hard mattress, contrary to the soft mattress I had at my grandparents home. On it, there were two white bed sheets neatly folded, one khaki relatively clean blanket and one thin and hard bolster. The bed was not made when we entered the room and we had to look at a demo made by the Sergeant: he showed us how we had to make our bed every evening and how we had to fold everything in the morning.

There were small cupboards next to each bed: one on the left for the upper boy and one on the right for the lower boy. In our cupboard, we were only supposed to place the pieces of uniform we were not wearing, and these had to be nicely folded. The space between two double bunks was defined by these cupboards. There was a sort of passage between the two rows of beds, narrow but sufficient to let us, boys now in uniform, move there.

Each bed and each cupboard had a number, the Matricule number of the guy who had to sleep there. That’s how I discovered in which bed I had to sleep. It was a central downward bed numbered 205.176. On my left was bed 205.174 for Piotr Dragan and on my right was bed 205.178 for Dmitri Nikonov. I realized that these two boys were near me when I learned that I could no longer avoid being a soldier. We would remain together for three years from then on.
Drummers with an "Odd number Matricule" had upper beds. They were also separated from us for most activities.

The Sergeant added that the space between our bed and our cupboard was our space. It was strictly forbidden to move beyond that attributed space. He added: "When I call the group, you must run and stay at attention at the foot of your bed, on your side."
At that time, I was slowly understanding what "standing at attention" meant.

I looked around me and noticed that the room was probably comfortable for a group, but certainly not joyful. The walls were of a greyish green color which was in fact dirty green. The beds and cupboard were painted in khaki, but they also had known better days: it was obvious that they were not new and had been used by several generations of boys like us, or was it by several generations of soldiers since we were in barracks ? The whole thing gave me a profound feeling of sadness.

We were also told that we should sleep in a special way: two adjacent boys, or Drummers as the Sergeant called us, were not allowed to sleep with their heads in the same way: one should have his head near the feet of the other. The Sergeant called that "sleeping head to tail". This was done, he said, in order to discourage communications between us after lights out.

I first wanted to try again to warn my grandparents that I had been abducted, but when I asked Sergeant Glazkov the authorization to use my cell phone (the one he had confiscated) to warn them of my whereabouts, he told me to keep quiet about my so-called family and my stealing habits. He added that if I insisted, I would get more caning if I continued claiming that I should not be there. It would also be a more severe punishment because I was no longer a disobedient beggar, but what he called "a uniformed man".

Piotr Dragan, Matricule 205.174, was next to me when the sergeant threatened me as mentioned above. He told me to keep quiet and obey the orders. On the other side of my bed, my other neighbor, Dmitri Nikonov, Matricule 205.178, confirmed what Piotr had said. I felt that, since I now had to stay there, we might become friends, but I did not exactly know why. I managed and Dmitri, Piotr and me were very close friends during the years we spent in this Military Academy.

The Sergeant told us all to remain silent. He then left us a few minutes to put our things in our cupboards and to make our beds according to regulations. A Corporal came and inspected each of the beds. I assumed that the same thing was happening for the other boys placed in the two other groups, called sections.

The Sergeant came back and told us to hurry and go to the main courtyard "in formation". We knew now what this meant and we rushed to the main courtyard. We were then told to take the position of attention. Again the Corporals showed us, by their example, what was meant by these words. The Sergeant added that it was the last time he would show us what we had to do:
"Those who make mistakes will be severely punished, as it suits for the soldiers that you are now."
When we were all set, the Captain who had already spoken appeared in front of us and started a short speech I did not forget:

"During your first week here, you will be trained to respect a strict military routine. After that you will do all kinds of exercises in the framework of a field training period."
I heard "field training", which meant outside and I first thought that it would then be easy to escape and then rejoin my grandparents, before I realized that this was pure nonsense since my grandparents had rejected me. But the Captain went on:
"If you disrespect this military discipline, you will be punished as the soldiers that you are now that you have been ‘collared’: you will learn what it means to be whipped. Go now and get joyfully your first military dinner. DISMISS."
The Sergeant made a sign showing that we had to leave the formation and the Corporals (three of them, one for each group of 12 Drummers) cornacked us to another big eating hall with tables and chairs: our ‘eating’ hall.
It is not really necessary to say that none of us was joyful, but we all remained silent and marched in step.

In this big hall, we had to sit in a well defined place, according to our number. We received something to eat and that was great since I was hungry after all these events. After that we were led to a classroom, still with a Drum marking the rhythm we should adopt. I must confess that with the others I started to get used to that rhythm and started thus to march according to it. In the classroom we were again 12, as in the bedroom, and we were seated again according to our Matricule number, but a Corporal told us that this was an evening ‘free study’ session. We were thus free to speak with whoever we chose. I started to speak with my two new friends, Piotr and Dmitri. I told them that I really did not want to stay and also that I did not want to serve in the Military: I wanted to study and become a doctor like my father. Piotr reacted as follows:
"Sacha, keep quiet and stop dreaming. Your fate is sealed now that you have accepted to wear a uniform and a soldier collar. You must accept your fate."
"But I could not refuse them: the Sergeant had taken all my clothes and forced the collar on me", was my reply.
"That’s where you were wrong, you should have shouted, run, do whatever you could to avoid wearing the uniform. Now that you have accepted it, it is too late. Accept your fate !"
"I tried and I got a solid caning. Later I tried again but the Sergeant threatened me with another caning."
"And then ?" said Dmitri, "It is just one bad moment for a better future."
"I had never been caned like that before, and it hurt. Have you ever been caned ?"
"Yes, I have often been beaten !" added Dmitri.
"I hate the Army", was my final remark.
"Well now you are a soldier just like the Captain told us, so you cannot hate yourself", concluded Dmitri.
Then, Piotr said something important:
"Listen Sacha. I like the present situation and I’ll tell you why. I am an orphan and I was raised in an orphanage. There was no love there, but many brutal punishments with or without reasons. At the age of 12, I escaped and nobody bothered to try to catch me. Since then, I have slept in refuges for poor people on the rare good days, in poor shelters on the other days. I got food when I had a small job, but that was not often, so I had to beg for food. The clothes, I got what was available and sometimes I had to steal them. So what we have here and now, even if we have to obey orders and respect a strict discipline, this is much better for me."
"But Piotr", was the beginning of my reply, "we will have to serve during 30 years in the Army. We will have to wear clothes with a number on it: we are now reduced to numbers. I hate this."
"Listen Sacha", was Piotr's reaction, "I have lived in misery. Now at least I have a permanent roof. I know I will have something to eat three times a day. It is true that we are now reduced to numbers, but at least with this number I have my own new clothes for the very first time in my life."
I had to concede that there was some truth in what Piotr said, at least for him.

I realized that my new friends were pleased with their new life, and I assumed that all the other new Drummers were also pleased. I was the only one to be 100% unhappy.

When we were back in our dorm, I had to sleep with my head near the passage between the rows of beds while my new friends had their heads near the wall, which I considered a more comfortable and secure position. It was my first night sleeping with other boys, especially with such poor kids used to stealing. I did not sleep well. Piotr tried to convince me to behave well, according to Army rules, in order to avoid further caning. I reacted nastily saying that I was not like him since I had my grandparents and my own room. And Piotr concluded as follows before falling sound asleep:
"Behave well now, you know very well that your so called grandparents want you to stay here. The best you can do for them, and for yourself, is to become a good and obedient soldier."

---