“But—,” my father interrupts. “I’ve never read that book. How was I to know what effect it would have on you?” He sits down and, using Roddy, motions for me to do the same. But I remain standing. I revel in looking down upon him. Thank God he dare not beat me now!
“I don’t believe you!” I contend. I’d have wagged a finger at him if I weren’t in handcuffs. Recriminations continue to pour from me. “You wanted to corrupt me so you could punish me for my sins,” I say. “You beat me for taking the Lord’s name in vain when I was ten, and I could see on your face afterward that you enjoyed doing it. After that, I was careful to abide by the Ten Commandments. You hated me for not giving you a second chance to wield your rod on my backside. When I was fifteen, I dared to emulate Johannes of the Kie
