I started to study the bedspread, which had pictures of Venice on it. Now whenever I see pictures of the Rialto Bridge I still get a sweaty feeling on my hands and sort of choke a little. I counted the people on the bridge on the bedspread, people in carnival masks. The ladies wore long dresses and I noticed how you could see almost the whole of their breasts they were pushed up so far. Under the bridge was a gondola with a man and woman kissing in the stern.

Then he hit me again and it was right on the first strap welt so it burned more than the first one and the pain went up to my neck. I wondered what part of the picture I had peed on since the picture was printed all over the bedspread. I dug my hands into the bedspread and made one of the Rialto Bridges crinkle up so it looked as if the people in the masks were a lot shorter and the gondola disappeared.

Then he hit me again. This one came in a lot higher and got me on my lower back and the tip of the belt whipped around my side and stung me on the really sensitive skin on the side of my waist. I felt that hit more than any so far. The Rialto Bridge got fuzzy looking because I was looking at it through tears. It was raining in Venice.

Then he hit me again and this one landed lower down on the back of my legs.

I thought about the belt. How heavy it was and how it was so long that Dad needed to loop the end right around his side almost to his back. He had said you couldn’t cut the end or the braid would unravel. He must have adjusted the belt in his hand because the next hit hurt me so much I knew I had been hit with John 3:16. Only the buckle could hurt that much.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get you with the buckle,” Dad said.

Since my legs had sort of crumpled he paused while I straightened up and bent over again. I was having trouble staying in one place because my hands and legs had gotten so wobbly. I crawled on the bed so I wouldn’t slide down to the floor. I laid my face on the Rialto and Dad finished my strapping. He hit me a total of nine times. I kept count.

Then he said, “You may get dressed now.”

I tried but my hands wouldn’t work right. Dad had to help me pull my pants up but before he did he said, “Wait, let me get a Band-Aid first.” This was to cover the place the buckle had cut.

When my pants were up Dad said, “Let’s shake hands like gentlemen.”