"You're the doctor and I'm the patient," Diana says as if by rote.
"Correct. And who is in charge in a doctor-patient relationship?"
"Doctor is always in charge."
"Completely, in charge of everything?"
"Everything."
"And patient's role is-go on, girl, fill in the blank spaces?" "Her role is to obey Doctor."
"Always. "
"Always."
"No matter what Doctor prescribes."
"No matter what."
"And so if Doctor says, 'Kill the cat,' then patient must kill the cat, correct?"
Diana nods. "Patient must immediately kill the cat."
"Easy to forget sometimes, when the assigned task is disagreeable.
Nobody wants to stab a helpless creature and make a bloody mess on the floor. We both understand that. But there are many disagreeable tasks to be performed in this life. Mama taught me that, and now I'm teaching you."
"Yes, thank you, Doctor." "Good. Now we shall proceed with the corrections Beverly grabs hold of Diana's hair, pulls her head back so her face is pointed up at the portrait. "Look up at Mama, straight into her eyes. Keep your eyes fastened to hers. Don't look down again until I tell you."
Beverly reaches to the little round marble-top table beside her chair and extracts a pair of stainless steel scissors. Feeling Diana tense between her knees, Beverly freezes with the shears as if posing for a photograph. She looks up at Mama, smiles, and nods, then, taking up a big handful of Diana's glossy black hair, abruptly snips it off.
Diana, finally comprehending the nature of her chas tisement, moans while Beverly looks down at the hair lying inky black in her hand. It is beautiful luxuriant hair, thick and soft, the little lynx's protective fur. And it's going to come off now, all of it, every single strand, until Diana's head is as smooth as a billiard ball.
Snip! Snap! Snip! Snap! The hair falls fast beneath the scissors. Beverly can feel the sweat on Diana's neck as she holds the girl's head steady, can hear the sobs that rack the poor lynx's body, too. Every so often, out of kindness, she reaches around to Diana's face to wipe away the tears. But still, she cuts, relentlessly.
"Now, now, my dear," she comforts.
Tool, for all her distress, is behaving well. Even as she weeps copiously for her loss, her eyes remain riveted to Mwna's. Good little tool, brave little tool, but the hardest part is yet to come.
Diana's head, now topped by a mop of ragged black, still must be clipped and shaved.
Beverly, finished with the scissors, takes up a small electric clippers, turns them on, applies the clipper head to Diana's skull. Buzz, buzz, buzz, she mows the hair straight off the top the way she's seen it done in films about marine recruits, slowly, inexorably shaming the girl caught tight between her knees.
More tears now, great rivers of them, as Beverly takes up a shaving brush, dips it into a bowl of wann water, stirs it around in a cup of soap, then applies the rich lather to Diana's head. Swish, swish, swish, she shaves the head clean with a razor. And all the while she whispers: "Now, now, little darling. Now, now…
Diana's hair is everywhere, on the floor, on Beverly's skirt, sticking to the girl's bare moist torso, front and back. Her pale shoulders and breasts are decorated with little flecks of black, and her skull gleams white like alabaster.
Beverly cradles the girl's head in her arms, tenderly petting the back of her neck. After granting permission for Diana to lower her eyes from Mama's, Beverly urges her to turn and sob upon her lap. "There, there," Beverly says, gently caressing the well-shaved skull. "There, there, my little precious. It was difficult, I know, but it wasn't as bad as that. And I have a lovely black wig all ready for you, to cover you up when you go out." Diana stares up at Beverly, her eyes large, beseeching. "You're not going to let me-?"
"No, my dear. Every few days we'll be shaving you clean again. I'm afraid you won't be allowed to grow another full head of hair until you've completed all your missions."
"Oh, Doctor!" The girl's red, teary eyes are filled with pathos.
Beverly, slightly touched, knows she must not relent.
"Think of yourself as a Ninja warrior. they shave their skulls to symbolize their commitment."
"I so love my hair long."
Yes, long like a witch's. "And so do I," Beverly assures the girl.
"Which is why we shall be saving all the trims. I have a lovely rosewood box to keep them in. Some evenings we'll get them out, feel them, and remind ourselves of the glorious mane you had and will someday have again."
"Yes, thank you, Doctor," Diana says gratefully, hugging Beverly around her waist.
Beverly hesitates. There is more correction to be administered, and she wants to assure herself now that the little lynx can take it. It won't do to push the girl too far; the purpose is to humble her, not to wound or break her spirit. There is also something, about this additional correction that causes Beverly to pause. She wonders whether she'll be able to inflict it without trembling a little bit herself. Shaving Diana's head was one thing, but the other more intimate area…
Beverly looks up to the portrait, asks Mama what to do. The answer comes back immediately.
"Make the little bitch shave her own pubes," Mama says. "Have her lie on her back on the bathroom floor, spread her legs before the mirror and scrape herself. Stand behind her, watch her as she does it, and smile as you do. The correction will be more forceful and the submission more complete if she's required to do it under supervision."
"Thank you, Mama. You're so clever about these things."
Beverly Archer leans down and whispers into Diana's ear: "Come with me, dear, into the bathroom. There's still a little more hair to be removed.
Bertha Parce, Cynthia Morse, Jimmy and Stu MacDonald, Bobby Wexler, Laura Gabelli-I got six of them, Mama, six so far. Cindy was best, I think. Tool did a first-class job on her. Not only glued her up tight but her daughters, too, who (their bad luck!) stayed over with her in Seattle for Memorial Day. Tool also glued Cindy's hands together so I could imagine her begging me for mercy and, while she was at it, webbed her feet as well.
Remember Cindy, Mama? Remember what she did? I could never ever forgive her for it. My best friend, the one I trusted more than anyone else, whose declarations of sisterhood I naively believed.
The roommate to whom I confided my secret yearnings, passions, fears.
And then, after all of that, to have her turn on me so cruelly.
You probably guessed it. We were lovers. I'll never forget those wintry nights at Bennington when we pleasured each other, then slept together warm in each other's arms. I'm not ashamed of having loved her, Mama. There should never be shame where love's involved.
And I did love her; that is why her betrayal was so calamitous, why it did a hell of a lot more than just sting me to the quick.
God! Remember what a wreck I was when I came down from Bennington, told you I wasn't going back, that nothing would ever ever make me return? And the way I cried, days of weeping it seems like now, and you were worried because I wouldn't eat and barely got out of bed.
"Bev's having a little breakdown," I overheard you tell Lisa Walters.
But it was a major breakdown I was having, Mama, and it was that lousy traitor bitch who brought it on. What she did was unforgivable. And I never did forgive her for it. No, I never did.
What I still can't understand is why she turned. I never did anything to her except love her. So… maybe that was it. She couldn't take my love. It was too powerful, too consuming. Fearing it, she betrayed my trust.