I’d quickly seen enough, pulled the door to and sat at the kitchen table, aghast at what was to come for me. The sound was awful. Crack, crack, crack, so many whacks. I began to watch the clock, and only then did I realise how late it was. It was nearly half past two. No wonder our aunt had been annoyed at us for making noise.

For five long minutes, I heard my aunt belabour poor Felipe with that spoon and, his resolve broken, I heard him cry out, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” near the end.

At last, the sound stopped, and I heard my aunt say, “Fetch your sister.”

Felipe came in, limping, his eyes wet with tears and clutching his rear end.

“Go on,” was all he managed to say.

I entered the living room, my heart about to burst. There was a lump in my throat and I willed myself not to cry.

“Right, there is no favouritism in this house. You will be treated the same as your brother. Pyjamas off, and I want you bent over these arms on your knees.” And she tapped the chair arms with the spoon.

I untied the cord around my waist and lowered my pyjamas, praying Felipe was not doing as I had done and watching me in my humiliation. I also realised something; Those pyjamas would not have given much protection against the thick spoon. The act of baring myself was a part of the punishment. It was symbolic, a submission. I felt sick with nerves, as I climbed onto the sofa and lowered my stomach onto the chair arms. I noted that this position was, at least, more comfortable than standing on my feet, bent over the kitchen table.

“Five minutes of this should clean out your mouth,” she said grimly.

The spoon struck my left buttock, then my right. The first blows were not really painful. They were striking fresh flesh. But after about 90 seconds, every inch of my bottom had been smacked and the blows continued to rain down. The strokes on flesh that had already been hit hurt a lot, yet still they continued, as if another layer of paint had to be applied.

At last, I cried out in pain, something I’d never done while being slippered. The blows on already bruised flesh were just too much. Tears welled up and I remember saying, “Please, enough.”

There was to be no mercy. I guess it was five minutes she beat me for, but I was in too much pain to really think by the end. It was agonising. My bottom felt as I imagined it would were it to be skinned.

At last, it was over. She let me rise and dress and called Felipe in. My brother entered, and now I was the emotional one and he had time to calm down. He was, however, still clutching his bottom.

“Back to bed. Not one word out of you til morning,” said my aunt.