Swinging Plastic

 

SWINGING PLASTIC

An unlikely tale by strzeka

 

An ambulance delivered Floyd Bradley to his home. His wheelchair was lowered to the ground and a medic pushed him along the garden path to his front door. There was a low step in front of it – something would have to be done about that. Floyd reached into his jacket pocket and held out his keys for the ambulance man who opened the door and pushed Floyd inside. A voice called out.

            – Is that you, Floyd? I’m in the kitchen.

            – Ah, you have someone here. We’ll leave you to it then.

His colleague placed Floyd’s suitcase and other belongings near the front door and they left. Floyd manoeuvred the wheelchair to the end of the hall and pushed the kitchen door open. He looked at his twin brother’s expectant face and the sightless eyes.

            – Good that you’re home at last. I was beginning to get a bit lonely.

Floyd rolled closer and hugged his brother. Robin was uncertain about Floyd’s new body. He would have to explore him and feel the wheelchair to understand the new situation better.

            – I’m glad to be home. I missed you.

            – Are you home for good now? You won’t be called back for another operation?

            – No. That’s all sorted now. Done and dusted. The way I am now should be the way I’ll be.

            – You’re not going to be in a wheelchair all the time though, are you? You will be getting artificial legs, I hope?

            – Yeah, I will, but it’ll take a while. My stumps have to sort of settle down first.

            – Are they painful?

            – No, not really. They twinge sometimes and sometimes it feels like my feet ache.

            – Even though they’re not there?

            – Yup. Phantom pain, they call it. Most amputees have it from time to time, so I’m told. Something you just have to live with.

 

Floyd’s recovery from a freak traffic accident had been considerably longer than expected. His legs were amputated immediately on arrival to hospital after x-rays showed little hope of ever reconstructing his knees and shins after being struck by a speeding car and pinned against a concrete wall. His surgeon fashioned uniformly long thigh stumps which would allow the patient good control over prosthetic legs. The wounds were almost healed when gangrene developed in both stumps. An additional ten centimetres of femur was amputated and the medical staff kept a very close eye on the resulting stumps. All seemed to be going well until ten days later when the smell of rot recurred. Floyd’s legs were shortened another eight centimetres, leaving him with three centimetres of femur and semispherical stumps. He was kept on a cocktail of high-strength antibiotics until his body healed completely. He was relieved, understanding that another amputation would mean the removal of his femurs completely and he would be reliant on a plastic bucket in order to sit. His short stumps would at least allow him to use stubbies if not full-length legs. He was looking forward to being mobile again, under his own power. The wheelchair was too much of a compromise. He looked down at his nubs, hidden in the legs of a pair of cut-off jeans. It would have been better if he could have kept his long stumps but he was resigned now. He would work with what he had and make a go of it.

 

            – How’s the gallery? I haven’t heard anything for the past six weeks.

            – Really? McPherson said he’d keep you in the loop. I know he had a trip to Milan coming up. Maybe he’s just been busy. Anyway, the last I heard, last week, everything was fine. The last of the Biglioni collection was sold and the new Kaufmann series has been gaining some attention. I can imagine they’re attractive works, very geometrical.

            – That’s good to know. I’ll take a look later on. I should get down there, I suppose, just to let them know I’m out and about again.

 

The Bradley Gallery had a long pedigree, having been founded seventy years before by their paternal grandfather. It had passed down to Floyd and Robin after their father’s death five years ago, along with the Bauhaus-inspired one storey house. Floyd ran the business with the excellent help and advice of his experienced senior employee Brian McPherson and insightful input from his brother.

 

Robin had lost his eyes at the age of two, due to retinoblastomas in both eyes. His eyeballs were removed which halted the cancer and he had wore glass eyes ever since to maintain a less disturbing image, originally insisted on by his mother. He owned several pairs and could, with Floyd’s help, change his eye colour at will. He also owned a devilishly shocking pair which were plain white, used sparingly for impact. Robin had no memory of ever having had vision and never gave his disability a thought until he was reminded of it by someone. He neither wanted nor needed pity.

 

            – When do you want to go to the gallery? I could give you a push, if you like.

            – Let me see how I feel in a couple of days, Rob. Maybe on Friday we could drop in. There are a few things I need to get in town anyway, so I’m going to have to pass the place. Might as well see what’s going on and catch up with Brian.

            – Brian might have some advice for you about that other matter, too.

            – What? Legs, you mean? Yeah, I suppose he might. But I think his stumps are much longer than mine. He won’t know anything about walking on inch-long legs, will he?

            – What? Are your stumps only an inch long?

            – No, only joking. They’re twice that, at least. Wait ’til I get my shorts off and I’ll let you look at them if you promise to be gentle.

            – I promise. I didn’t know you had so little left. I’m sorry, Floyd. You’re going to have some problems, aren’t you?

            – Depends how you look at it. If I’m supposed to take part in the London marathon, I’ve got problems. There are lots of ways I can get around on stumps, once they’re healed, of course.

            – I hope so. You deserve a decent break. Right, it’s about time for lunch. You can have pork chops or sausages with chips and beans or peas.

            – Are you doing it?

            – Well, why not? I was going to anyway. Easy enough.

            – Let’s have the chops with peas.

 

Floyd sat back and watched his brother assemble the ingredients and place them into containers for the microwave oven or for the air fryer. He was always fascinated by the way his brother’s fingertips pattered over the produce, sensing what any cook would need to see. Within half an hour, two tasty meals were on the table and Floyd enjoyed it more than any food at a fine restaurant. Three months of hospital food was more unpleasant than becoming legless.

 

Floyd took it easy for a couple of days, getting used to his new routine. He allowed his twin to inspect his new leg stumps on the first evening when he got ready for bed. Robin’s fluttering fingers felt delightful although the look on his brother’s face suggested the seriousness of the situation.

            – Don’t feel bad for me, Rob. It’ll be OK. It always turns out for the best, right?

            – I expect so. Well, good night, Floyd. I’m happy you’re home.

 

Robin went to his bedroom, removed his eyes and fell asleep, dreaming in the way blind men do of feeling stumps and artificial legs, halting bodies and clanking prosthetic limbs. His generously endowed manhood stood erect and his sensitive hands toyed with his penis until he finally ejaculated, imagining the rigidity of his brother’s stubbies. In the neighbouring room, Floyd enjoyed his returning libido and massaged his tool between his hairy leg stumps. The lack of weight and muscular connections to non‑existent knees allowed his stumps much greater mobility. He chafed his penis with his nubs and quickly grabbed the T-shirt beside his bed to catch his cum. He had not needed to touch his tool with his hands. His stumps were enough. It was a good swap. Leglessness had its advantages, it seemed.

 

Floyd was quickly bored by his convalescence. Robin was attentive, brewing coffee, making snacks, trying to engage in conversation about the future. He realised that their roles were reversed, at least temporarily,. Now Floyd was the disabled one. Robin was reminded of it each time Floyd spoke. His voice issued from a point level with Robin’s chest rather than from Floyd’s previous height. He wanted to know what Floyd genuinely thought about his almost complete leglessness. Floyd did not seem bitter or depressed, but something about him had changed. He was more pensive but was reluctant to express his thoughts.

 

On Friday, Floyd ordered a taxi, explaining his disability, and the men paid their gallery a visit. Their charming and capable assistant Johanna welcomed them and did her best to ignore the fact that her boss was now in a wheelchair.

            – It’s good to see you again. How are you? It looks like you’re on the mend, Floyd.

            – Not too bad, all things considered. Taking it one day at a time.

            – Would you like to see Mr McPherson? He’s in the office. Shall I call him?

            – If you would, please, Johanna.

            – Just a moment.

Johanna pressed a button and a bell rang in McPherson’s office. He was about to start negotiations with a talented young local artist, Cory Brady, himself a double amputee. He produced uniquely textured works using acrylics with his forearm stumps.

            – Sorry to disturb but the Bradleys have arrived and would like a word.

            – Thanks, Johanna. I’ll be right there.

He pushed his chair away from the desk and kicked his right prosthesis straight. He pushed himself up onto it, found his balance and strolled out to the showroom to meet his young employers.

            – How good to see you up and about, Floyd. And Robin, of course. This is unexpected. I hope there is nothing amiss.

            – No, no, Brian. Nothing like that. I was going stir crazy at home and Robin mentioned that there were some new works which I haven’t seen yet, so we thought we’d drop in. Things are going well, Robin tells me.

            – Yes, business is improved over this time last year and I am endeavouring to acquire some promising new names.

            – Sounds good. Would you show us the present works?

            – Of course. Johanna, would you guide Robin and I’ll show Floyd.

McPherson pushed Floyd’s chair to the far end of the gallery. Johanna offered her arm to Robin and guided him to stand in front of the prime work on display. She described it calmly but without the over-enthusiastic adjectives she uses with customers. Robin’s imagination constructed a replica in his mind, tinted with emotion, sketched with opinion and coloured with impact.

            – How large is it, Johanna?

            – One and a half metres wide, almost a metre tall. We are asking twenty-five thousand and there have already been some collectors who have shown an interest.

They moved along to the next piece. McPherson was explaining his impressions and his artist’s pedigree to Floyd. His fatherly concern for his newly amputated employer took precedence. He spoke in a low voice.

            – Have you spoken with a prosthetist yet about getting legs? It’s not too early to start enquiries and it’s a good idea to seek out someone who has your interests at heart and with whom you can work. It is a long-term relationship, remember. You will become very familiar with your limb provider.

            – No, Brian, I haven’t. I wanted to ask you about that. Do you think your prosthetist would take me on as a new client?

            – I don’t see why not. Shall I give you his contact details? I don’t know whether he also deals with high amputations such as yours, Floyd. It could be that there is another specialist for such cases. You realise there is quite a difference between the prosthetics which I use and those which you might receive.

            – Yes, I know that. I don’t suppose I’ll ever use legs again but I might be able to shuffle around on a pair of stubbies.

            – Oh, I’m sure you’ll do better than that. You’re still a young man. Lots of energy for adopting artificial limbs.

            – I hope you’re right. Now, let’s continue. Is this a recent work?

            – Actually, the artist told me that it was the first piece which he produced which he dared exhibit. It’s ten years old.

            – He changed his style later, obviously. This piece is very much a loner. It doesn’t really belong with his other works.

            – I realise that but I thought that its quality as a single piece makes it worth including.

            – Yes, I agree. It is quite striking. What else has he done?

The two employees continued explaining the merchandise to the owners until a handsomely dressed couple entered and Johanna left Robin in McPherson’s care to greet them. She introduced the first major work in Spanish and Floyd saw the interest in the gentleman’s eyes. McPherson guided Robin and Floyd to the office, where they enjoyed a coffee break for twenty minutes. Johanna arrived to announce that they had paid ten thousand as a retainer for the large work.

            – Wonderful!

 

Robin pushed Floyd’s chair a few hundred metres into the town centre where Floyd bought some recommended skin care products for his stumps and then dined in the Grand Hotel’s restaurant. They returned home by taxi and napped for a couple of hours.

 

THREE MONTHS LATER

 

Floyd was ready to begin the process of progressing from a wheelchair to prostheses. His stumps had healed completely. Floyd felt massive relief that gangrene had not recurred. He had started to appreciate his short, well-formed stumps which were again regaining thick curly hair. He was used to vaulting in and out of the wheelchair at home, walking on his rump and hands. Leglessness was certainly life changing but Floyd had yet to regard himself as disabled. He hoped that with a couple of artificial legs, he would be standing tall again and walking around much like any other man.

 

He met his prosthetist at a private orthopaedic clinic. Max Hall had twenty years work experience and twenty-four years experience of being an amputee. He walked on two below-knee prostheses, moulded to resemble natural calves. No-one would suspect him of being a double amputee. He sat with Floyd over coffee and they discussed Floyd’s challenges and aspirations.

            – It will be a while before you are walking on full-length legs but we can make a start. I recommend that you first learn to walk on a pair of short legs, or stubbies as they are called, ten or twelve inches long. They will help develop your balance and core strength which is essential for successful use of prosthetic limbs.

            – I was expecting to get full-length legs right from the get-go.

            – As much as I would like to provide you with a pair, I’m afraid there is a bit of a learning curve. Let’s start with baby steps and work up. I guestimate that after wearing the first par of stubbies for six months, we might progress to a longer pair, making you approximately as tall as you were before when you knelt. After that at some point, we can evaluate your walking skill and progress to prostheses with knees. Do you agree that this would be the best route to follow?

            – When you put it like that, yes, I suppose it would. I am a little disappointed though.

            – Oh, don’t be. When you get your first stubbies, you’ll realise why long legs would be unwise. But the stubbies will allow you to walk again, which is an achievement in itself after these months in a wheelchair.

 

Hall scanned Floyd’s stumps and lower body and sent the data forward for modelling. After refining the design, the stubbies were printed overnight in sturdy carbon plastic, specially formulated for weight-bearing prints. Hall attached thick rubber soles to the bases and elastic waistbands to the prints which would hold the stubbies against Floyd’s residual limbs. He invited his client back for a fitting.

 

Floyd was excited to be getting legs again, regardless of the fact that they were short and looked extremely unnatural. He watched as Hall fitted liners and stump socks to his stumps followed by the black cylinders which would enable him to walk again. He lowered himself to the floor and practised first finding his balance and taking very short steps. The stubbies felt completely alien. He held onto the parallel bars and looked at himself in the long mirror opposite. He thought he looked more disabled than he did in a wheelchair. The stubbies held him but it was difficult to walk on them. Each step was an effort and he was not able to build up enough momentum to help carry him forward. Hall appraised his efforts and deduced that more practice was needed. The patient understood the principles and could take the stubbies home with him. Floyd dressed, climbed back into his wheelchair and looked at his new cylindrical legs poking out of his shorts. Hall called a taxi for him and wished him well.

 

Robin was interested to have a look at Floyd’s new legs. He ran his hands over the cool, smooth surfaces of the stubbies and held his brother by the shoulders.

            – I know these are not what you expected but don’t give up. It’s going to be difficult with such short legs but you can do it if you want to. I dare say you’ll still be using the wheelchair quite a lot.

            – Yeah, I think so, especially when we go out. The stubbies give me such a strange body image. I can’t imagine wearing them at the gallery when we meet people. They would run away in horror.

            – Look, there’s no need to exaggerate but I know what you mean. Wear them around the house until you get used to them. You trust what the prosthetist tells you, I hope.

            – I suppose he knows what he’s talking about. He’s legless too, although he still has his knees.

            – Just make a bit of effort and I’m sure things will work out the way you want.

The advice from his sightless twin bucked Floyd’s mind up. He would give it a go and stump around on the stubbies until Max Hall was satisfied.

 

It was slow going. Floyd fell often. His stride was so short that he frequently overbalanced, expecting a longer step. He flailed his arms far too much to be able to wear the stubbies in public. He would look ridiculous. Robin insisted that he wear the stubbies even when he was in the wheelchair.

            – I don’t want to see you crawling around on your backside any more, Floyd. You have to make the effort.

 

Floyd was not encouraged by video clips he watched of other legless patients using their stubbies to ascend indoor climbing frames or go on hikes along country paths. He needed a completely flat surface to walk on. To mount a step, he had to cling onto the door frame. Kerbs were next to impossible and he reverted to using the wheelchair when he went out. It was all a little disappointing. Two months after getting his stubbies, he called Hall.

 

            – I’ve been having a few problems. Can I come in and have a chat? Yes, three o’clock is fine. I’ll see you then. Bye.

 

Floyd explained that his stubbies were technically top notch, no complaints there. He simply seemed to be unable to use them. He trusted the equipment but found it tiring both physically and mentally to use them.

            – I rather suspect that one of the reasons is that your stumps are so extremely short that you find it difficult to manipulate the stubbies.

            – And that would mean that longer legs are also out of the question.

            – I’m afraid it does, at least as far as a conventional pair of prosthetic legs is concerned.

            – I really want to be taller, you see. I deal with the public on a regular basis and I don’t want them distracted by a wheelchair or by being so very short.

            – There is one possible route we could take but I have to warn you in advance that it is extremely restrictive. You will, however, be able to walk with crutches and stand as tall as your customers.

            – Well, that sounds more like it. Do go on.

            – I have in mind a torso socket which would extend up your body to your armpits. Your weight would be transferred to your armpits, much as when you use crutches. Your lower body would be encased in a plastic shell, including your short stumps. The base of the socket would be flat, allowing you to sit on it in your wheelchair or to propel yourself using your hands as you have been doing. The additional advantage, which gives you the height you want, is a detachable peg leg which would screw into the base of your socket, in the middle, and you would then stand as tall as you wish.

            – So I would have a central peg leg?

            – Yes, exactly.

            – And how would I be able to sit?

            – That’s the compromise. You would not be able to sit. Your body would be rigid from your armpits to the tip of the peg leg.

Floyd’s imagination roared into overdrive. It was the most erotic idea he had ever heard. He could guide clients around the gallery on crutches, standing tall and proud on a peg leg.  His penis began to erect and he squirmed to release it from the confines of his underwear.

            – I’m very interested in this idea. I can well imagine using crutches to walk. I assume that if the peg leg was detachable somehow, I would then be able to sit.

            – Yes, you would. The peg would only need to be unscrewed from the base of the socket. You would need to lie down on some horizontal surface first but you would then be able to hand walk in the socket or sit in a chair.

            – What about urinating?

            – Oh, there would be a detachable cover in front to grant you access for that sort of thing.

            – This all sounds very promising. Not exactly the sort of thing I had envisaged but definitely the kind of situation I am prepared to tolerate. It does sound rather exotic.

            – So are you willing to give it a go? Shall we take the measurements and get started?

            – What now, you mean?

            – Yes, of course. No time like the present. Actually, I reserved some time for you in case you needed a new scan, so don’t worry about it. Are you ready? I’m going to have to ask you to be completely naked.

            – Oh, that’s fine. I don’t mind.

            – Shall we go to the lab, then? Follow me.

 

Floyd stripped and suspended himself from a set of bars while Hall scanned his torso and stumps. When he was satisfied, he asked Floyd to dress himself and to join him for a break. He ordered coffee and pastries and they continues their conversation.

            – So what you’re saying is that my stumps are always going to be too short to work a pair of artificial legs?

            – I’m afraid that that’s what I think. You see, Floyd, most men with stumps have something about half their former thighs or longer. It lets them get some force into their sockets so they can propel their lower legs along. But your stumps are so very short that you’ve been having trouble controlling your stubbies and that doesn’t bode well for the future.

            – Yes, I’m beginning to see the problem – or the reasons for it, I mean. But this new body socket will more or less bypass my stumps and let me balance on the peg leg.

            – Yes, that’s a good way of putting it. If you can swing your body forward from your armpits, as you do quite normally with crutches, the peg leg will swing forward too and you’ll be able to support yourself and walk with three contact points – the peg and the tips of the crutches.

            – And I’ll be stable when standing.

            – Yes, I should say so.

            – Well, I’m willing to give it a go.

 

Hall worked on the data and allowed AI to optimise the shape of the torso socket. It was smooth and elegant and was digitally sliced to allow the printer to manufacture it with a five percent overlap. Hall decided the rear half should be wider, allowing Floyd to close and fix the front half of the shell across his chest and belly. There was some printing time available on two evenings the following week and he sent a message to Floyd requesting a new fitting on the following week’s Friday.

 

The gallery was preparing itself for a new exhibition. Several works which had remained unsold were returned to the gallery for display at slightly higher prices to suggest newly accrued value. Johanna succeeded in selling two of them at the higher price and the last of the Kaufmann works was sold. Robin discovered a Flemish artist who made foot-high sculptures and invited him to meet them one evening with a few plaster copies of his bronze works. The man arrived early one evening with an assistant carrying several items from his portfolio.

            – Thank you for coming, Mr De Jong. I have had an eye on your works for a while and I like what I see.

It was extraordinary to hear a blind man use such expressions but De Jong was flattered.

            – Thank you for that. This is my first international visit and I am pleased to be with Bradley Gallery.

            – I want my brother to see your works too but he is unfortunately detained at the moment. If you don’t mind waiting, I am sure he will be able to join us soon. Shall we have coffee? Please follow me.

Robin swiped his cane from side to side, ensuring that the route to their back room was unimpeded. Johanna had brewed a thermos of coffee just before she left and there were biscuits arranged on a plate.

            – Do help yourselves.

Robin waited until he heard the assistant help himself to two biscuits and poured himself a cup of coffee with two lumps of sugar.  Robin asked De Jong about his sales in his home country and further afield. De Jong explained how his works had first been appreciated in a Brussels atelier which led to further demand until the German periodical Form published an article and suddenly everyone wanted one of the figures. He had originally produced only one hundred of each figure until two years ago when he restricted the number to twenty and he intended to cast only ten figurines from his latest series.

            – We would be proud to act as your representatives in this country. Our sculptors have always fared well with us, and as you can imagine, I find great pleasure in hosting work which I can enjoy. You do realise, I am blind. So sculpture is the art form which I enjoy the most. My brother has an eye for more visual works. May I see what you have brought for us?

De Jong opened a wooden case and placed it in front of Robin.

            – These are models, two thirds the full size. These are printed models but the originals are bronze.

Robin felt for the statuettes and lifted one from its foam surrounding. He held the base in his left hand and his fingers pattered over the figurine, sensing its texture and proportions. He swept his fingertips across and along the work, front and back, building a representation in his mind.

            – This is very elegant. You have captured the sensation of flight perfectly.

De Jong was actually shocked by Robin’s appraisal. He not only understood the work, he had done so without even seeing it. Robin replaced it and extracted the next figure.

            – Oh, this is interesting. I like the long beard. This is a muscular lad, isn’t he? But his arms – is he an amputee? The stumps are very smooth.

            – Yes, that is cast from a photograph of a Dutch paralympian. No arms but a beautiful swimmer. The photo which that is based on was when he had just won a race and held his stumps out in victory.

            – Very interesting. Of course, it reminds me of old Roman statues which celebrated the male physique but which have lost parts over time. You have captured the same statuesque impression. Have you shown this to the swimmer?

            – Yes, he already has a copy as a gift.

            – I hope he likes it as much as I do. Ah! I can hear Floyd.

De Jong had heard nothing but the door opened and Floyd pushed himself inside the gallery and locked the door. He rolled along to where the lights reflected into the corridor and found the pair of men.

            – Here you are. Hello, Jan. Good to see you again. I see you brought some samples with you.

Floyd and Robin examined the figures which De Jong had brought and decided that they would be proud to host a sales exhibition of his work. De Jong was delighted and insisted on treating them to a good supper before he returned to Ghent. They left in taxis and were back home or in the hotel at the same time.

            – What did your doctor tell you?

            – I’m going to have a peg leg. Just one, and I will walk on crutches. I’m afraid you’ll have to help me with it. I won’t be able to sit while I’m wearing it, so you’ll have to unscrew it and take it off.

            – I don’t mind doing that. So you’ll be walking around on crutches at the same height as everyone else?

            – That’s the idea.

            – That sounds wonderful.

            – I’m glad you think so. I wanted to ask your opinion before I placed the order because I wasn’t sure if you’d want to muck around with my prostheses.

            – Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll help you, especially if it lets you stand up with the rest of us again.

 

Floyd contacted Hall and gave him the go-ahead. His complete torso socket, moulded to his body’s every contour, would be ready within a fortnight and the steel peg leg was on order. Its ferrule would be eight centimetres wide at its base and fifteen centimetres tall. From the rear, it would almost resemble a boot. The gallery was closed one Monday for interior walls and panels to be rearranged and to open the space for a series of plinths to display De Jong’s fascinating figurines. A huge poster, artfully illuminated to one side of the front window advertised the exhibition. Within the first week, thirty orders had been placed and Floyd and Robin felt they had made an opportune choice.

 

Floyd received notice that his new prosthesis was ready for fitting. He wore his stubbies, not wanting to have to push a wheelchair back on his return journey. He could leave the stubbies behind and collect them at a later date.

 

He arrived at the appointed time and stumped into Hall’s workshop.

            – Would you like some coffee before we begin? No? Very well. Sit on the lower couch and we’ll get started.

Hall fetched the two halves of the torso socket and asked Floyd to strip down to his T-shirt. He positioned the back part of the socket behind Floyd and asked him to lean back into it. He fitted the front section and closed it with several strips of velcro. Floyd’s meagre stumps were accommodated in two bulges in the carbon fibre socket and his genitals had their own removable flap for urination. In the middle of the socket’s base, under Floyd’s perineum, was a steel fixture with a one inch screw thread.

            – I want you to try walking on that socket. It is not intended for walking but you may find it useful at times to be able to. Pull yourself down carefully and see if you can steady yourself and balance.

Floyd did so and was able to stand on the flattened surfaces of the artificial stumps. He was too tall now to use his hands to ambulate.

            – I’m going to need short crutches for this to work.

            – Do you want to walk around like that? Shall I order a pair of short crutches?

            – Well, yes, I think it might be a good idea, just in case.

            – OK, we’ll do that. I have long crutches here waiting for you. Would you like to try the peg leg?

            – Yes, I’m looking forward to it.

            – Good. Get back on the couch and lie down.

Hall fetched the steel peg and screwed it into its fixture.

            – You see the problem, Floyd. How are you going to get up? If you had some kind of frame, you could hold onto it and pull yourself to your foot.

            – Yes, I see what you mean.

            – It’s something to bear in mind. I suggest you have something constructed at your home and at your workplace precisely for this reason. You will find it impossible to rise otherwise. It is, unfortunately, the major disadvantage of the peg leg.

            – Can you help me stand?

            – Yes, of course.

Hall grasped Floyd around his rigid corset and rotated his body on the couch. He asked Floyd to hold on to his shoulders and lifted the prosthetic torso onto its peg leg.

            – Hold on to the edge of the couch while I fetch your crutches. Don’t try to move.

            – I don’t think I could even if I tried.

            – Do you feel quite rigid?

            – Yes!

            – Good. That’s what we are aiming for. Here you are. Let me see if they need adjustment. How do they feel, lengthwise?

            – Just about right. There’s a little bit of play at the armpits.

            – Just as there should be. Good. Hold onto the crossbar and find your balance. Then you can take a short step. Just push onto the crossbars and swing your body. Careful!

Floyd moved forward half a metre and looked down at his peg leg. The black rubber ferrule gripped the floor securely, an astonishingly alien replacement for a human foot but adequate and reliable. Floyd adjusted his grip slightly and took another step. The central peg leg followed the crutches. It was far easier than he had anticipated. Being so completely rigid from his armpits to the tip of his peg was a fascinating sensation. It was comfortable, secure, erotic. He had found his ideal configuration – total leglessness with a steel peg. He stumped further into the room and stopped to admire himself in the full-length mirror. He grinned broadly and twisted himself around on his peg to face Hall.

            – This is wonderful. It feels remarkable. So much easier to control that I expected. And it looks stunning. I love the peg leg,

            – It looks quite remarkable, too. Very good. Well, I’m prepared to let you have your new socket. How are you going to get home? You can hardly expect a taxi driver to see to your peg.

            – No, you have a point. Maybe I should change back into my stubbies and carry the corset with me.

            – Yes, I think that would be best. Come over to the couch and lie back and I’ll take the peg off. You can handle the socket yourself. I’ll bring your clothes over.

 

Floyd was shortly dressed again as he had been when he arrived. He had a large package under his arm wrapped in brown paper containing the two halves of his torso socket and the steel peg leg. Hall summoned a taxi and Floyd made his way home to find Robin reading his monthly Braille news magazine.

            – Hi! What’s that you’re carrying?

            – It’s my socket and leg wrapped in paper.

            – Yes, I can hear it rustling. I’m interested in looking at it.

            – You can help me put it on in a moment. I also have a pair of wooden crutches which I left by the door.

            – Ah, that’s what they were.

Floyd never ceased to be surprised by how much Robin perceived the world through his remaining senses.

            – Let me get changed and unpacked and we can start assembling the new Floyd.

            – Sounds very intriguing.

Floyd went into his bedroom, hung up his jacket and removed his shorts. He waddled back to the lounge, sat down with the package and undid it. He placed the three components on the low table in front of him. Robin followed his movements.

            – I’m going to put the socket on first and you can have a look at it. I’ll need you to fit the peg.

            – Go right ahead.

Floyd placed the rear section of the socket onto the sofa and lowered himself onto it. Then he attached the front part with its short stumps and peg connector. He tightened five Velcro straps and struggled to push himself upright. The socket held him tight around his ribs and belly. His stumps were suspended inside the shell. It was possibly the oddest sensation of all.

            – Come and feel me.

Robin approached and Floyd could hear the clicks Robin made with his tongue to echolocate. He spread his arms and his hands touched the carbon socket. He felt its upper rim, the seam and the strapping, noted the sculpted form and found the flap in front of Floyd’s genitals. Finally, he ran his hands over the stumps and stood upright.

            – I understand. Is it comfortable?

            – Yes, it is. I haven’t worn it for long so I don’t know how I will feel after a few hours but I suspect that I’ll be able to wear this for the entire time we’re at the gallery. I’m getting a pair of short aluminium crutches so I can use the socket and its stumps to move around without the peg leg.

            – So it would be like wearing stubbies?

            – More or less, except that the stumps on the socket don’t move. I will just lift my body with the crutches and swing my whole body forward.

            – I see. Does it hurt your stumps?

            – No! My stumps are up in the air, not touching anything. I can wiggle them around so I can feel the socket with them but I’m not standing on them. I’m supported by the socket around my midriff.

            – Like a corset?

            – Yes. Exactly like that. A stiff corset.

            – I understand. Show me the peg leg.

            – It’s behind you on the table.

Robin picked the steel tube up and examined it. About a meter long with a fat rubber tip and a threaded connector at the other end.

            – This screws in somewhere,  does it?

            – Yes. There’s a fitting it screws into between my legs. If I lie down, you can see it.

Robin fluttered his fingers between the artificial stumps, picturing how the peg would attach.

            – Do you want it now?

            – Yes please. Let’s try it out. I want to find out what it’s like to wear it at home. Can you get my crutches from the hallway first?

Robin fetched them and handed them to Floyd who stood them at an angle resting against the sofa.

            – Tell me what you want me to do.

            – Just screw the peg into the hole in the socket.

Floyd leaned back horizontal on the sofa. His brother positioned the connecting parts and fixed the peg leg in place.

            – You can’t possibly get up, can you?

            – No, not by myself. I’m going to have something like a narrow climbing frame built for the hallway and my bedroom so I can pull myself erect but for now, I’d appreciate it if you could lift me onto my leg. Give me the crutches first and I can push myself around.

With Floyd tilted forward on the sofa, Robin checked his position and stepped over the peg leg to face his brother. He placed his arms around Floyd’s waist and lifted his brother until he stood on his peg. Floyd quickly positioned his crutches and leaned on them.

            – Thank you.

            – It’s great to hear your voice from eye-level again.

Robin moved away to give Floyd room to move. Floyd inched himself away from the table and moved into the middle of the room. Robin sat again, listening to his brother. Floyd was breathing heavily.

            – Are you enjoying that? Does it feel good?

            – I don’t now whether I should tell you but it feels fairly erotic. I can waggle my stumps inside the socket but I don’t move. It feels incredible. I have quite an erection too. So I guess you could say that I am enjoying it.

            – Now you’re standing, how are you going to spend the rest of the evening?

            – Like this, I suppose. It’s all the same whether I’m sitting or standing. The socket feels exactly the same.

            – How are you going to eat if you can’t sit at table?

            – I’ll just have to lean against the wall and stand. Or in a corner would be safer. Standing in the corner with a plate in one hand enjoying one of your dinners.

            – We could have a tall table made for the kitchen. I could have a tall stool and you would be standing opposite in your corner.

            – That sounds like a plan. Shall we look around to see what we can find?

 

Floyd spent the rest of the evening in his socket. The only discomfort he felt was from pressure in his armpits from the crutches. He looked down at himself and decided to have a bespoke suit made, the trousers being more like a long pencil skirt with one central leg. The suit would need to accommodate his slightly larger measurements caused by the socket but a smart pinstripe with square shoulders, double-breasted perhaps, would help to disguise his increased girth. He would get on to his tailor in the morning.

 

Floyd spent the evening standing upright. Robin made an evening snack and Floyd stood by the table, leaning on it slightly to balance while he used one hand to eat with. It was a little inconvenient not having use of both hands for most of the time but it was time well spent exploring life as a rigid peg legged torso. After five hours, Floyd threw himself onto the sofa and succeeded in removing the peg and emerging from the socket before hand walking to the bathroom and then to bed.

 

Over the next weeks, Floyd learned to appreciate the mobility which his short stubbies allowed him. His hands were free at all times and he was able to pull himself onto chairs or into his wheelchair. He began to realise that the socket and peg were more suited to a few hours’ use on occasions at the gallery when it was advantageous to stand tall with clients and guests. His new suit, charcoal grey with light blue pinstripes looked very smart. The fat rubber ferrule of his peg leg was barely visible beneath the wide turn-up on the cuff of his central trouser leg. He acquired a pair of elbow crutches in a matching light blue as he became more accustomed to balancing on the peg. He kept his suit and socket at the gallery, changing back into stubbies and cut-offs or shorts for the journey home. Robin suggested that perhaps it might be time to start looking into acquiring a pair of full-length prosthetic legs now that issues such as balance seemed to be well in hand. They would allow him to sit for meals at the very least.

 

Brian McPherson had persuaded his new find, Cory Brady, to create a series of larger works in his unique style. Wide swathes of vibrant colour resembled some of the wilder riverscapes by Turner. His works were immediately abstract but intriguing and thought-provoking. McPherson asked for twelve to fifteen large works, a metre and a half wide and promised gallery space to the young amateur. Another local artist, a potter, produced lightly glazed work which Floyd thought looked like sculptures of Francis Bacon’s paintings. Slightly disturbing, grotesque even, the human-derived figures writhed and contorted, the glaze hinting at sweat and the white clay smeared with red resembling wounds. The gallery held a private reception for possible clients where they could meet the artists and select works they might wish to purchase. The young sculptress shocked the visitors by the incongruity of her personal charm and her slightly disturbing work. The painter, a very personable young man, shocked them with his bilateral hooks. It was a memorable opening, not least because of Floyd Brady’s presence. Few of the guests had known of his accident and were surprised to see him standing with crutches and even more surprised to see the extraordinary way he manoeuvred himself around the gallery greeting people. Johanna and Robin stood aside, occasionally greeting guests who recognised them. Champagne flowed and several works by both artists were tentatively reserved that evening.

 

The last of the guests left just after ten.

            – Congratulations, you two. People have been fascinated and we already have two sales. I won’t reveal which pieces yet. I am delighted you could both make it tonight. It’s always such a bonus when prospective clients can meet and talk with the artists. So thank you for coming. Please help yourself to the food. There is some fresh in our office lounge.

The young artists spent another hour in the darkened gallery and then departed.

            – You know, I was a little dubious about having two unknowns but I think they both have bright futures ahead of them.

            – Yes, I agree. The sculptures are remarkable and Johanna tells me that the paintings are unusual and arresting. Cory is quite extraordinary. So severely disabled but so creative. Well, shall we make tracks? Johanna and Brian, if there is food left over, do take it for yourselves.

Floyd quickly changed into his street clothes and attached his stubbies. They were home in twenty minutes and slept like logs.

 

Floyd discussed the possibility of using above-knee prostheses with his prosthetist.

            – It’s going to be difficult, Floyd, simply because your stumps are too short to provide much power to your artificial legs but we could try something a little unusual and give you shorter legs than usual. They would not require so much effort and would be easier to control.

            – So how tall would I be? Bear in mind I was six two before.

            – How would you feel about being five two? Is that too short? Perhaps we could go to five five, something like that. You would be short but not ridiculously so.

            – It’s an interesting idea. I assume that I could get longer legs later if I manage the short ones.

            – That goes without saying.

            – Let’s go ahead, then. Could you make the below-knee part interchangeable? I mean, when I’m used to walking on the shorter legs, the calves and feet could be replaced with longer ones without needing to construct a complete new pair.

            – That’s a good idea. Yes, it’s perfectly possible.

 

The work took six weeks. Floyd was invited back twice for interim fittings and selected cosmeses for the legs to hide their mechanical construction. Finally the legs were ready and Floyd donned them for the first time. They were secured to his stumps with swathes of elasticated belts, fixed with Velcro. However, they allowed Floyd to sit, which was one of the reason he wanted to acquire artificial legs. He adjusted his crutches to a suitable length and worked his way to the parallel bars and faced himself in the long mirror. He stood five feet four inches tall in his shoes. Not quite an average height but acceptable. His prosthetist encouraged him to walk. The legs were no more responsive than stilts. By twisting his pelvis and kicking his stumps, the legs moved a few inches at a time.

            – Not a bad start. Keep at it. You need to swing the legs forward more.

            – I don’t have the stumps for swinging, that’s the trouble. I think I’m going to rely on my crutches to walk and drag the legs along with me for support.

            – I have to say that I tend to agree with you. If you want to use the legs like that, it’s your right to do so. You may find it useful to lock one of the knees, or possibly both of them, to make the leg rigid and more secure. There’s a lever at the back of the knee you can adjust in order to lock it.

            – Can you lock the left leg right now, please? I want to try crutches with a rigid leg.

The adjustment was quickly made and Floyd moved away from the bars, into the room. He was a well practised crutch user and found the best way to walk on the legs was to twist his pelvis as he lifted himself with the crutches. The legs moved forward and the feet hit the floor at slightly different times. He was walking, after a fashion. It was easy enough inside on a flat surface. He relied on his crutches for support, not the legs. He was satisfied.

            – Very good. I’m quite pleased with these. Would you make a package for me and I’ll take them with me?

Floyd returned home wearing his short stubbies and carrying both his new legs and his adjusted crutches. Robin had not expected Floyd to wear his new legs immediately but asked if he might look at them. He opened the package and took out the contents. He spent a minute or two examining the legs, the rigid feet, the socket and the bands at the waist.

            – Do you like them?

            – They’re comfortable enough. A little short. My peg is longer but I might have new calves later to make me taller. I might have a few extra inches.

            – These are the most leg-like things you have. I hope you’ll wear these most, Floyd. I want you to have a normal body image again. I don’t want everyone to look at you and think – invalid. Such a derisive word. Try and get used to wearing these.

            – You’d like me to be on legs, would you? Very well, I’ll give it a try. I have to warn you that I’ll still need crutches for the foreseeable.

            – I don’t mind that. Just knowing you have a pair of legs again brings me great pleasure.

 

Floyd wore his stubbies for the rest of the day but next morning he donned the legs and began his career as a permanent user of bilateral prosthetic legs. He learned to rise from a sitting position with Robin’s encouragement and occasional help and to negotiate steps and kerbs outside. McPherson was impressed when his employer entered the gallery one afternoon on two legs.

            – Very impressive. It’s like having the old Floyd back.

            – A little shorter perhaps.

            – Don’t worry about that. It’s first impressions which count. Why don’t you have a pair of suit trousers made to match your jacket?

 

Floyd became confident enough on his legs to dare walking with canes rather than crutches and soon adopted one cane in his right hand. He planned his route in advance, trying to envisage the obstacles ahead for a bilateral leg amputee and found that with a keen sense of balance, experience with prosthetic legs and a decent walking stick, he was back in the art scene, looking like a distinguished connoisseur rather than like a pitiful figure walking on stumps or as a grotesque figure on one central peg leg. The sculptress who had exhibited alongside Cory Brady requested permission to use Floyd as inspiration for a figurine in her latest collection and a copy of it became a centrepiece which both Floyd and Robin could appreciate in their home, the legless body twisted in a expression of triumph and refutation of physical limitations. It became her best-selling item.

 

SWINGING PLASTIC