E V E N S T E P H E N
A tale of resignation and acceptance by strzeka dedicated to Steven P. for his inspiration
A porter asked Stephen to sit in a wheelchair while he was still on hospital premises. There was no point in arguing that he could walk perfectly well. If he wanted to escape to freedom, he would have to play along to the last. He picked up his bag and sat in the chair. The porter pushed him purposefully to the lift and they descended to the lobby.
– Have you got everything? Sure? OK, you’re free to go. Take care.
Stephen rose from the wheelchair, adjusted his baseball cap and gripped his bag.
– Thanks a lot. See you.
He looked around the forecourt and spotted the taxi stand. He walked towards it, trying to catch the driver’s eye. The driver hopped out and opened the boot for Stephen’s bag.
– Thanks.
Stephen swung the bag into the back of the car and the driver slammed the boot shut. He opened the passenger side door and stood by as Stephen settled himself into the seat. He had noted the empty sleeve and made sure his passenger was safely seated before closing the door.
– Where are we going?
– Well, I was going to say ‘to the station’ but I can’t be bothered mucking around with the trains. Let’s go all the way home. Hillgate Street.
– Notting Hill, right?
– Yup. That’s the one.
– Can you get your seat belt on?
– I think so. This is always a bit awkward. OK, off we go.
The insistent chime ceased and the driver pulled away from the stand. The silence of electric cars was still shocking. But pleasing.
– Do you mind if I turn the radio on? I want to hear the news.
– No, I don’t mind. Go ahead.
The driver hit a switch on his audio panel so the radio would be audible in the passenger seat too.
– And with that final note from monster rapper KoolShitznFuck, we go over to the newsroom. Graham?
– Thanks, Bip. Radio Session News at the top of the hour, every hour. This is Graham Skrzic with the news for WestCentral London. Main streets in Richmond are being cleared at this hour of flood debris. Main throughways should be clear by eight tonight. The flash flood claimed seventeen lives. The third rain bomb to hit West London this spring and MetOff warns of more to come until the blocking high lifts. The Central Line between White City and Holland Park has resumed with two trains an hour. Only the eastbound tunnel is in use. The Prime Minister is to visit London before the next elections to boost her popularity in the East End. Dates will be announced after Ramadan. This is Graham Skrzic for Radio Session News.
– Nasty time they had of it again in Richmond. I wonder why anyone even bothers to live there.
– Place is full of climate deniers with expensive properties, I suppose. They could move out but don’t understand the situation, or don’t want to. I don’t have any sympathy for them. It’s because of people like that we’re in the mess we’re in.
– Yeah, I think you’re right.
– And they can pay others to clear the mess and get food in. They’ll move eventually.
– Well, they’ll have to. Whole place is a swamp these days. If it’s not rain, it’s tides.
– We’ve been OK where I live, apart from everyone having to use buses for the past six months. Still, I can get around in my E-micro.
– Oh, you’ve got one of those, have you? I prefer a bigger car but the Micros are nippy in city traffic. Wouldn’t want to go very far in one, though.
– No, of course not. Better than walking, though.
– That’s for sure.
The driver followed the latest updated route between Roehampton and Notting Hill. There were few other cars on the road since the ban on petrol and diesel vehicles. Never had London seen so many cyclists. They tended to slow other traffic to their own pace which was no bad thing. The taxi arrived at Stephen’s home. He paid and was handed his bag. He fished around in his jacket pocket until he heard his hook clink against his door keys. He shrugged to open the hook and extracted his keys on the second attempt. He let himself in and closed the door just in time to prevent his dog dashing into the street. The alsatian twirled and pranced in joy. Stephen dropped his bag and bent down. The dog jumped up and placed his forepaws on Stephen’s shoulders and licked his face. Stephen ruffled the dog’s coat with his forearms.
– Have you been a good boy? Did you miss me? OK, that’s enough. Yes, he’s a good boy.
Paul came out of the study and stood watching the welcoming ceremony. Steve looked the same. A touch more stubble, the same easy smile. Stephen noticed him.
– Hi Paul! Good to see you.
– Good to see you, too. How are you?
– Fine. Never felt better. Come on, Butch. That’s enough.
– I’ll take your jacket.
– Thanks.
Stephen turned and Paul carefully removed the black leather jacket revealing the latest incarnation of Stephen’s arms. The hook in its black socket on the left, a mid-forearm stump covered in a shrinker and a black leather sheath on the right. It was the same sheath Stephen had previously worn on the left, custom-made by one of the guys at the leather club. It not only looked horny, it also afforded a little extra protection against knocks. The new stump was tender and would be for several more weeks.
– Do you fancy a cup of coffee? I was just about to make one. And then I was going to take the dog out.
– Yeah, let’s have some decent coffee for a change. The stuff in the hospital canteen wasn’t too bad but it was shockingly expensive. So, how have you been getting on? Has the dog behaved himself?
– Well, yeah, most of the time. The first couple of nights he was barking and howling in the night after he went to his bed. I suppose he missed you.
– Could be. Probably he missed not sneaking into the bedroom and climbing up to lay at the end of the bed. There’s room for him there now, see?
– Yeah, I guess there is. But apart from that, we’re the best of friends. Three excursions out every day. It seems to be good for me too. Clears the head and gives me some time to think things over. I’ve managed to write three chapters while you’ve been away.
– Great! Is it coming on well?
– I think so. I sat down and re-read the whole thing one evening – with a red pencil – and I think it’s pretty good. I’m satisfied with it.
– I’m looking forward to reading it. I’m glad you’ve been able to work. I was worried that being away from your own place in a new environment might have thrown you off.
– No, not at all. The complete opposite, in fact. There are fewer distractions and like I said, regular breaks with the dog was all to the good. No, it’s all been a pleasure.
– Thanks for helping out, Paul. I really appreciate it.
Paul rose and poured coffee into two mugs. He brought them to the table. Stephen picked up a couple of sugar lumps and dropped them into his mug.
– What about you? You’re on the mend, obviously. How long are you going to have to wait before you get your new arm?
– It’ll be three or four weeks before they start making it but after that, it wont take long. These things aren’t exactly high tech and most of the parts are off-the-shelf. I’ll need a new double harness, though.
– Is that what it’s called? Ironic, don’t you think? Can you get them made from black leather?
– I dare say you could have one custom made but I reckon it would soon be uncomfortable. You know, the straps would start to chafe.
– I guess you’ve more or less completed your cure now, haven’t you? Nothing left to cut off. There’s no chance it could start recurring, is there?
– As far as I know, it should be over now. I know I should be in the deepest depths of despair at losing my feet and hands but I’m not. I’m not wracked by pain and completely disfunctional without fistfuls of drugs every day. I’m pretty pleased with the way it’s gone. They didn’t really waste much time once the process started last year in January. Here we are in April and all I have to do now is wait a few weeks for hook number two and I’ll be more or less back to my old self.
– Is that the way you think of your hooks?
– Well, if you remember, I was crippled by CRPS for three and a half years, and my hands were painful for two years. I couldn’t use them at all, for anything. André had to do everything for me and he was very patient, you have to admit. After he went back home, I was pretty desperate and that was when I started looking for a surgeon. Funny thing is, I had the idea of talking to prosthetists first. I sent emails to just about all the prosthetists who work in Roehampton until someone showed an interest and then I pumped him for information about artificial legs and arms.
– So you started from the opposite end and worked backwards.
– Exactly. Well, he sent me a few PDFs from prosthetics manufacturers and general info about amputation and what follows and told me to get back to him if I still thought that prosthetics was the direction I wanted to take, rather than increasingly powerful painkillers. You soon build up a tolerance to them, see? And then you more or less end up on a morphine drip after a while. And I hate taking drugs of any sort. I was taking fifteen pills a day a month ago.
– Why so many?
– Basically it was to cover all possible causes. There were drugs to numb my nerves, my muscles, my skin, other drugs to counter their side-effects and more drugs to calm me down. They were the worst. Thinking ‘Oh, this is alright, it doesn’t matter’ instead of wanting to fight against it. This nerve damage I had is so difficult to pin down that the doctors just throw everything at it and hope that something works.
– But it didn’t, obviously.
– It did at first. After I had my feet off, I still had to take a load of drugs to try and prevent it spreading to my hands and for the first year it seemed to be working. Then the itching started and then the burning which grew worse and more painful until I was getting pretty desperate because I knew what was going to happen. I was pretty sure I’d lose my hands but after a certain level of pain, that no longer matters. You just want an end to the pain. So I sort of conditioned myself to accept that I’d be using hooks before long and when it happened, I was simply relieved. It looked odd at first, having this steel hook instead of a hand, but on the plus side, it didn’t hurt any longer and I could do a lot of stuff with the hook that I couldn’t do any more with the hand. I think the surgeon could have chopped off both hands at the same time but he wanted to give me a few months to learn to use a hook before it was time to get the second one.
– In spite of your right hand being swollen and painful? That seems a bit sadistic to me.
– Well, the surgeons have their own code of conduct. Their own set of rules. I mean, think about it. A double hand amputation is a pretty drastic change for the patient. I suppose they think that one at a time over a few months is better, to give the patient time to learn to adjust so that when the other hand goes, the patient still has at least one functioning hook.
Paul poured more coffee.
– Well, I suppose that sounds logical enough. But you were left with a hand you hardly dare use. What were they thinking of?
– They just looked at my list of drugs and decided to increase a few dosages.
– And did that help?
– Not so much, not for any practical purpose but I did find it easier to get to sleep. It was no longer so painful for the sheet to scrape against the skin on my hand, for example.
– I’m sorry you’ve had to go through all that, Steve. I knew you were in pain a couple of years ago. I could see it in your face. Only occasionally. I suppose it was when you let your guard down.
– Yeah. I was a bit naïve. I thought I could put a brave face on it. I even thought it was something that might go away by itself. I’d put my engineer boots on and hope they were thick enough and sturdy enough to let me walk and stand. And they did, to some extent. Then one night I came home from the club and I couldn’t get the damn things off. My feet had swollen – I’d had them on for about eight hours and we’d just been standing around with the guys, you know how it is. So when I got home, I sat on the floor out there in the hallway and tried pulling them off. And it was so painful. You can’t imagine. It was like red hot knives were slicing into my skin. I think I might have cried in frustration and pain that night. Probably the first time, but not the last.
– So what did you do?
– I just left the boots on. Went to bed wearing them. Next morning, I didn’t dare touch them. I managed to get my usual trousers over the heels and went to work wearing them. Engineer boots look a bit odd with a suit but no-one commented. I was worried all day about being able to get them off but my feet did eventually shrink back to normal size and I got them off. Oh, but it hurt so bad. I must have sat on the floor for an hour trying to ease the bastards off my feet.
– Do you want any more? Shall we go and sit down?
– Yeah. Leave the washing up.
Stephen went into the lounge and lay on the sofa. Paul went into the study to switch off the light and returned to sit in an armchair facing Steve.
– How did you feel when you couldn’t get your boots off? I would have panicked.
– I did too until I realised that it was hopeless. I had visions of having them stuck on my feet for the rest of my life or until they were prised off by firemen or something. In the end, I just decided to go to bed wearing them. I mean, it wasn’t the first time I’d slept wearing leather.
– No, I suppose not. Was that the first time you realised that something was wrong?
– Sort of. My feet had been hurting on and off for a few weeks by then. Like I said, I thought it would go away. It was the first time I realised something serious was going on. I mean, whoever heard of your feet swelling up so much you can't get your boots off? That’s when I really started paying attention to my feet and I didn’t like what I saw. I mean, how often do you look at your feet?
– Not very often. When I’m cutting my toenails, I suppose.
– Oh god. More agony. That was really painful. My toes were so tender. I had to cut the nails. They were already catching on the sheets. After that, I started looking online for an explanation. At least that gave me some kind of an idea what was going on.
– So did you find out what was causing it?
– Well, in a way. This CRPS can be set off by slight nerve damage. And that made me think of that weekend in Hornsey when I was one of the leather slaves. Two thousand thirty-one, that was. I won second prize for being the Best Dressed Slave. The winner paid a thousand pounds to the club and the next guy who won me for the weekend forked out five hundred. So I went home with him for the weekend and he could do whatever he liked with me. At least, that’s what they advertise. Of course, it ends up being a mutual agreement. No-one wants to hurt anyone else. But he put me in suspension. I was hanging from my wrists and ankles for about five or six hours while he walked around me cracking a whip and smoking a cigar. You know, daddy type. Then he cut me down, still bound and took me to a bed in the corner. He pulled my leathers down and stripped naked and ordered me to fuck him, still bound. Well, the ropes were already fairly uncomfortable and he was egging me on, get yourself here, put your dick there, crawl on me, all that shit. And I’m pretty certain that was the weekend when I damaged myself to such a degree that the nerves rebelled and caused what they call CRPS. The stress on my ankles and wrists from the ropes, hanging for so many hours.
– Well, if that sort of pressure is what can cause it, that sounds like it could very well be the reason. Have you seen the guy again after that?
– Oh yeah, sure. We see each other regularly. He’s very friendly and never mentions the slave weekend. Big guy, chevron stache, you know, typical gay style and head to toe in leather. Not a bad-looking bloke, as a matter of fact.
– So how long was it afterwards that your feet starting playing you up?
– I wasn’t paying much attention to them at first but thinking back, it must have been seven or eight weeks when I noticed that the soreness and burning sensation I’d started to feel wasn’t letting up. As I keep saying, I just waited for it to clear up. But it didn’t. It was only when it was too painful to even put a pair of shoes on that I called an ambulance. I said ‘Bring a wheelchair. I can’t walk’.
– Was that when you went in for your amputations?
– God, no! The doctors had no idea what was wrong with me. At that stage, my feet looked completely normal. They held them and ran their probes all over them while I groaned in pain and they looked at me like I was trying to play a trick on them. None of them had any idea what might be going on. That’s when I first got the idea of amputation. See, if the doctors can’t see anything wrong and I’m in so much pain, wouldn’t it be a solution to chop the feet off?
– So did you suggest that to any of them?
– No. It was only after a couple of weeks later that I read about a guy in Arizona or somewhere who had such incredible pain in his arm that he marched in to his local hospital and demanded that they amputate. Of course, you can imagine what they did. They sent him home with some aspirin and told him to contact them again in a couple of weeks if there was no improvement. To his great and eternal credit, he didn’t give up and searched out a surgeon who understood from the symptoms what was going on and invited him in for an amputation. The guy had to cross state lines and that involves a shedload of paperwork but he did the surgery first and the paperwork second. The guy found an outfit somewhere which could make him a hook without breaking the bank and he never looked back.
– And it didn’t spread to his other hand?
– Not that I’ve heard of. It’s kind of odd how sometimes it affects both and sometimes just one side. There doesn’t seem to be any set way it behaves.
– But it doesn’t seem to affect, er, amputees after they’ve had their feet or hands off.
– There was one case in South Africa where a guy lost his lower legs and two years later, the same thing happened again and he had his knees amputated. But after that, no-one has heard anything.
– So how do you feel now, in yourself? Are you happy to be free of the pain?
– Well, of course I am! That’s what controlled my life for almost four years, spoiled just about everything everywhere I went. Imagine going to the Leather Club when it feels like your legs are being burned. Or later on, when I was on fake legs, what it was like to try to stroke a man’s stubble with a hand which rebelled at every point of contact.
– I know a couple of men who would enjoy being touched by your hook.
– So do I! I can’t wait to get back into the routine. I just have to get myself healed and back down to the club. I’ve no idea who might be into amputees but there are bound to be a few.
– It depends on how you turn up, I suppose. It’s easy enough to hide your legs under leather trousers but your hooks are a bit obvious.
– I thought I might try to get hold of a pair of fake hands and put black leather gloves on them. That would look hot. Although they’re not much use. I could grip a can of beer between them but I doubt I could get it open.
– I was thinking about you needing a bit of help over the next few days. Would you like me to stay here for, say, another week while you get settled?
– That’s good of you to offer, Paul. Thanks very much. Actually, I would like someone here because I’m pretty sure I’ll have a few difficulties with just the one hook. So, yes, I’d like that very much. It won’t interfere with your work, will it?
– I don’t see why it should. As long as I have about a four hour stretch from about mid-morning to lunch time, I’ll be fine. I don’t try to write longer than that. There’s only so much you can squeeze out of yourself as far as creativity is concerned and in my case, four hours is just about the limit.
– I promise not to disturb you when you’re working. I can do my exercises.
– What sort of exercises do you mean?
– I have to practise using the hook to do various things. One of the main ones is learning to write again.
– You’re right-handed though, aren’t you? You’ll have to wait until you get your second hook before you can start practising that.
– True enough. But there are things like handling forks and toothbrushes – imagine what it’s like putting toothpaste on a toothbrush with just this!
He lifted his hook up for inspection. Paul looked at it.
– Don’t know how you’ll take this and I hope you aren't offended but I really like the look of your prosthesis. It’s sleek and the steel is eye-catching and the black carbon looks good coupled with a white T-shirt. What do you feel when you use it? Do you like it?
– I’m at that stage where the novelty has worn off but I’m still learning a few tricks how to use it. I don’t find it frustrating any longer. I think that’s down to being able to use it better, more intuitively, than earlier on and also I’ve stopped trying to use it for things which obviously aren’t going to work. Like tying a shoelace. It’s obviously not going to succeed so I don’t even attempt it and that way I avoid being frustrated.
– What do you do with your laces, then?
– I just push them into my shoes. But I’m going to put a pair of boots on my feet and keep them there permanently. If someone doesn’t like it, tough shit. I just have to find a suitable pair of boots.
– Engineer boots would suit you.
– They would, but they’re a bit heavy. Don’t forget I don’t have my own feet any more.
– I see what you mean. You don’t want your legs coming loose. Talking of legs, shall we take Butch out?
– When was he out last?
– About eleven o’clock.
– Oh, right. Yeah, let’s go.
– Do you want your jacket?
– No, this is ok. Have you got your keys?
– Right here. Butch! Walkies!
The dog ran in and stood to attention while Paul fixed the lead to his collar. His tail was wagging so much that his back end was swinging. Stephen got up carefully and watched as his best friend trotted along the hallway with his second best friend.
– Don’t you feel self-conscious?
– Just a bit. I know people look. I know I’m unusual because of the hook. And now my new stump. I suppose it’s a shock for a lot of people. They don’t know how to react.
– I don’t suppose you want pity, though. What do you think when someone stops you or makes a comment?
– Well, quite often people offer help when I’m out shopping, for instance. I don’t mind that. There were times when I couldn’t get something with my hook and my hand was useless so I was grateful for the help. But I’ve started buying stuff in packages which I can manage with the hook as far as possible. It only opens so far.
Stephen opened his steel fingers to their furthest extent to demonstrate.
– If something won’t fit in this, it can stay on the shelf. And I’d rather buy something in a box than in a cylindrical jar or whatever. Anything with a screw-off lid is also a big no-no. Can’t manage them at all.
– I can imagine packaging is a big problem. I don’t suppose you can manage scissors either, can you?
– No. There are electric scissors, apparently. I’m going to try to get some. Until then, I’ll just have to use a knife as best I can.
– Does that make you feel disabled, Steve?
– Not really. I know my limits. I understand why I cant screw off the lid on a pot of jam. My hands became useless and now I have, or I will soon have, a pair of hooks which will have to suffice. I’m glad to be rid of the useless painful hands. And now I get to find out what the hooks can do. Much more than I thought at the start. This left hook feels comfortable and I like the way it’s so reliable. It’s hard to explain but I feel quite at one with it. Like I’ve had it for much longer than I actually have. I suppose that’s all part of learning to accept my new body shape.
– How does that affect you? Stumps instead of hands and feet.
– That’s the strangest part, I think. I’ve had my leg stumps for over a year and it’s always a surprise to see them but I think they look fine. Quite a good shape and they’re long enough for me to be able to rock the fake legs with no problem. I’m happy that they’re the same length, too. I don’t think I’d like uneven stumps. Somehow my leg stumps look more natural because they are the same length. I used to have quite hairy legs and now the hair has grown back over the ends of my stumps which hides any scarring. It makes them look even more natural.
– So you like your leg stumps. Do you think you’ll feel the same way about your arms?
– I think so but it’s going to take some time before I get used to their appearance. The new stump is still a bit swollen so it’s hard to know what that will end up looking like but it’s the same length as the left stump. That’s a good shape too with some of the hair growing back. So with any luck, a year from now I’ll be my old hairy bastard self again with good-looking hairy stumps.
– I’ve never heard anyone refer to stumps as good-looking before.
– It’s an acquired taste.
– Yeah, you may be right. Butch! Don’t pull! Shall we make our way back? Or do you want anything from the shops?
– We could get a bottle of the hard stuff to celebrate my homecoming.
– Ha! Yes, that’s reason enough to raise a glass. What do you want? Vodka, whisky?
– Get a litre of vodka. I’ll pay.
– No no. This is my treat. I’m happy to see you again and I’m happy to see you in such a good mood.
– My pain has gone. That’s why I’m happy. Nothing hurts. It’s incredible. And I like my new-look limbs. Why wouldn’t I be happy?
– It calls for a celebration. Shall I get a litre or two?
– Well, if you’re paying, get two.
– Good man. Take the leash. I don't think Butch is allowed inside.
Butch poked at Stephen’s shins with his snout and recoiled at the unexpected solidity. He tried again and smelled the fabric and the underlying carbon composite legs. His master’s scent was there but muffled. It was odd. He turned his body and leaned against Stephen’s legs. He raised his head to catch Stephen’s eyes for reassurance that they were still friends. Stephen leaned over and gave the rub which meant ‘we are still together’. Butch yawned with relief.
– I got us two bottles. We don't have to drink them both tonight.
– No but we don’t have to hold back, either. Right. I can take the bottles and you can take Butch. If there’s one thing a hook is good for, it’s carrying a bag.
– Open your hook and I’ll wrap it around the finger. Now you can’t drop it.
– Good thinking. Have we got enough in for breakfast?
– Yeah, I think so. I bought a loaf yesterday, there are eggs and bacon and cheese and there are frozen veggies in the freezer. And some sausages. So lunch is settled. We’ll have to get some more in tomorrow, though. We could go into town, actually. You probably need to renew your travelcard if we do.
– Yeah, let’s do that. It needed topping up anyway. Christ, I haven’t been on the tube for months.
– Well, it’s all part of getting you back into the swing of things. How are your legs, by the way? That was a fair old way we walked.
– They’re fine. The pavement is fairly even so I don’t need to pay quite so much attention as I usually have to. You know my feet feel nothing. I mean, even if you’re wearing thick boots you can tell if what you’re walking on is even or lumpy or whatever. All I can feel is the pressure around my knees if the ground is uneven. It changes from side to side, depending.
– But it doesn’t hurt you?
– No, nothing like that, but it’s a warning to be careful. If I were to stumble now, it might be fairly serious. I absolutely must not bang this new stump and I don’t think the left hook would be much good in softening a fall. So I’d probably bang my head on the ground and that’s never a good thing.
– No. I don’t suppose I could catch you, either. How are you managing? The bag’s not too heavy, is it?
– No, it’s fine. I can carry about five kilos with my hook without much trouble. Anything over that is risky.
– Why’s that?
– I’m not sure. I haven’t actually tried it yet, to be honest. I suppose it puts too much pressure on the harness.
– How do you feel wearing a harness all the time? I like wearing mine but I’m glad to take it off after a few hours.
– It’s alright. I want it in the middle of my back and sometimes it sort of wanders across. But it’s easy enough to shift it back into position. It’s not like a leather harness which signals you’re a bottom. I’ll have to take that into account if I go to the club, won’t I? I don’t want some butch top thinking my hooks mean he has full control.
– Just pinch his nips with your hooks. That’ll show him who’s boss.
– Ha! Teach him a lesson. Yeah, that would work.
– Do you want to go to the club this weekend? We could rock up together.
– Haven’t thought about it, to be honest. I don’t see why not. I’m gonna need some help dressing, though. I can’t manage buckles yet. I wonder if I could fix my prosthesis to a leather harness? I’ve got a couple we could try out, if you don’t mind fiddling about with it.
– No, I don’t mind. It would look cool. What are you going to wear on the other arm?
– Well, I only have this sheath, unless I want to bare the stump. It sort of depends what sort of a shirt I’m wearing. I reckon the black leather shirt with the short sleeves would probably be best.
– That with a white T-shirt. How about your boots, though? You said you didn’t want to wear your engineer boots.
– Oh, I meant not permanently. I think I can put up with them for a few hours. Assuming I can get these feet into them. I haven’t tried yet. The feet are just solid and there’s not a lot of stretch in those boots.
– If they don’t fit, I can lend you a pair of Doc Marten’s. They might not be your size but I don’t think it makes much difference, does it?
– No! It really doesn’t. Have you got the key?
– Yup.
Paul opened the front door and Butch jumped inside. Paul stood by watching discretely as Stephen lifted his artificial legs over the threshold. Paul took his shoes off and hung his jacket in the hall.
– Give me the bag and I’ll make us a drink. Do you want anything with it?
– No, just neat is fine.
Stephen lifted his hook and opened it slightly so Paul could remove the handles. The bottles clinked with a fulsome sound which promised imminent pleasure. Stephen went into the lounge and collapsed onto the sofa. He inspected the black leather sheath covering his new stump and turned it from side to side. It was both attractive and shocking. The lack of a hand was the shocking part. He was glad to be rid of the useless appendage after nearly two years of pain. He again found himself hoping that his arm stumps would be a matching pair. Paul brought in two large vodkas in squat tumblers.
– Welcome home! Your very good health.
Stephen leaned forward and judged the angle of his hook. The fingers needed to point upwards not to the right. He looked around for a way to adjust them.
– Can you twist the hook to point up, please?
He held out his prosthesis for Paul to adjust.
– Thanks. That should do it.
He opened the hook and grasped the tumbler of vodka and carefully brought it towards his face. His lips met the rim and he leaned back slightly to tilt the glass.
– That looks a complicated process, Steve. You need something you can slide the hook into to twist it.
– I know. It’s only temporary though until I get the other hook. Then I can twist one with the other.
– That will be handy. Excuse the pun.
– It’s funny how difficult it is to avoid referring to hands, isn’t it? Hand that to me. Do you need a hand? On the other hand. Don’t you start mincing words!
– No, I won’t. It only calls attention to that which must not be mentioned. I have to say, Steve, I love the way your feet are pointing up like that. It’s the unmistakable sign that the person is wearing an artificial leg. Or two. I’ve always liked seeing it.
– I didn’t know you were an admirer of amputees.
– Well, I don’t know whether I’d go so far as to call myself an admirer but that’s one thing I have enjoyed seeing. It just looks cool.
– Well, to be honest with you, I think so too. It’s one reason why I insisted on having these solid ankles and feet. The prosthetist was dead against it. He was trying to sell me some hi-tech ankle which did everything bar line-dancing and I had to talk him out of it. You know the tell-tale sign of a leg amputee walking, don’t you? The little thing that gives the game away?
– Yeah, I know. The ankle being rigid. It looks great.
– And that’s what I was going for. I thought that if I have artificial feet, they might as well look artificial too. That’s the reason I wanted black carbon instead of that pink shit. Which also always looks artificial and also ridiculous.
– It does. Your arm is a good example. It’s in your face and obviously artificial, even disregarding the hook. The pink ones look even worse because you get the idea that it’s trying to mimic the real thing. And failing dismally. I mean, you can spot a fake arm at a hundred paces anyway.
– Yup. That’s one thing that might be a bit of a disadvantage for me, when I’m working, I mean. I’m supposed to be practically invisible and blend into the background. If I’m standing there with two hooks on display, I’m gonna be the centre of attention.
– Yes you would. I hadn’t thought of that. What are you going to do?
– Well, we come back to those fake hands with the leather gloves. Even that is fairly noticeable – why is that guy wearing gloves inside in summer? But that might be one solution. The trouble is swapping the things over.
– Can’t you get a pair of hands you could slip on over your hooks?
– I’ve no idea. I’ve never heard of anything like that.
– Well, you heard it here first. Necessity is the mother of invention and all that.
– It’s not a bad idea, actually. I’ll have to suggest it to my prosthetist and ask if he has any ideas. I can imagine fake hands which I can grip with hooks for as long I need to wear them in public. Afterward, they’d be easy to just flick off. Yeah, I’m going to look into that.
Stephen took another slug of vodka. The first was already beginning to make itself felt after many weeks of abstinence.
– Have you heard anything about when you can go back to work?
– No, not yet. I haven’t even told them I was being discharged yet. I thought I’d have a few days to myself before I let them know. There’s no reason I couldn’t turn up tomorrow, of course, but a few extra days recovery from getting this horrid stump seems only reasonable.
– Yeah. Your horrid stump. Is it sore?
– Not at the moment but it wouldn’t take much to make it sore and worse. That’s why I’m wearing the sheath.
– It looks horny.
– I know. That’s the other reason I’m wearing it.
– Ha! Steve, you’re a funny sort of bloke. You’ve been through so much pain and so much trauma and you’re still your sarcastic jokey old self. How do you do it?
– I don’t know. I just like stumps. The more the merrier.
– Really? Are you serious? Did you always like stumps?
– Difficult to say, really. I’ve always been attracted to amputees. If I saw one in a shop, for example, I’d follow him around. Especially if he was on crutches with an empty trouser leg. But that was before I fell ill. After I had my feet amputated, I was more interested in seeing my own stumpy legs than someone else’s. They look really horny. They’re just the right length for leg stumps.
– I’ve never seen your stumps.
– I’ll get my kit off if you want to take a look.
– Go on, then.
– Actually, it would be easier if you do it. Pull my jeans off and look on in wonder.
Paul put his drink down and opened Steve’s trousers. Stephen lay sideways on the sofa so Paul could pull his jeans down to his knees and pushed himself upright again. He showed Paul how to release the lock holding his prostheses to the pin liners and how to roll the liners off his stumps. As he had described, two hairy calf stumps revealed themselves. Stephen lifted them for closer inspection.
– Looking good. A bit sweaty, maybe. I’ll have to wash them before I go to bed. That’s the worst thing about being an amputee – the never-ending stump care.
Paul took the left stump into his hands and gently felt its muscularity with his thumbs. He cupped the right stump and felt the warmth of both, admiring their masculine appearance.
– You can still walk on your knees, can’t you?
– Yeah, I’ve done that if I need to pee in the night. Otherwise it means putting the liners and the legs on and I can’t be arsed at three in the morning. Oh – I just thought. Now my legs are off, can you try putting my engineer boots on the feet? See if they fit. They’re in the hall.
Paul rose and fetched the boots. He removed the trousers from the artificial legs and the shoes from the feet.
– I’ve got the feeling it’s not going to work. The ankle doesn’t bend and the boot is too narrow to accommodate it. Shall I try my Doc Martens?
– Yeah, if you don’t mind.
Paul returned with his tall black boots. He loosened the laces as much as possible and pulled the tongue forward. With a little pressure, the rigid black foot slipped into the boot. The upper edge almost reached the leg’s lock release button.
– Success! Shall I do the laces up? Do you want to try walking with them?
– Yes please. It looks pretty good. I’ll have to get myself a pair if they feel alright.
– The trouble with a new pair of Docs is the stiff inner heel. You usually suffer blisters for three weeks until the leather becomes more supple.
– Well, I won’t run the risk of blisters.
– Right. Give them a try. You need the liner things back on your legs, don’t you?
– Yup. Are you doing it? OK. Turn them inside out first. Find the line marked on the rim. That needs to be uppermost. Then you centre the pin more or less on the stump and push the silicone up. Sometimes it takes a couple of tries before I get it right. If the pin is wonky, I can’t get the leg on.
– This looks alright, though, doesn’t it?
– Yeah, I think so. Now the other side.
Paul made two attempts to centre the pin and smoothed the liner up Stephen’s right stump. Stephen pulled the right prosthesis towards him and pushed his stump into its opening. The pin caught the lock and clicked into place. He stamped his foot for another couple of clicks and repeated the process for his left stump. Finally he leaned forward and rose to his feet. Paul was ready to catch him if he faltered.
– These must be flatter than my engineer boots. I feel like I’m standing more upright somehow. They’re very light though, aren’t they? Let’s see what they’re like to walk on.
He went to the hallway and strode up and down a couple of times.
– I like these. I can sense the ‘give’ in the heels. They don’t jar my knees so much.
– I’m glad you like them. You can keep them on. I don’t need them for the next few days. I only brought them in case my leather boots got soaked or something.
– Well, thanks very much. I think we should drink to our first successful experiment. Cheers!
– Shall I pour some more?
– Go on, then. Let’s live dangerously.
– I was wondering when your next assignment will be. There are a couple of conferences over the summer, aren’t there? One in Birmingham -
– That’s the Security Council meeting.
– Yeah – and the other one is in August in Edinburgh. The CCSE conference. Are you working for those?
– Well, I’ve been pencilled in for the SC and I’m suppose to confirm by the middle of May. I assume I’ll be interpreting at CCSE as well but I haven’t heard anything yet. It seems to me that us auxiliary workers are always the very last to know what’s going on.
– At least you should be available now for both of them. No chance of needing an emergency amputation all of a sudden.
– Haha! No, those days are behind us. Actually, it’s good you brought it up. I’ve been a bit out of the loop for the past month. I ought to catch up on SC stuff. It gets tedious sometimes reading the same thing in French and then in Spanish and then in Portuguese but I have to keep up with their political slants and watch out for any new terminology they adopt.
– I really admire your language skills. I only know a bit of German and that’s pretty rusty.
– I envy you! German is a closed book for me. I just can’t get my head around the case system. I’ve looked at other languages like Hungarian and Czech – not to learn them, just to see what the grammar is like – and it’s so far beyond the way my logic works that I’ll gladly stick to the romance languages.
– Do you think you’ll have your second hook by SC?
– Christ! I hope so.
– I don’t know why you’re so worried about them being a distraction. Surely you can stand there with them behind your back. You don’t need your hands for interpreting, surely. Unless it’s Italian, of course.
– Ha! Fortunately my Italian isn’t good enough to use professionally, not yet anyway. It would look funny if I’m working with the Italian PM and he’s gesturing all over the place explaining something and I’m shadowing him, waving my hooks behind him.
– I’d like to see that.
– Security would probably jerk me off the stage with one of their cattle prodders. You can’t conceive how tight security and protocol is at these events.
– No, I suppose not. Rather you than me. Cheers!
– Your good health.
– I have to say, you’re managing that vodka very well.
– That’s because of the built-in incentive.
– Ha! But Steve, be honest, how do you feel about losing your hands?
– As far as I’m concerned, I lost them a couple of years ago, long before they were amputated. I mean, I really could not use them at all towards the end. André was helping me with everything – dressing, eating.
– Do you think that’s why he left?
– No. He made that clear. It was trouble with his visa due to an unpaid parking fine from five years back.
– And that was enough to deport him?
– Yup. He wasn’t too despondent about that because the company he worked for was going down the shitter anyway. He wanted me to come with him but I couldn’t face losing out on medical treatment so I stayed here.
– Would you like to see him again, live with him?
– Yeah, I would. He was OK with my legs and knew I’d lose my hands as well and still he stuck around. I don’t know. You asked how I feel about having stumps instead of hands. Well, they look pretty good. Nice shape, good length for using prostheses. The hook is fairly practical so I don’t mind that. I have trouble with stupid little things like buttons and buckles and opening lids and turning keys but I knew all that before and still went ahead with it.
– Do you miss the sense of touch?
– I can feel with my stumps. When I’m with a man, I can use my stumps to feel his stubble and his eyes and genitals. But during the day, I feel nothing. I can feel vibrations and textures by the way the sensation travels up the sockets but of course, the hooks feel nothing. I don’t know. It’s not something I’ve given much thought to. It’s something I was expecting and it’s no different from that.
– Can you wank?
– I can reach my dick but actually I haven’t tried. To tell you the truth, my libido has been almost non-existent recently. I don’t have the need. I hope it’ll come back once I’m fully recovered. I’ll let you know the first time I cum after a wank with my stumps.
– Haha! No need. You have that to look forward to. Young guy like you, you’ll soon be as horny as ever. What are you? Twenty-seven, twenty-eight? By the time you get your new hook you’ll be walking around with a stiffy out to here.
– Well, that would be amazing considering the size of it now but I take your point. Can you pour me some more?
– Why don’t you try it yourself?
– Like that, is it? OK, shove the bottle over here.
Stephen checked his hook was in an appropriate position to grasp a large object and opened it. The bottle was a little too wide for him to grasp.
– No, that’s no good. I’ll have to buy two half litres in smaller bottles in future.
– Costs more.
– It can’t be helped. Disability is expensive.
– Do you get any compensation from the state?
– Yeah, of course. It’s not enough to live on but it pays the rent. The other income from conferences and ordinary translation is what keeps me in luxury.
– Well, you have a nice flat and decent furniture so you must be doing well for yourself. It’s good you use your brain to earn a living.
– I suppose so. I didn’t need to retrain for anything after my amputations.
– What else might you have done?
– I don’t know. I could be a train driver, or drive a tram. Something like that which operates with a few button pushes and a lever. I don’t know how the passengers would like it if their driver sat up the front poking about with a pair of hooks.
– They’d stand behind you in a line waiting for their turn to watch you, I bet.
– Haha! Maybe I should do that. I don’t know. I’m satisfied to do what I do. I’ll never be an old-style millionaire but I won’t go hungry either.
– Speaking of which – are you hungry? Shall I make some supper? What would you like? There’s some bubble and squeak in the fridge. I could heat that up and throw an egg on top.
– Do you know, that’s exactly what I would like. Comfort food with a ton of ketchup.
– Coming right up. Do you want a refill?
– Go ahead.
Paul went to the kitchen and clattered pots and dishes for a few minutes. Stephen got up to see what he was doing. A frying pan full of food was beginning to emit the sounds which gave the dish its name. Two eggs waited next to the hob.
– That’s great! I can eat that with a fork.
– Good show. Can you get some plates out and the cutlery?
It was the first time Paul had asked him to do something. Surely he could manage that. His hook was still pointing upwards and he would not be able to pick plates out of the cupboard. He looked around for a gap into which he could insert the hook and twist it around. He pulled open a kitchen drawer slightly and put the hook into the gap. He twisted his stump and the hook pointed to the right. He opened it and gripped a plate. Releasing all tension and allowing the hook to tighten, he pulled the plate out and put it on the table, opening the hook as he did so. He repeated the action and fished around in the cutlery draw for a knife and two forks. He found the salt cellar and plucked it out of the cupboard. He felt quite accomplished. Paul was not watching and said nothing. On the other hand, why should he? He realised that he ought not expect to be congratulated on everything he managed to do. He ought to sort his priorities out and get used to doing things for himself. When he was alone, there would be no-one to praise him for picking a fork up. He walked across to Paul at the stove.
– Do you need any help?
– No thanks. I’ve got this. Just sit down and I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready. Couple of minutes yet and then I need to fry the eggs. How do you want yours?
– As it comes. Not fussy.
– Good show. I always seem to break the yolks whatever I do. Can’t remember the last time I had a perfect round yolk.
– Doesn’t make much difference, does it? You have to break it to eat it.
– True enough. Can you get the ketchup?
– I knew I’d forgotten something.
Stephen reached into the cupboard for the bottle. The cap was the screw-on type. He would have to stop buying products like that. There were plenty of other brands in plastic containers which only needed a squeeze. But he could not do that, either.
Paul served the food. It smelled like childhood and tasted wonderful. He watched Stephen manipulate his fork. He leaned forward and tilted his head to reach the food. If he brought his hook closer, the food would fall from the fork. Maybe he would find it easier with the new hook on his right stump.
– Have you tried using your stumps without a prosthesis?
– No, not actually used them. The new one is a bit raw for that sort of thing. Why? What were you thinking?
– Oh, I was wondering if you would be able to grip the fork between your stumps.
– I could try. I would need a rubber sheath on the fork though, otherwise it would be at completely the wrong angle. It would be sideways.
– Oh yeah. I see what you mean.
– I need to get some sheaths, and also a bottle opener or holder thing so I can get lids open. I still won’t be able to use it until I get my other hook, but at least it’ll be here ready.
– Where do you need to go to get something like that?
– Any big department store has stuff like that. Usually marketed for the elderly and infirm, not for the amputee and virile.
– I’ve never noticed.
– Have you ever looked?
– No. I take your point. Still, if we’re going into town tomorrow, we’ll have a look. Get you a pair of electric scissors, too. Well, shall I put these in to soak or shall I wash up now?
– Just leave them in the sink. Thanks very much. I enjoyed that.
– Let’s have another drink.
They returned to the lounge and Paul poured them more vodka. Stephen rubbed his hook against the leather sheath on his stump.
– Is that bothering you? Is it painful?
– Bothering me in the sense that it itches. I really want to give it a good scratch but I mustn’t do that. All my stumps have been the same. It’s torture for three or four weeks and then it stops itching. All part of the healing process, I suppose.
– What would you have done about cutting your fingernails if you’d kept your hand?
– I’d have just nipped in to a nail bar and asked them to do it for me. There are enough of those around, aren’t there? I’m glad I had my legs off first. I’d hate to be without hands and having toenails which need clipping.
– You’re lucky. Think of the time you save.
– Ha! You realise I’ll be spending about an hour a day just dealing with my stumps, don’t you? Every single day. Make sure they’re clean, put skin conditioner on, wash the liners, prepare the liners, put the liners on. All with two arm stumps. Thank god I still have my elbows. And the same thing in reverse in the evening.
– But none of it hurts. Remember that. And other people spend an hour a day getting ready. Think of how much time some women spend putting their warpaint on every morning.
– Yeah, I suppose you’re right. I shouldn’t complain. Actually, I’m not complaining, I was just saying.
– It’s quite a change in your lifestyle, I’d imagine. You can’t be quite as relaxed and free about where you go and what you do. You have to keep in mind that you’ll need to tend to your stumps at the end of the day.
– Yup. It’s OK. I say that but of course I’m not in a situation where it would be inconvenient. Like if I go and spend the night with someone. He won’t want me in bed wearing hooks and artificial legs.
– You never know. There are some strange people out there.
– Ha! Yes, I know. But if it’s just the usual leather fuck, he’s not going to want to wait for me to groom my stumps before we get to the main event.
– I shouldn’t worry about it, Steve. By the time you’re in his dungeon, he should know pretty well that you are not like other men. You’re going to have experiences that the rest of us don’t have, you know that, don’t you?
– What’s that?
– Well, you can’t be tied to a chair by your arms and legs, can you? Maybe you’ll have to be suspended in a hoist with your stumps on display for the evening’s master to enjoy.
– Fuck me, that sounds horny! I’d love that. I’m going to take my arm off. It’s getting a bit sweaty in there.
– Need some help?
– No, not really but you can do it if you like.
Stephen lifted his arms into the air and told Paul to pull the rubberised loop off his right shoulder. He put the socket between his legs and shrugged it off his arm. Paul picked it up and swung the prosthesis to one side. Stephen held out the new stump.
– Can you take this off but be careful.
Stephen was left with two liners on his arm stumps.
– If you can roll these off, I’ll be set and ready.
Paul did so, taking particular care with the right stump. Stephen looked at his face. Paul was concentrating on his little job. It was good to feel air on his stumps after many hours.
– Thanks, Paul. That feels much better.
He leaned forward and picked up his tumbler with both stumps. They were both the same length and when the swelling had subsided, they were going to be identical. The scars on the right stump still looked red and tender but Paul paid them no attention. It looked so odd for his friend of many years to be transformed. The friendly stubbled face and the formerly hairy limbs, now hairy stumps, holding a glass precariously.
– Want a refill?
– Yes please. Have one yourself.
– I might do that. Steve, I don’t mean to torment you with questions but if you could live your life over, is this what you would want for yourself?
– You mean to be a fairly good-looking white male with a decent brain and a nice home?
Sure! Why not?
– That’s not what I was referring to, as you can well imagine.
– Oh, you mean did I expect to have four artificial limbs? Well, no but now it’s happened, I’m perfectly OK with it. Look at my legs wearing your boots. They’re legs, aren’t they? And my arms stumps are doing exactly the same thing as your fingers.
They both picked up their glasses in their individual ways and looked each other in the eyes.
– Thank you for being a friend, Paul. Cheers!
E V E N S T E P H E N
