MATCHING PAIR

 

MATCHING PAIR

A disturbing tale by strzeka

Dedicated with much admiration to ’Finger-toe Amputee’ from YouTube.

 

Losing a limb is unfortunate. Losing two looks like carelessness. Lloyd wanted to lose a hand and brandish a fierce steel hook in its place. It was an odd fixation but as a teenager, Lloyd had seen a really handsome guy with two hooks buying coffee and sandwiches ahead of him in a queue at the airport. He was immediately Lloyd’s ideal. When Lloyd lost a foot that same year thanks to a badly smashed ankle which refused to heal, he was satisfied with his stump. For a while. Oh, it looked alright and apart from the odd twinge, it did not give any pain. The end of it was a little flabby but for most of the day it was hidden from view in favour of the bare-bones artificial leg and foot which he had worn for almost a year. The old niggling desire reawoke after about six months.. It would look cool if he could have a matching arm with a black socket and steel hook. It was unlikely to come about because of another lousy fracture.

 

Lloyd cast around, seeking advice and ideas from amputees and wannabes. He read a few lines on a forum somewhere from a man who had succeeded in removing his own left hand and reported that it was not painful nor had he been near a doctor since. The clincher was the revelation that there was no need to cut through bone if the hand was merely dislocated from the wrist. Lloyd looked at his own wrist and imagined his arm without the hand. Long and shapely. Like a baton, almost. It was true. With a few essential tools and a bit of planning there was no reason why he could not sever his own hand, buy a hook prosthesis and finally be the bloke he saw himself as.

 

Years later, Lloyd co-owned a coffee place in the shopping centre with his best mate from school. They had both been through the university system and come out the other end with a worthless piece of paper and a taste for alcohol. There was nothing they could not tell you about the British monarchy going back to when life expectancy was thirty or the provenance of Shakespearean plots. Meanwhile, in the real world, there was work to be done. Lloyd and his mate Greg had no experience apart from shelf stacking as teenagers. Greg twisted Lloyd’s arm and they took out a joint loan and rented a decent space near the entrance of a successful shopping centre. They divided it into two obviously separate sections. One side appealed to youngsters with lots of op‑art and neon and trendy bays while the other was darker, quieter and more comfortable. They sold a limited range of good quality coffee, kept their equipment clean and served cheesecake made by Greg’s father-in-law’s bakery, under contract. It was a modestly successful enterprise. It paid the rent and they had enough left over after all the bills to be able to afford luxuries like prosthetic limbs with steel split hooks.

 

Lloyd decided it was time for action. He covered the kitchen table with towels to soak up any ‘spillage’ and arranged a set of scalpels, cotton wool and swabs, all of them having undergone a couple of minutes in the microwave oven to ensure sterilisation. He drew a line of dots around his wrist with a ballpoint to indicate how much skin he would need to retain. He covered his hand in a supermarket plastic bag, plunged it into salted icy water and listened to music for an hour or so. He put a tourniquet on his upper arm. He fetched some dry ice—frozen carbon dioxide—from the freezer and cooled his hand even further. It was uncomfortable for about ten minutes—actually, it hurt—and then he dropped his almost senseless hand onto the towel and began to slice around the ballpoint dots. Then through the fatty tissue and muscle, the nerve still senseless, and finally it was possible to wrest the hand from the wrist bones. The whitish yellow nerve shrank back somewhere into his arm, the veins spasmed shut and only the arteries were still dribbling blood. Lloyd pierced one with a needle and sutured it shut. He lifted his stump and visualised how he should go about closing the flaps of skin. He made two passes. The first to hold the flaps in place and the second to seal the wound neatly. Lloyd reached across the table for some alcohol and enjoyed the glass of vodka he had promised himself on completing his amputation. He inspected his new stump and hoped it would settle down into something he would be proud to display.

 

It was a long, well-proportioned stump. Lloyd wrapped it in gauze and bandaged it. Finally he fed his brand new stump into a printed stump sheath which extended up his arm to his elbow and terminated in a hemispherical cap of black plastic. It would protect the stump against knocks and looked a lot better than a clump of bandages. Lloyd picked up his severed hand, dropped it into a plastic container and put it in the freezer. He cleared the surgical apparatus and took the bloodied towel to the laundry basket. The sheath was surprisingly useful. The end of his stump was suspended inside it, safe. Lloyd took his drink to the living room and sat down to contemplate the brevity of his arm. Sensation was returning to the amputation site. It was obvious that some serious injury had occurred but it was not an alarming pain. If it stayed at this level, the pain would be tolerable.

 

Lloyd watched a couple of tv shows with half an eye. He sipped his vodka, not intending to get drunk but to relax his mind. The new stump made itself known with insistent throbbing. With any luck, it would calm down before long. He cupped the end of his stump sheath with his right hand, pleased with its artificiality. Shortly after two in the morning, he dozed and slept for four hours.

 

The pain was still bearable. It now felt like sliced flesh. He should change the bandage and check the sutures. First, coffee and breakfast. It was instructive to go through the motions one‑handed. He could rest the stump sheath on a surface since the pressure transferred to near his elbow. Lloyd had made the sheath a couple of years ago and had worn it a few times in public, with his left hand squashed inside it. It looked unusual, unique. Now it was considerably shorter without a hand. Lloyd went to the bathroom and showered. The sheath was waterproof. After showering, he pulled it off and unwrapped the bandage. There was a little blood which had seeped through but nothing alarming. He filled the wash basin with tepid water and soaked his stump to loosen the gauze. He used a sponge to gently wipe around the stump and allowed water to run over it direct from the tap. The sutures seemed to be holding. There was a little seepage of clear fluid in one spot. Lloyd was satisfied and allowed the stump to dry in the air before wrapping it once again and replacing his sheath. He concentrated on what his leg stump felt like. He ought to change and clean the liner but the inconvenience won out. He would do it later.

 

Lloyd weighed up the pros and cons of letting Greg know what had happened. He would know soon enough. If he felt up to it the next morning, he fully intended dropping into work at the usual time to see if he could be of any assistance. He could still tend the coffee machines and operate the dishwasher with one hand. Perhaps it was a bit too much to expect a new amputee to serve behind the counter. The customers might not approve of his black plastic stump sheath. Lloyd looked at it and grinned. It looked pretty macho to him. He liked it.

 

Pain from the stump evolved during the day, resulting in a sensation of severe bruising, an insistent heavy ache. The throbbing returned. Lloyd wanted to sleep in the afternoon but the discomfort was too much. He would just have to grin and bear it. There was the other little problem in the freezer, too. How best to get rid of it? After a few minutes thought, he decided the easiest way would be to drop it into a powerful blender and liquidise it. Then he could flush whatever was left. He would have to buy himself one. He knew perfectly well it would be one of those pieces of kitchen gear that you use once and then relegate to the back of the cupboard.

 

The sheath was becoming uncomfortable. It chafed his arm. He should have worn a sock on it. The plastic had become clammy inside. He ought to wash the sweat out of it before he continued to wear it. He looked for a long sock. His were all too thick. Winter socks. He put a black woollen sock on his stump, working it carefully over the bandage. It looked neater and Lloyd decided to wear it for a while.

 

It was time to start searching for a private prosthetist who would not ask awkward questions about a fresh amputation without any official medical records. He knew exactly what kind of prosthesis he wanted and could describe all its components and details. A socket which enveloped his elbow, a basic flat connector with a half inch screw fitting, a basic steel hook. The biceps cuff could be unusually long, if possible. All he had to decide was the colour for the socket. The so‑called flesh tone was less obtrusive although it always looked artificial. Black looked smarter. A matte surface would look more presentable. Lloyd jotted all the points down for reference when he started making enquiries.

 

He assembled a meal from items found in the refrigerator. He did not want to cook or wash dishes one-handed. The sheath was completely waterproof but not useful for any practical work. He could survive on take-outs and frozen ready meals until he had his hook. He spent much of the afternoon researching prosthetics manufacturers and composing a brief introductory message explaining his predicament. He also wanted to have a general estimate of the cost for a basic prosthesis. Fortunately he was quite prepared to settle for the simplest, no-frills components at the outset. The whole object of the exercise was to wear a hook. More expensive refinements could come later when he discovered any shortcomings.

 

Next morning, Lloyd rose an hour earlier than usual and got himself ready for work with plenty of time to spare. Dressing was slow and frustrating with one hand. It took him too long to put a sock on and it was awkward to do up the buttons on his flies. In spite of the difficulties, he left home on time and made his way to the bistro. Greg was there, discussing something with one of the deliverymen. Lloyd hung back, not wanting to interfere. Instead of changing his clothes, he waited, arms behind his back. Greg laughed with the man and he left.

            – What was that all about?

            – Oh, nothing really. I just asked him if he could take the empties back every morning instead of once a week. I don’t like it when they pile up. Er, what’s that? Where’s your hand? What the fuck?

            – I was going to call you about it but I thought I’d drop in instead. I lost my hand. It’s sewn up and healing but I have to wear this to prevent me from knocking it.

            – I don’t understand. What do you mean, you lost your hand?

            – Well, exactly that. It has been removed. When the stump heals, I shall have a hook instead.

            – How are you going to work with a hook? You need two hands in this job.

            – I’m pretty sure I can work the counter one-handed. Let’s get the place ready and you can make your own mind up.

            – I’m not sure the customers are going to appreciate being served by a one-armed man. How did it happen? How are you up and about walking around so soon after the operation?

            – I’d rather not go into it, Greg. It was not a complicated affair. The hand was removed from my wrist. No bones were severed. The wound is no worse now than having a gashed hand. As long as I don’t injure the stump while it’s healing, I should be back at work as usual as soon as I get a hook. Until then, I can handle things out the back.

            – I’m not sure I believe you but I’m willing to let you try if you feel up to it. Jesus, Lloyd. You’re a double amputee now.

            – Slowly disappearing before your very eyes. Come on. Let’s get started and we can have a coffee before we open. I’ll make it for you and you can see I can still manage.

 

Greg stood rooted to the spot as Lloyd passed him and shrugged off his jacket. He put his uniform jacket on and changed his trainers for his work clogs. He could not understand how Lloyd could be back working at most two days after an amputation. It was ridiculous. What on earth had happened to cause such a traumatic injury? Lloyd seemed perfectly nonchalant about it. He stirred himself and followed Lloyd to start prepping for the morning rush.

 

Lloyd soon discovered how disabled he had become. He was unable to lift trays of cheesecake. The slippery plastic sheath had no grip to hold anything weighing more than a couple of kilos. It was almost impossible to open tetrapaks one-handed. Lloyd made an effort but Greg had to do the heavy lifting.

            – I’ll start on the coffee. I’m pretty sure I can manage that ok.

            – Well, I hope so. I don’t fancy having to do everything myself.

Lloyd busied himself checking the equipment and filling their innards with freshly ground coffee and fresh water. It was slightly slower having to do every work phase one-handed but Lloyd was as fastidious about quality and accuracy as always. Greg watched him working and saw that Lloyd was capable behind the counter. The plastic thing on Lloyd’s stump looked slightly alarming but it was not offensive in and of itself. Greg was still nonplussed about how Lloyd could have gone through an amputation so recently and be back at work already. It made no sense.

 

As promised, Lloyd served the first espressos of the day. They sat for a few minutes in the plusher half of the bistro.

            – Are you going to tell me what happened?

            – I’d rather not talk about it, Greg. Not yet. Give me some time to get used to it first.

            – Alright. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?

            – I thought I could serve behind the counter. Nothing wrong with this coffee, is there?

            –No, it’s fine. I don’t know. I suppose if you feel up to it, I’m willing to let you try. But if customers start complaining about it, I’ll have to take over.

            – What is there to complain about?

            – Most people find that sort of thing distasteful. They don’t want to see stumps or anything to do with disability.

            – More fool them. I don’t suppose most people will even notice.

            – Well, we’ll soon see. Thanks for the coffee. Ready? I’ll open the front.

 

The first customers soon arrived. Greg and Lloyd were both behind the counter. Most of the early arrivals were shop assistants from nearby businesses who dropped in for a quick coffee before their shifts began. It was an easy way to start the day. Most of the customers were familiar faces and never hung around or made a mess. Lloyd busied himself getting orders ready and Greg took the cash. If anyone noticed anything odd about Lloyd, they said nothing. Lloyd himself had quickly learned one of the most important lessons for a one-handed man—to plan one step ahead and get things in place beforehand. He had a row of coffee cups ready in a line beside the machine instead of having to pick them out from the dishwasher basket. He had opened three packets of beans in advance. He was going to have a problem if someone asked for steamed milk, though. That required two hands. It couldn’t be helped. Greg kept an eye on him. He was intensely curious to know how it was physically possible to lose a hand over the weekend and be back at work as if nothing untoward had happened. And secondly, what the hell had actually happened to Lloyd? The guy had lost a hand and was behaving as if it were nothing more than one of those things which happened from time to time. Lloyd served one of the guys working on the air ducts upstairs with a large espresso and leaned on the counter with his hand and his plastic sheath.

            – What the fuck is that?

Lloyd checked where the hard hat was looking. He lifted his wrist and rotated the hemispherical end of his arm.

            – Oh this, you mean? Just something I picked up over the weekend. I’m waiting for a new arm, see?

            – I never noticed you had a fake hand before.

            – Well, now you know. I have a fake leg too. You didn’t know about that either, did you?

            – Are you pulling my leg? Really, mate? Christ, that’s fantastic. Bloody hell.

He took his drink, slapped a couple of coins down for Greg and went to the row of stools by the window. He twisted around to watch Lloyd working behind the counter. He had a bit of a crush on Lloyd, although he didn’t even know the bloke’s name. He knew damn well Lloyd had not had an artificial arm because he enjoyed seeing Lloyd’s beautiful masculine hands with their long fingers and their dark hairs every time he dropped in for a brew. As much as he appreciated handsome hands, he fetishised artificial hands and hooks. The unusual black sheath Lloyd was wearing also struck him as horny. It was time to get back to work before the boss showed up but he would return later in the hope of talking to Lloyd a bit more. He wanted to know what the hell had happened to his crush.

 

Lloyd was managing fine. His stump throbbed most of the time, possibly because of the exercise his arm was getting. Greg stopped watching him out of a corner of his eye. If he had a problem, he knew where Greg was. Lloyd was paying close attention to the movements needed with his future hook. He was trying to decide if he could manage better with an artificial hand or with a hook. He wanted a hook but there was no reason why he should not have both, assuming of course that they were interchangeable on his socket. There was a particular design of artificial hand which he was interested in, made in the US for over half a century. The palm was wood and the fingers were metallic with rubbery fingertips. They were usually covered with a cosmesis, like a glove which resembled human skin. It would be interesting to try out something like that, as soon as he found a prosthetist who was amenable to the patient’s own ideas. He knew from being in business himself that any independent prosthetist would try to sell him the most expensive components and the most advanced developments. Lloyd was not interested. He wanted a hook on his stump, nothing more. If the wooden hand fitted his socket too, he would give it a try.

 

Afternoon turned into evening and shoppers turned into leisurely visitors who enjoyed the relative calm of the mall after six o’clock. Greg had just accepted another three trays of cheesecake and Lloyd cut and placed fresh slices onto plates for display. The hard hat turned up again in civvies, ready to go home. Lloyd remembered him from the morning.

            – Give me an espresso, will you, mate? Listen, er, can I ask you something?

            – Depends. Go on.

            – You had two hands last week. I know because I was watching you. I’ve been watching you for weeks. You have very nice hands for a bloke. It’s the sort of thing catches my eye. And now it looks to me like you’ve lost your left hand and I don’t see how it’s possible.

            – I’d rather not talk about it, if that’s OK with you. You’re right though. I did have two hands last week.

            – So you’ve lost your hand over the weekend. I guess you had a disarticulation at the wrist. That’s the way I’d do it. No bones to cut through. Is that what happened?

            – You seem to know a lot about it.

            – Yeah, well, I’m sort of interested in that sort of thing.

            – You like amputees?

            – Yeah. I like amputees. I’ve thought about having an arm or a leg off but it’s difficult to get something like that.

            – True.

            – But you seem to have managed it.

            – Look, I don’t want to talk about it here. If you want to arrange something like this for yourself, I can give you some tips but not here. I’ll give you my phone number and you can text me. Don’t call. I never answer the phone.

Lloyd plucked a serviette from its holder and found a pen. He held the serviette in place with the sheath and wrote his name and phone number on it.

            – Thanks. My name is Leslie Christensen but everyone calls me Chris. I’ll text you later tonight, if that’s OK.

            – Yeah, alright. I won’t be home before nine so about ten? I’m glad you’re interested. You’re the first person today to admit that they’ve noticed anything different.

Christensen took his coffee and sat down. His hard hat hung from a loop on his carpenter jeans near the floor. He caught Lloyd’s eye a couple of times and half smiled. He was thinking of what he would ask his idol which would not seem intrusive but would satisfy his curiosity.

 

Lloyd used his sheath and arm when Greg piled up a stack of washing up onto him. Lloyd made his way to the kitchen and extricated himself from under the dirty cups and plates. They set the machine to run half an hour before opening time the next morning, switched off the lights and Lloyd stood by as Greg shuttered the bistro. It was three over eight. Lloyd raised his sheath and waved a farewell to Greg. Lloyd used his electronic pass to exit the building and made his way to the station.

 

As promised, Chris messaged soon after ten.

            – Is now ok? I don’t want to disturb.

            – Go ahead.

            – I’ve been looking up wrist disarticulations. Is that what you had done?

            – yes.

            – And you can be back at work so soon?

            – Why not? The end of my stump is healing and I wear the plastic sheath.

            – It looks fantastic. I want the same thing.

            – why?

            – I’ve always wanted to be an amputee. I never knew it could happen so fast. Can you show me?

            – Show you what?

            – How to amputate your hand?

            – Do you want to do it too?

            – Yessssssss! Please help me.

            – Alright. But on one condition. You have to help me first. Then I will help you.

            – Alright. That sounds fair. What do you want me to do?

            – You remove my right hand. After that, you will know how to do yours. I’ll help.

            – Are you serious? You want two hooks?

            – More than anything. But I have to get the first one before going ahead.

            – OK. I’ll help. I’ll do anything to get my own hook.

            – OK. Let’s stop now. Good night.

 

Lloyd turned up for work the next morning as usual. Greg had already arrived. He owned his own transport, despite the convenience of public transit. Greg claimed the main advantage was to be able to charge his pod for free in the garage. Lloyd preferred the train, despite the cost. His plastic sheath was useless on public transport. He had to hold tight with his natural hand. He imagined it being a hook for the entire journey. If Chris was as good as his word, it would not be long before he was grasping a pole on the train with a hook or two. Lloyd was surprised by Chris’s interest and admission to wanting a stump of his own. It was such an unusual desire, a taboo subject. Lloyd wondered if his new stump would inspire other wannabes and devotees to come clean. It was certainly more obvious than his leg stump and prosthesis. The stump felt a lot better this morning. It was healing well. The next step would be removing the stitches. Give it a week. Maybe Chris would like to do it. If Lloyd invited him around for a couple of beers, they could discuss things in detail. Lloyd was gratified at the attention Chris had paid him. He was a good-looking man, masculine features with laughter lines around his eyes. His beefy forearms were covered in curly dark blond hair and his broad hands were well-proportioned. And yet he wanted to lose one in favour of a steel hook.

 

The weekend approached. It was Lloyd’s turn to work over the weekend. The two partners took turns and averaged two days off per fortnight. Greg pulled him aside on Friday afternoon and asked if Lloyd was going to be able to manage on his own.

            – I’ll just have to, won’t I? I just have to adjust to not being able to carry heavy stuff all at once. Don’t worry, Greg. It’ll be fine.

Chris dropped by for a coffee on Friday afternoon. He watched Lloyd making it and stood at the counter chatting instead of sitting down. He was still wearing his hi-vis work clothes and his hard hat. They were practically the height of fashion. Chris had the disconcerting habit of gazing directly into his interlocutor’s eyes when he was speaking. He meant nothing by it but it was a strong willed man who dared to return his gaze. Lloyd was one such man and Chris felt growing admiration for the man. He did not dare to mention their obsession in public but Lloyd deliberately revealed more of his black stump sheath because he knew Chris was fascinated by it.

            – Are you doing anything this weekend?

            – No, nothing planned. Why?

            – I wondered if you’d like to come round to my place for a drink and take my stitches out. My stump should be healed enough by then.

            – I’d love to.

            – Alright, good. Let’s not discuss it here. I’ll text you, alright?

            – OK.

 

The weekend went well enough. He asked delivery boys to stack goods in the tiny storeroom rather than just dump them, ensured that a few packets of beans were always sliced open ready for use and used quiet moments to keep the under-counter supplies well stocked. The tip of his plastic sheath was becoming knocked and scuffed which he was both sorry about and thankful for. Every mark signified a knock which his stump would otherwise have suffered. Greg called mid-afternoon to ask how things were going and rang off at Lloyd’s insistence that everything was fine.

 

Ten minutes before closing time, a middle-aged couple ordered a couple of coffees and asked if the cheesecake was fresh.

            – It arrived at three, so…

            – Good show. We’ll have two of the mango, please.

Lloyd set out two plates and reached for the spatula. The man spoke up.

            – Are you one-handed?

Lloyd looked at the man. No-one had previously asked him.

            – Yes. I’m waiting for an arm, you see.

            – I thought you might be. Have you found a prosthetist yet?

            – Well, no, actually. This is still a recent injury and I haven’t made any enquiries about getting a hook made.

            – Is that what you’re after? A hook?

            – Yes, a hook is quite good enough for what I want it for. Excuse me, but why do you ask?

            – I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude.

He lifted his arms to display two split hooks. He opened them and let them click shut.

            – We have the same kind of problem, you see. I run a clinic for prosthetics in Harlow. I was wondering if we might do a little business. Would you take these to a table, my love?

The elegant woman chose an empty table on the quieter side.

            – I’ve been looking for an independent place which would make me a hook according to my own specifications. I know what I want and I don’t want to be pressurised into more expensive prosthetics by some technician.

            – I know what you mean. Well, my wife is waiting for me but let me give you my card and you can get in touch. Send me an email and we’ll discuss what you need.

As the man reached for his wallet and set about opening it to extract a business card, Lloyd spoke up.

            – Were you ever at Heathrow buying a coffee one morning in early July six or seven years ago?

            – Let me see. Yes, I very probably was. I used to do a lot of sales trips around the country. Why do you ask?

            – You remind me of someone I saw there once.

            – With hooks?

            – Yes.

            – It was probably me. Small world, isn’t it? OK. I look forward to hearing from you.

He joined his wife and Lloyd felt elated at having found his prosthetist with so little effort. The sooner he had his hook, the sooner he would be able to remove his right hand. He looked at the card. Geoffrey Paige, prosthetist. Harlow, Essex.

 

Lloyd took his time about closing up, waiting for the couple while they enjoyed their coffee in peace. He could see Paige using his hooks to eat his cheesecake with a fork. Lloyd felt a welling sense of inner satisfaction with the thought that he would soon be in the same situation, wielding two hooks and being able to enjoy life as a severely disabled man with three stumps. Would he try for four? Perhaps it was wiser to keep one natural leg, although it would be a fine thing to be symmetrical again. Losing his other foot would require another hospital visit but Lloyd did not relish the thought. The couple rose and exited. Paige raised a hook with a smile and Lloyd waved his black sheath. He lowered the shutters, removed his coffee spattered white jacket and put his street clothes on. The dish washer was programmed, the pallets were ready for collection and the cash register was emptied with the drawer open. He made his way out the back door, locked it and strode towards the station.

 

Lloyd made a quick evening meal for himself and sat down to compose an email to Paige. He would have liked to tell him that if he was indeed the same man he had seen at the airport all those years ago, he had made a greater impression in those few seconds than anyone else, ever. But that seemed unbusiness-like so he omitted it, although his sense of gratitude infused his thoughts as he described the basic prosthetic equipment he wanted. He mentioned the wooden and steel hand and his need to handle a variety of tasks which called for a variety of hooks, all of which he knew the correct description of. He finished his message with a description of the socket—skin-toned, enveloping his elbow and flat-ended. He reread it and sent it.

 

A message from Chris had arrived while he was typing. He opened it and saw that Chris suggested a couple of pints in a pub two stops away on the tube. Lloyd was not in the mood to go out again, especially as he had to get up early for work again the next morning. He sent a brief explanation to Chris who answered immediately, suggesting that he could call in at Lloyd’s if it were convenient. Lloyd had nothing better to do and it might be fun to have some male company for once so he invited Chris to come around within the hour and they could spend the rest of the evening together.

 

Chris turned up within twenty minutes. He had his own transport and parked nearby. Lloyd was impressed. It was unusual for a workman to be able to afford a car or pod. Chris was overjoyed and enthusiastic at being invited into Lloyd’s home and harboured the idea of getting his idol to shed his sheath and fake leg so he could worship the stumps. But first he had to make himself welcome. He brought a bottle of plonk, a six pack of beer, a half litre of vodka and two baguettes stuffed with chicken and veggies. It was clearly overkill and they both laughed about it.

            – I hope you don’t expect us to get through all that this evening, Chris. Thanks a lot for bringing it, though. You do know I have to be at work by seven, don’t you? It takes me nearly an hour to get there.

            – Oh, I’ll drop you off. I’ve got the car with me.

            – Er, you won’t be able to drive if you have a drink.

            – I know.

Lloyd looked at Chris’s friendly stubbled face with the smiling eyes and caught the drift.

            – OK, you can have a drink and stay the night if you like. And I can sleep in for an extra hour. Shall we keep the sandwiches for breakfast? I’ll put them in the fridge.

He took them to the kitchen and returned with two large wine glasses.

            – Open that, will you, and let’s see what it’s like.

Chris twisted the cap off the bottle, which seemed small in his broad hands. The bottle almost emptied into the two glasses.

            – Cheers. Your good health.

            – Skål. Tusen år.

            – What’s that?

            – Danish. Tusen år. It means a thousand years. May you live for a thousand years.

            – Oh. How do you know that?

            – My dad’s Danish. Christensen is a Danish name.

            – So you’re Chris Christensen.

            – No! My real first name is Leslie but I don’t like it, or being called Les, so everyone has always called me Chris.

            – Shall I call you Chris?

            – I hope so. Can I call you Lloyd?

            – Yup. It’s difficult to come up with a short version. This isn’t bad, is it? Was it expensive?

            – No, not really. They had it on special so I grabbed a bottle. I don’t know much about wines.

            – But you know what you like. Well, I think it was a good choice. I have some news which may interest you.

            – Oh? What’s that.

            – I think I met the man with hooks who I saw at the airport years ago and who set me off on the way to getting hooks of my own. He came into the bistro just before closing time with his wife and noticed my sheath. One thing led to another and guess what? He runs a place which makes prosthetic limbs in Harlow.

            – That’s amazing. So is he going to do yours?

            – I hope so. I sent him an email a couple of hours ago telling him what I want. We’ll have to wait and see what he replies. Also, the price. I don’t want to go above a certain limit. If he’s too expensive, he can forget it. But if I can get a hook in the near future, it means you can take my other hand off soon after and then it’ll be your turn.

            – Wow! It could be a matter of a couple of months.

            – It could. I want to feel familiar with my hook first, you know, get used to it. Then it will be time for my other arm. Are you still up for doing it?

            – Yes, of course I am. I’ve been looking at some x-rays and anatomical diagrams this week to see what’s what. I can understand that once you cut the tissue, you can just pull the bones away.

            – Yup. That’s pretty much all there is to it. It didn’t take long, either. I wanted to get it done as soon as possible before the cold wore off and it started to hurt. All in all, it was hand to stump in forty minutes, although I spent time after that putting in the stitches. Speaking of which, are you up for taking them out?

            – What now, you mean?

            – Yeah. No time like the present. I’ll get the scissors and tweezers.

            – Won’t it hurt?

            – Yeah, probably. Be gentle.

Lloyd found what he needed in the bathroom cabinet and took them to the kitchen. He filled a small bowl with water, dropped the scissors and tweezers into it and put the bowl into the microwave for five minutes. They would be as sterile as possible when they had been boiled for several minutes.

            – How did you lose your leg?

            – It got smashed up in a road accident. It was in plaster for six weeks but wouldn’t heal properly. The doctors weren’t sure what to do and suggested all kinds of ridiculous things like titanium implants and making the ankle rigid. I more or less told them to stop fucking about and amputate, so after a couple of weeks arguing with them, that’s what they did.

            – You didn’t mind losing the foot?

            – No. It was my suggestion. I’ve always wanted a stump of my own and suddenly, I had one. But things were more or less the same as before. Losing a foot is one of the easiest things to get used to. I wanted to feel disabled and I still dreamed about the guy with hooks I’d seen at the airport. I wanted to be like him. And now I know his name.

            – Quite a coincidence, isn’t it? Are you sure it’s him?

            – I think so. He’s older now but still good-looking in a mature sort of way. Greying temples, that sort of thing. And he said he was often at the airport. I’m pretty sure it’s the same bloke.

            – And now he’s going to make your hook.

            – Well, I assume that he has an assistant for the practical stuff. I don’t think he could do the job with his two hooks.

            – How about you? If you have two hooks, there’ll be lots of things you won’t be able to do either. What about your work now? Will you still be a barista but with two hooks?

            – We’ll have to see. I’m willing to give it a try. But probably what will happen is that Greg—that’s my partner—will take over the counter and I’ll be out back. I’m not so naïve to think that I’d be able to handle cups and spatulas with a pair of hooks or that the customers would want to see me fumbling around with their change, one coin at a time.

            – You’re giving me an erection. I can’t think of anything better than being served by a handsome guy with hooks.

            – Stick around. Is there any more of that wine left?

            – Yes, a drop. Here you are. Are you ready for me to see to your stitches?

            – I suppose so. As ready as I’ll ever be.

Lloyd lifted his sheath for Chris to remove. He pulled off the white sports sock which Lloyd was using as a stump sock and inspected the stump. The stitches were neat and regular but quite tight against the skin, which had repaired itself and closed, leaving a ruddy scar which would fade with time.

            – This is going to be uncomfortable for you. I’m sorry. I’ll be as careful as I can.

Chris worked the tip of a scissor blade under the first stitch and cut it. The ends sprang apart. He cut the stitches along a two centimetre length and picked up the tweezers.

            – This is the bit which will feel nasty. Hold on.

He plucked at the end of the first stitch and pulled on the thread. It was firmly embedded in the flesh but yielded suddenly. He glanced at Lloyd’s reaction. So far so good. He continued, carefully nipping the old stitches out of the stump. A row of tiny holes remained and tiny droplets of blood filled two of them. Chris continued in the same way, cutting a few stitches before tweezing them out. Finally, Lloyd got up and washed his stump in running water. It was now as it always would be, long and powerful. It would be interesting to see if hair grew on the tip and disguised the scar. It looked perfectly presentable, not something to be hidden away in shame or disgust. He went back and joined Chris.

            – Thank you for that. How do you like the stump?

            – It’s great. I wish I had one. I really do. Well, shall we have a nightcap? We’d better not overdo it. Work tomorrow and all that.

            – True. Is a vodka shot OK?

            – Two fingers.

            – I’ll get some glasses.

Lloyd went to the kitchen cupboard and opened it with his right hand. He reached in with his stump and laughed. There was no hand. How long would it be before he instinctively knew the hand was missing? He picked out two short glasses and returned to the living room.

            – Do you really think you’ll go ahead with the second stump?

            – The third.

            – Yes, the third. I always forget your leg. I haven’t seen it yet, is why, I suppose.

            – I was watching Paige—that’s the prosthetist—having his coffee and cake this evening too. He uses his hooks just as naturally and as easily as natural hands. No wasted movements or jerking around.

            – He must have had them since he was a kid, I reckon. You could ask him.

            – Yeah, I might do that. So if I get the impression that two hooks are better than one, I’ll have my right hand off too.

            – And you’d like me to do it.

            – I don’t think I’d be able to do it myself any more. It’ll be good practice before you do your own stump.

 

The nightcaps were soon drunk. It was late enough to think about retiring for the night. Lloyd had intended to let Chris crash on the sofa but with the inspiration provided by alcohol asked if Chris might like to share his bed. Chris beamed with pleasure at the idea and accepted without hesitation. After a few minutes in the bathroom, they went to Lloyd’s bedroom and stripped naked. Chris saw Lloyd’s prosthetic leg for the first time. It had a long black socket, a short steel pylon attached to a rubber foot, currently wearing a white trainer. Lloyd reached down, released the pin lock and pulled his stump out.

            – Would you roll my liner off please, Chris? I can do it if I’m wearing the sheath but I don’t want to overdo it with my arm stump yet.

Chris knew exactly what was required of him. He turned down the upper edge and rolled the liner off. Lloyd’s stump was slightly damp with sweat, the dark hairs stuck to his skin. Chris put the liner to one side and cupped the leg stump in his warm hands. It was soft, the muscles having atrophied to some extent. Chris had little experience with women, but the stump felt very similar to a breast. Fleshy heaviness, pliable, uniquely desirable.

            – This is nice. How long have you been an amputee?

            – Seven years.

            – So you’re used to it by now.

            – I suppose so. I still forget sometimes when I get up in the night.

            – Is that your only prosthesis?

            – No. There’s another one in the closet. My first leg. It looks like a fake leg, you know, leg shaped, pink. I only wear it now when I need repairs on my current leg.

            – So you don’t use crutches.

            – God no. I avoid them like the plague.

            – Have you ever thought about using a wooden leg, something like a peg leg?

            – No! Why? Would you like to see me using one?

            – I would, actually. I could make you one.

            – Really?

            – Well, why not? I’m a carpenter. It’s the sort of thing I can make.

            – I’ll have to remember that and hold you to it. I’ve never tried a peg before.

            – Imagine how you’d look with two hooks and a peg leg.

            – Like someone’s nightmare, I guess. Come on. Settle down. Get in that side and I can cuddle up to you. You have a nice smell.

            – A bit ripe, I shouldn’t be surprised. Let me hold your stump.

Lloyd lifted his arm and Chris held the forearm gently in his big hands. Both men had erections dripping precum but neither was quite ready yet to impose himself sexually. Both realised without it being mentioned that they were homosexual and accepted it as the natural turn of events. Many devotees and wannabes were gay, as if homosexuality were a prerequisite for voluntary stumpdom. Lloyd cradled Chris’s head with his full arm and their legs intertwined before they fell asleep in each other’s aroma and warmth.

 

Having the stitches removed allowed Lloyd to progress to the next phase. He composed a businesslike email to Paige explaining exactly what he wanted from his first arm prosthesis, specifying the various hooks down to their type numbers and requesting information about the artificial hand he was intrigued by. He wanted to know how much each process cost, from casting to fitting and accessories, and enquired about possible rehab and training. He received an immediate reply thanking him for his email and was assured that an estimate would be on its way in the near future. The sender signed off Tony Schneider, prosthetist.

 

Lloyd booked an appointment for Tuesday week. It was the bistro’s quietest day and Greg agreed to hold the fort alone for a few hours while Lloyd got himself sorted out. Greg was impressed with Lloyd’s work effort. Customers did not seem to be put off by a bloke with only one hand and the back-end work flowed as well as ever. It remained to be seen how well Lloyd fared with a hook but Greg was not as concerned as he had been.

 

It was a forty minute rail journey out to Harlow and another twenty minutes on the bus. Paige Ortho Ltd was on the third floor of a Sixties office building which had been recently renovated. Its turquoise panels shone with Sixties optimism and its ribbon windows promised wide vistas into a better tomorrow. Invalids battled with the glass doors and dragged their bodies to the narrow lift. Accessibility was not yet a consideration sixty odd years ago. But Lloyd received a respectful welcome by a twenty-something receptionist and was soon met by the man he had corresponded with, Tony Schneider, who struck an immediate impression by strolling in on two black artificial legs, neither of which terminated in a foot.

            – Welcome, Mr FitzPatrick. Good to meet you. Did you have a good journey?

            – Very enjoyable, thank you.

            – Wonderful. Come this way and we can get started. I need to take down your particulars first. I know it’s a nuisance but it’s best to get it sorted and out of the way.

 

The preliminaries were easy enough. Lloyd was taken aback by the section enquiring about the cause of amputation.

            – Er, do you actually need that info? I would prefer it not to be known, actually.

            – No problem. Shall I put ‘Unspecified’? It’s only useful for us if there are other injuries like burns which we need to take into account. Where was the amputation done?

            – ‘Unspecified’.

Schneider looked up at Lloyd for a few moments and a knowing look formed on his face.

            – I think I understand. Don’t worry. We are very discrete here. Your secret is safe. And if you’d just read it through and sign at the bottom.

Lloyd was relieved to realise that no questions would be asked if he turned up in a few months with another stump.

 

Schneider had prepared everything ahead of time to cast Lloyd’s stump. His was an easy case—disarticulations generally were. The end of the stump was robust and the tapering socket would be easy to fit. He already had the flat wrist attachment Lloyd wanted in stock. After the cast was removed and the stump washed, Lloyd looked at a selection of hooks. He chose two, which would cost well over a thousand. Schneider was familiar with the wooden and steel hand Lloyd had enquired about and recommended it as a sturdy hand suitable for simple grip functions. It might be suitable for Lloyd’s requirements at work but it had a weak grip. And it was expensive, thanks to customs and tariffs. Lloyd decided to wait. The import fees would be practically the same for a pair. He imagined himself with two wooden and steel hands. It seemed odd to remove your own healthy hands only to replace them with wooden copies. Lloyd found it intensely desirable and intriguing. Chris could fit tight leather gloves over the hands which would never convince any onlooker that they were natural. Lloyd twisted in his seat to adjust his erection.

 

Schneider assured him that he had everything he needed to make a start on the prosthesis. He would omit the trial socket stage due to the nature of Lloyd’s stump. He would be invited back for his first and final fitting in a week to ten days and leave wearing his new hook. Schneider escorted Lloyd to the exit, his artificial legs beating a regular rhythm on the floor tiles. Lloyd wondered why he wore such unique peg legs but assumed it was all part of the company’s promotion. Customers could have what they wanted, even footless legs like these. Lloyd only wanted a pair of steel hooks to replace his hands. It seemed quite reasonable in comparison.

 

Chris dropped in every evening about half an hour before closing. He always bought a coffee and a slice of cheesecake and insisted on paying although Lloyd would have let him have it free. Lloyd was in a good mood on Friday evening because he had heard his arm would be ready on Tuesday. Chris was happy for him. It was Lloyd’s weekend off and Chris suggested they spend the weekend together. He invited Lloyd to his flat. He said nothing but he wanted to show Lloyd his home in the hope that Lloyd might consider moving in. He lived on the twentieth floor of a twenty-two storey building with quiet neighbours. It was larger than Lloyd’s place and much newer. The only disadvantage was that it was further from Lloyd’s workplace although there was a tube station nearby. Lloyd had some housework and laundry to do but promised to visit on Saturday afternoon.

 

Chris worked all morning to get his flat looking presentable. The bathroom shone, the kitchen was spotless, there were clean sheets on his bed and the living room looked tidy with a week’s accumulation of old newspapers and advertising pamphlets tidied away. The windows were still grubby but it was not obvious. Lloyd rapped on the door with his sheath and entered to be embraced by his admirer.

            – I want you to feel at home. What’s mine is yours. Help yourself. Shall we have a drink? I got some more of that wine you liked. Wanna glass?

            – Haha! Slow down. Let me get my bearings first. Christ, it’s high, isn’t it? You can see for miles. There’s the river. What a dump this place is. I hate London. So mediocre but so full of snobs. When you go abroad, it’s amazing in comparison.

            – Yeah, I know what you mean. A ferry ride from Harwich and you’re in Holland. The whole place looks like a garden. Or an aerial view of Paris looks magical. Or Prague.

            – Have you been to Prague?

            – Yeah, twice. First time on a stag do. The second time was to have a good look at the place. Easily my favourite city.

            – I’ve never been there but I keep hearing how nice it is.

            – Shall we make it a goal? When we both have hooks, we’ll go there and I’ll show you around.

            – Ha! Sounds great. Skål to that.

 

Chris had made a lot of his own furniture. It was comfortable and handsome. The kitchen was also his own design. Everything was low, sleek and modern. He had a mortgage on the place. Lloyd rented. After two glasses of wine, Chris suggested they might share his flat in the sky. He had bought it two years ago in the hope that he would sooner or later find a man to share the space with him. Lloyd with his stumps would be his perfect partner, even if mutual sex never came to anything. Merely seeing the leg amputee using bilateral hooks on an every day basis would be satisfaction enough. Lloyd was tempted to move straight away but promised to give it some thought and let Chris know before long.

 

Chris served a colourful salad followed by an excellent home-made lasagne. He had given a little thought to what to cook for a one-handed man. Lloyd was easily able to eat his dinner with one fork. The slightly battered sheath rested on the table top. Chris eyed it jealously. He intended to have one made for his own stump.

 

Lloyd stayed the night. Chris’s bed was wider than Lloyd’s. The two men could share it comfortably without disturbing the other. Lloyd allowed Chris to remove his artificial foot again and Chris caressed the stump before leaning forward to kiss and tongue it. He worked his way up Lloyd’s inner thigh and looked quizzically at Lloyd’s bemused face for permission to continue. Lloyd gave the slightest of nods and Chris took the engorged penis into his mouth and toyed with it, tonguing the glans, teasing the urethra. Lloyd held Chris’s head between his hand and stump. Chris turned his head and lunged for the stump. He sucked at it and nibbled at its bony tip. He alternated between Lloyd’s penis and stump, initiating an association which would become ingrained and inextricable. Both men would come to regard their naked stumps as secondary sexual organs, new and fascinating erogenous zones which they had created themselves. Chris continued until his man climaxed and returned to fondling the leg stump until Lloyd calmed. Chris wiped his face and Lloyd’s thighs with a towel and lay beside his friend holding Lloyd’s arm stump in his strong hands. Their stubbled faces nuzzled together and they gradually descended into sleep.

 

Lloyd hardly slept at all on Monday night. He was excited by knowing he would have his first ever hook the very next day. He lay in bed imagining its glittering curves and its immutable utility. How its control cable would catch the light along its length. The caress of the biceps cuff, directing his nonchalant shrugs to the tips of his hook. The glossy socket and its unnatural steel wrist. He eventually fell asleep and dreamed of attending a banquet with hundreds of people who all looked like himself, all wearing one hook. Only the host appeared different. It was Chris, standing on two artificial legs, mere poles, waving at his audience with two hooks terminating his black carbon arms. Lloyd jerked awake, his penis ejaculating powerfully, soiling his bed. It was the first wet dream Lloyd had had for years. His subconscious was learning the concept of sexual amputation and the eroticism of prosthetic limbs. He glanced at the clock. Five fifty. He might as well get up. He swung himself around and set about pulling the liner onto his leg stump.

 

Tony Schneider greeted him. The man stood a good foot shorter than the last time they had met. He had attached large rubber ferrules to his sockets and was using his below knee stumps as short peg legs. To Lloyd’s astonishment, the man was quite stable and shook his hand as if nothing was amiss. They went to Schneider’s workshop where Lloyd was shortly able to try on his new socket. His harness was adjusted to be tight enough to be responsive, not tight enough to be restrictive. Schneider fussed with the cable. Lloyd had to stretch and reach, straighten and bend many times, all the time with his arm terminating in the flat steel plate Schneider referred to as the wrist. Lloyd doffed and donned the harness several times, learning the correct terms for putting it on and taking it off. Finally, Schneider held a hook in each palm and asked which one Lloyd would like to try first. He chose the standard hook, the number five. Schneider screwed it into his wrist and attached the cable. The hook would not close. Lloyd again removed the harness. Schneider adjusted the cable and Lloyd tried again. The hooks remained closed but opened at the slightest effort. Schneider was satisfied and added an extra rubber band to the hook. Now it needed a little effort to open.

            – I’m not going to give you any more bands right now. You can sense for yourself how much more grip you get from just one band. Let me see if you can pick this up off the floor.

He dropped a half inch bolt. It spun around and stopped. Lloyd leaned down and his hook opened.

            – You’re stretching, you see. It opens the hook, like it’s supposed to. We need to find the place where you can close your hook while you are bending over.

They continued adjusting the cable and the harness for another thirty minutes until Schneider announced himself satisfied and Lloyd felt like he had run a marathon. His beautiful new artificial arm had been put to the test and shown to be very vulnerable. The hook had to be accurately adjusted to close, something over which he had no control. He could feel nothing with the hook. He could hear it click against the bolt he was supposed to be retrieving. He realised that the hook was merely a tool, as inert as a wrench or a pair of pliers in his toolbox at home. The handsome socket and leather cuff were all necessary to operate one solitary movable steel finger at the end of his stump. So much precision and adjustment merely to move the curving steel finger reliably. It had to be right. It was the only thing able his arm would be able to control for the rest of his life. As Schneider set about readjusting his harness for the tenth time, Lloyd threw his head back and allowed himself to ejaculate inside his trouser leg. His handless stump was empowered by immaculate precision. A curving hook, with two steel fingers, would replace the hand he had liquefied and flushed away. Surely Schneider must be satisfied by now. His semen was beginning to darken his jeans.

 

Schneider was satisfied.

            – OK, it’s ready. As you use it, try to remember any unexpected difficulties you run into. I’d like to see you again for an hour or so in a fortnight and we can make some more adjustments, if necessary. But I believe you’ll be able to function pretty well with that set-up. Are you pleased with it?

            – I’m delighted. Thank you very much, Dr Schneider.

            – Good. We’ll send you an invoice by post for your records. Is there anything else you’d like to ask about?

            – Yes. The artificial hand from America.

            – Oh yes. They are still available although foreign sales tend to be sluggish. I don’t know why. They cost just over a thousand two hundred each, if I remember. Would you like me to place an order?

            – It will screw into this wrist, won’t it?

            – Yes, I’ll make sure to specify the wrist fitting.

            – In that case, please order a pair. Left and right.

Schneider was clearly taken aback but decided not to question Lloyd any further.

            – Well, thank you, Mr FitzPatrick. Remember your other hook. If you find you would like some training with the hook, we can organise something next time.

Lloyd put the symmetrical hook into his pocket, shook Schneider’s hand and took his leave. He was fairly certain he would know everything about his hook in two weeks. He looked down at the hook poking out of his jacket sleeve and felt the wet mess around his groin. He had intended to go directly to the bistro but thought perhaps it would be better to go home first to change his trousers.

 

Lloyd felt on top of the world. He played with the hook on the train, discretely. He found a comfortable and natural way to hold it with his natural hand, with the steel fingers pointing up. He shrugged slightly to open the hook and inspected it again. It looked more imposing when it was open. The hook closed firmly as soon as he relaxed. It was actually an ingenious piece of prosthetic design. A ticket inspector opened the doors at the end of the carriage and announced a ticket check. Lloyd took out his phone and held it with the hook while he summoned his e‑ticket. As the inspector arrived at his seat, he held his phone out with his hook. He was thanked and the man moved along to the next passenger. Lloyd was a little surprised at the lack of reaction. On the other hand, the inspector met thousands of people every day, some of them with deformities or missing fingers. He must be used to seeing the occasional hook.

 

He sent a text message to Chris to let him know he had his new arm. A reply arrived with a smilie, saying that he hoped he could see it very soon. Another message went to Greg with apologies for taking so long. Greg said he was managing fine and to stay home. This time, Lloyd replied with a smilie.

 

Back home, Lloyd peeled off his jeans caked with drying sperm and washed his legs. His jeans went into the laundry basket on his second attempt. He tried throwing them with the hook but did not open it in time. The jeans fell to the floor. His second try was successful. It felt like he was using his hook like a natural hand, casually tossing something across the room. The artificial arm demanded both an accurate aim and accurate timing. The socket shone in the harsh bathroom light and light glinted from the steel hook. It was such a normal domestic situation and yet so unusual, exotic and erotic that he decided then and there that the only thing he wanted in life now was for Chris to remove his right hand so he could wear two steel hooks and go through life that way, as a triple amputee brandishing two hooks or two wooden hands and strutting on a wooden peg leg which Chris would make for him. He looked down at his erect penis which was again reacting to his thoughts and knew he was right. Even though he had considered his thoughts thoroughly, it was tough to arrive at his final decision. There would be no going back. Both his arms would terminate in broad bony stumps for the rest of his life. He would probably always need the assistance of another for some ordinary things. If he had a partner like Chris in his life, they could live lives of fulfilment with prosthetic limbs.

 

Lloyd spent the rest of the day putting his hook to the test. He tried lifting glasses of water, plates, cutlery. He tried opening a packet of bacon, a tube of toothpaste, a jar of marmalade. He washed the dishes, plunging his hook deep into scalding water and ran the washing machine. As he threw his damp jeans over a drying rack, he had a clearer idea of the challenges and difficulties he would face as an arm amputee. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and rubbed his stubble with his hook. He stared into his eyes and convinced himself of his will to use two hooks. When he had become used to his prosthesis and after Chris and himself had settled into domestic life together, it would be time to remove the right hand. And Chris’s turn would soon follow. The path seemed clear. That was the plan and time was on their side. They were both capable young men with all the time in the world to enjoy life with stumps and artificial limbs.

 

Lloyd made an effort the next morning to arrive before Greg. There were always several jobs to do to prepare the bistro to receive customers. The cleaners were still there. Lloyd wished them a good morning in Portuguese. Neither of them noticed Lloyd’s hook. Both were from Angola, a country with a surplus of amputees. Lloyd set about heaving various packages of supplies from the small stockroom and emptied the dish washer. Greg arrived at his usual time to find most of the work already done. He was pleased to see his old friend and fascinated by the hook. He wanted to see it working and to know how it worked. Lloyd rolled his sleeve up to display the long flesh-toned socket and explained how the cable pulled the hook open. That was all there was to it. The curved finger opened and closed. That simple mechanical movement would replace the intricacies of Lloyd’s natural hand. Greg nodded his head, showing he understood.

            – Are you going to be on the counter or out the back?

            – What do you think? I’m open on this, Greg. If you don’t want me scaring the customers with this, I’ll be out the back. Otherwise I’m up for customer service.

            – To tell you the truth, I’d rather you were on the counter. They drive me up the wall sometimes and you’re much more patient with them. But if people start complaining, we’ll have to swap places.

            – Alright. Let’s give it a try.

 

Many of the morning’s first customers, sales people from neighbouring shops, were happy to see Lloyd back looking proud as Punch with his new hook. Some congratulated him on getting it at last. The repetitive motions involved in serving hundreds of coffees every day were central to Lloyd’s rehabilitation. He quickly learned how to hold a paper cup so it would not be crushed by the force of his hook. He pinched packets of sugar onto saucers with his hook. He kept it clean by holding it in the jet of steam from the expresso machine’s milk steamer. Chris turned up just before nine for an espresso and congratulated Lloyd.

            – That looks fantastic. It really suits your style.

            – I’m glad you like it. Chris, there’s something I want to tell you. About us moving in together.

            – Oh? I hope you haven’t changed your mind.

            – I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past weeks and I would like it if we could start moving my things to your flat as soon as possible.

            – Haha! Great!  I thought you were going to say you’d changed your mind. Alright. Shall we start tonight? I can come round to pick up some stuff in the car. What time will you be home?

            – After seven.

            – See you then. Right. I have to get to work. Don’t work too hard.

 

Lloyd came to an amicable arrangement with his landlord about moving out. He had rented the flat furnished and had bought little new furniture but the sofa was his, as was his bed. He did not need any of it. The landlord asked about the condition of the mattress, which was clean and under a year old. They agreed that Lloyd could leave his furniture for the next tenant and that the landlord would deduct seven hundred from that month’s rent payment. Lloyd would need to move only his clothes, electronics and a few pieces of kitchenware. Chris turned up soon after seven in a hurry.

            – I’m parked on a double yellow so if you have anything for me to take, I’ll throw it in the car and move somewhere else.

            – Two bags of clothes and crockery. Don’t break them. They’re all heirlooms.

            – Ha! See you in a minute. Make us some coffee.

Chris returned after twenty minutes.

            – I thought you’d got lost.

            – No. I had a chat with a warden about parking my car.

            – Did you get a ticket?

            –No, not after I explained I was only there to collect the meagre belongings of an invalid who I was helping move to secure accommodation. I showed them what was in the bags and they believed me. So I saved sixty quid there.

            – It was your handsome innocent face that persuaded them. Where did you end up parking?

            – The car’s more or less back where I started from. Never mind all that. Get your shirt off and show me your arm. Is it comfortable?

            – It is.

Lloyd put his left arm into Chris’s hands. He explored it, feeling the tautness of the cable, the smooth surface of the socket and the smart leather cuff holding the socket and directing the cable.

            – I love the look of it. I hope I can get one too. I’ve been watching videos of guys who’ve lost arms but carry on working manual jobs so I know it’s perfectly possible.

            – I promise to help, Chris. I’ve made a final decision over the past couple of days. I want two hooks so I’m relying on you to amputate my other hand.

            – I’ll do it. I’ve been reading up on anatomy online. Just so I know how to do my own but I dare say the same things apply to yours too.

            – Yeah. Human bodies are funny like that. We’re all the same inside.

            – I’m really glad we’re going to be together. I wanted to be with you as soon as I saw you. I never thought we might be sharing our lives as amputees. It’s all I ever dreamed of.

            – Wet dreams. Yeah, I know.

            – Not only that. There’s more to having a stump than just looking hot. It’s a way of life which calls for more thought and attention. Like a heightened version of reality. You have to plan more and take more in than before.

            – I hadn’t thought of that. But I think you’re right. How will you think of me when I have no hands?

            – I think your stump is fantastic. It looks so masculine and powerful. Imagine if you had two, both arms working together like pincers until you put your artificial arms on and challenge the world with steel hooks. Such a confrontational look. Disabled and yet assertive. Catching everyone’s attention.

            – I like the idea of using my stumps like pincers. Long stumps hidden away inside sleeves.

            – I wish I could have two stumps too, just the same as yours. Wearing two hooks for everything. It looks so hot. But after I get my first hook, I’ll be more or less stuck with my other hand. I probably won’t be able to take the other one off using a hook.

            – No. It doesn’t seem likely. I’ve never heard of an amputee surgeon. We’d have to search around for a devotee or wannabe who could do it for you. Imagine that! Two guys living together, both bilateral amputees with a huge variety of hooks and fake hands.

            – Would you like that? I’d probably have to give up my job if I wore two hooks. I know I can get away with one. I’ve seen enough videos to know that.

            – I’d love you to have two. Your arms are much beefier than mine. They’d look great if they ended in stumps instead of hands.

            – Well, all that is for the future. Back to the present. When are you moving in for good? Shall we have a party?

            – No need to go overboard. You can buy a bottle if you want. I’ll help you empty it.

            – Come this week.

            – That’s what I was thinking. How about Friday evening? I’ll lock this place up and leave the keys on the table on Friday morning and go to your place after work.

            – Shall I wait for you with the car?

            – Don’t you finish at five? You don’t have to hang around until we close the bistro.

            – I’d like to. It’s a special evening for us. I’ll sit with a coffee or two and watch you.

            – Alright. Thanks very much. Let’s do that.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, admiring each other’s expectant happy faces, happy as children who had been promised a visit to the zoo. Strong manly features, healthy muscular bodies, a stump or two and the first artificial limbs. Life would be an adventure and it really would happen.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Lloyd arranged to have a three week stretch off work over Christmas. The calendar favoured a long break. It was easier to keep the bistro closed over the holiday period and intervening weekends. Greg planned on visiting relatives in Scotland who he had not seen since he moved south and Lloyd had only one thing on his mind. Three weeks was long enough to get rid of his right hand and recover enough to return to work wearing the sheath on his new stump. He would have his second hook long before the Easter break. Chris agreed fully. He would have to work as normal after the New Year but Lloyd insisted he could manage at home with one hook while his fresh stump healed.

 

The day dawned. Weak light filtered through a streak of cirrus cloud. It was cold. It would be great if there were a White Christmas. There were one or two things to see to before that, however. Immediately after breakfast, Chris filled a ceramic mixing bowl with some of the ice cubes which they had been making and filling the freezer with for the past week, topped it up with water and mixed in some rock salt. Lloyd sat on a kitchen chair with the bowl on another one to his right and put his fist into a freezer bag and then into the ice water. It was nine thirty. Unlike most mornings, both men were serious and quiet, conscious of the enormity of their imminent actions. Chris sat opposite Lloyd, saying nothing, checking his friend’s mood and appearance. He made them tea twice during the wait. He maintained fresh ice and salt in the mixing bowl. At midday, Lloyd announced that he was fairly sure they could begin. He put a tourniquet on his upper arm and Chris tightened it. He drew the outline of the incision he would shortly make on Lloyd’s hand and made one final query.

            – If we go ahead, Lloyd, you’re going to be severely disabled for the rest of your life. Is that what you want? Do you understand?

            – Yes, I understand. I want you to amputate my right hand.

            – OK, Lloyd. Here we go.

Chris worked fast. He knew what actions he needed to take to access the sinews, veins and nerves in the wrist and how to cut tissue leaving enough skin from the top of Lloyd’s hand to close the wound. Touching the joint connecting the hands to the wrist with a fresh scalpel, the hand peeled away. Chris reached for the needle already threaded and quickly closed the flap of skin over the gaping end of Lloyd’s wrist. Twenty-five minutes had passed.

            – It’s over.

Chris cleaned around the wrist, wrapped it in gauze and then bandaged the wrist. Lloyd gained some energy and tentatively inspected his handless stump.

            – Is that what you wanted?

            – Yes. Yes, it is. Thank you for helping, Chris. I know it wasn’t an easy thing to do.

            – Don’t worry about that. I won’t say it was a pleasure but I know now what I need to do when I take my own hand off.

            – Are you really going to do it?

            – I think so. I would do both if I could. It’s going to be fantastic when you have two hooks and wear them all day, every day, always. I can’t wait to get my first stump.

            – It’ll be a while, Chris. In a few months. Maybe in the summer.

            – Yeah. Let’s do it in the summer.

            – You’ll have to do it yourself, mate. I can’t help you now.

Lloyd lifted his fresh stump and both men stared at it.

            – Can you bring me my sheath? Let’s see if it fits.

Chris brought it from where it was standing on the windowsill in the bedroom. Lloyd took it between his chest and artificial arm and carefully fed his new stump into it. His muscular upper arm prevented its end from hitting his bandages.

            – I’ll wear this. Chris, I want to sleep. That was exhausting.

Chris helped Lloyd up and led him back to the bedroom. Lloyd lay down, artificial arm and hook splayed to the left and the arm with the stump sheath to the right. Chris closed the door and went to clean the kitchen, pondering the enormity of what he had done to his friend. He dropped the severed hand into a plastic bag and put it in the freezer.

 

Chris paced around the flat, charged by adrenoline and the excitement of successfully amputating his friend’s hand. He thought of what they had agreed about his own amputation. Another six months. No! Everything was ready now. He took the bloodied towel to the bathroom, emptied the bowel of ice water and refilled it, placed new blades into the scalpels and a fresh towel on the table. He sat on the right hand side kitchen chair and let the freezing water cover his left hand. Lloyd slept on. Chris imagined the sleek new artificial arm which Lloyd sported, the steel hook, the hypermasculinity of a guy with a prosthetic arm.

 

Lloyd had not stirred by four o’clock. It was almost dark. Chris quickly ensured everything was ready and opened ready for use and sliced into his numb hand. There were the veins, one of which needed a stitch or two. The nerve glistened. Chris pulled it as tight as possible with the back of the scalpel’s blade and severed it. The nerve disappeared from view into his forearm. The bones of his hands were still attached by sinews or something but released their hold when touched by the scalpel. Chris tore the hand from his wrist and threw it across the table. He closed his wrist from the middle, first to the right and then, more easily, to the left. He dunked his stump into the ice cold bowl of water and watched the liquid discolour.  He held his stump in the air until it dried and wrapped it as he had done to Lloyd’s new stump a few hours before. Lloyd came into the kitchen, eyes still full of sleep, and wondered why there was still such a mess everywhere. He spotted Chris’s disembodied hand, then the bandaged stump.

            – Why wait for summer?

            – No! What have you done? You were supposed to wait for me to get a hook for this.

            – Calm down, Lloyd. It just seemed like the ideal time to do it when we had everything ready. Look! I even managed to bandage it myself. You don’t happen to have any more of those sheaths lying around, do you? This doesn’t feel too bad but I wouldn’t like to knock it.

            –  Oh Chris! What are we going to do, both recovering at the same time? This really is the worst possible time to do it.

            – Buck up, Lloyd, mate. You’re not regretting it, are you? We’ll manage with my hand and your hook. I’d give you a hug, but we’re a bit fragile at the moment for that sort of thing, I reckon.

            – Well, shit. What’s done is done. Are you going to clear this mess up? I’m getting hungry.

            – Shall we go out for dinner?

            – Are you serious?

            – Yeah, come on. No-one will see our stumps once we have our jackets on.

Lloyd stared at him as if he had gone mad.

            – Alright. You’ll have to help me. I can’t do it myself.

            – I was going to say the same thing.

Lloyd looked through his box of old prints. There was a bright red test sheath which was too big for him. He nipped its rim with his hook and took it to Chris.

            – Try this on. It might fit.

 

It did. Chris’s brand new stump was protected inside the sheath, which was held on tight by his muscular forearm. They went to a local Chinese restaurant and sat down by a window. They were the only customers. Lloyd ate slowly and carefully with his hook, occasionally using it instead of the porcelain spoon to feed himself with. Chris put his garish sheath on the table. His stump throbbed. It was a shocking sight, to not see a hand. Soon there would be a hook like Lloyd’s. This Christmas would certainly be one to remember.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Both men relaxed at home for the next few days. The traditional meals were ignored. Food had to be easily prepared and as easily eaten. Several friends invited them to New Year’s celebrations but both had to decline without stating the reason. By the time Epiphany rolled round, both new stumps were stable and healthy enough to tolerate not being bandaged, bared with only the protection of a sleeve. Their next hurdle was explaining their situation at work. Lloyd was not worried. Greg would run the place until Lloyd was fitted with a second hook. Chris intended to persuade his boss that it was merely a short hiatus and that he would be back working with a prosthesis shortly. He would assure everyone concerned that such a thing was perfectly possible.

 

Lloyd immediately contacted his prosthetist, Tony Schneider, and explained that two new artificial arms similar to his previous model were needed urgently. Schneider had no outstanding projects and invited the two men for a fitting. Chris insisted he could drive. They arrived together, brandishing their identical stumps with a discordant air of achievement. Schneider was astonished, especially by Lloyd, who was suddenly handless and reliant on prostheses and hooks for the rest of his days. He was curious to know the cause of two identical amputations. In fact, he had his doubts and could logically deduce that the tall blond man must have severed both hands some time around Christmas. But he made no comment. His job was simply to provide reliable prosthetic replacements. Lloyd explained that he wanted a mirror image of his existing prosthesis, flesh-toned, fitted with the same kind of wrist and hook. Chris requested a black carbon socket with a flat wrist and a farmer’s hook. Schneider persuaded him to order a second hook too, something less aggressive and more suitable to domestic duties. He affirmed the men’s present timetables and prepared to cast them simultaneously. He inspected both stumps, noting that the closures were almost identical and the sutures had been sparse but sufficient. He wondered what had happened to the severed hands. They were in Chris’s freezer and would be liquidised in the near future and flushed away. Schneider worked with well-practised efficiency. Two hours later, both stump casts were drying on a work bench and precise orders for the two artificial arms had been drawn up. Schneider mentioned the steel and wooden hands which Lloyd had ordered. They were being custom made. Schneider suggested that Lloyd have a completely separate pair of arms made to accept the wooden hands. It would save a lot of bother when he wanted to don the hands in place of hooks. Having two sets of arms would be much more convenient. Lloyd could see the sense in it and agreed that a second pair would be a preferable alternative. Schneider would use Lloyd’s existing stump moulds to make new sockets to accept the hands.

 

Their business done, Lloyd and Chris thanked Schneider and departed with good wishes for the New Year. Chris felt huge relief at having progressed this far. He was about to become a hook user and there was nothing he wanted more. He drove home occasionally using the red stump sheath to steer.

 

Greg was initially shocked by Lloyd’s news, especially the nonchalant way he announced it.

            – It’s happened again, Greg.

            – What has?

            – My other hand came off.

            – What the hell?

            – Yeah, so if you don’t mind holding the fort on your own for a few days until I get my other hook, or alternatively we could stay closed until I get back. The hook’s on order and I’ll have it by the end of next week.

            – You and me are going to have to sit down and have a talk about the future, mate.

            – I know. I’ll drop in later in the week and we can go for a drink after work.

            – Alright. Are you OK otherwise?

            – More or less. Chris is here with me, although he’s lost his left hand too.

            – What the hell is going on?

            – I’ll tell you all about it over that beer. Thanks, Greg. I owe you one.

            – You’d better believe it.

 

Lloyd felt oddly disoriented. He was not working, in a new home environment with another amputee and feeling fairly helpless with only one prosthetic arm. He did his best to continue life as usual although he was unable to dress himself or roll the liner onto his leg stump or any of a dozen normal actions. He relied on Chris to help. Lloyd had always been fiercely independent and resented this period of self-imposed invalidity between his amputation and receiving his second artificial arm. Chris himself had discovered some surprising limitations to one-handedness which he had not imagined but kept his spirits up by looking at Lloyd’s hook and arm. They whiled away the days watching videos of other hook users. They were keenly aware that they would be unable to doff their prostheses quickly when it would be easier to use their stumps. Several of the men in the videos regularly removed their stumps from the sockets for some general purpose. Their thirty centimetre long forearm stumps would not allow them the same freedom. The sockets were too deep for it without shucking the whole prosthesis. Lloyd found the idea arousing. When he shrugged on his harness each morning, he would almost certainly see his stumps again only when he removed his arm sockets just before retiring for the night. He had wanted to replace his hands with hooks and, to all intents and purposes, his arms would now terminate in steel hooks almost permanently, always. Unless he deliberately chose not to wear his hooks, few outsiders would ever see his stumps. Lloyd gazed at the motionless monotone pink socket in his lap and tried to imagine the feeling when his movements were curtailed by two of them. He would soon know.

 

To break the lethargy, he left Chris alone at home and rode on the tube to see Greg. He wore the old black sheath on his stump to protect it from knocks. Greg was beginning to prepare shutting the bistro for the night when he arrived and Lloyd helped gather a few cups with his solitary hook. He could not carry a tray or lift a coffee pot. Greg had begun to think of Lloyd as someone who used to work there.

            – If you don’t mind lending a hand, I’ll treat you to a beer or two.

            – Alright. I thought you might turn up today. I’m ready for a drink. I’m glad you’re paying.

 

Lloyd’s sheath was invisible inside his jacket sleeve but the absence of a right hand was obvious. The steel hook protruded from the left. They approached a cheery bartender and Lloyd ordered two beers. His wallet was in his left jeans pocket and he craned to look as his hook nipped the corner of it. He dropped it onto the counter and turned it to access his debit card. The bartender held the card reader for him and the transaction was done. Lloyd used his stump sheath to hold the wallet steady as he slotted the card back and picked up his wallet. They went further into the bar and sat next to each other at an empty table next to the wall. Lloyd dropped his wallet on the table.

            – Keep an eye on that. Why don’t you put it in your pocket? Let me. I don’t like it being out like that.

The wallet was now in the left jacket pocket. Lloyd would not be able to retrieve it from there with his hook. He ignored it and angled his body to pick up the heavy half litre of beer. The hook opened and closed around the glass. Lloyd raised the glass and brought the rim near to his face.

            – Cheers!

He leaned forward, holding the glass in place in front of his face, and tilted his head so his lips met the rim. He leaned back slightly and quaffed a mouthful of lager. Several people at neighbouring tables looked at the unusual sight. Lloyd did not notice them but Greg did. He felt like the proud trainer of a performing monkey. He felt uncomfortable.

            – Are you ready to talk? I don’t know if this is the right place.

            – I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. And this is as good a place as any. On one condition, Greg and I mean this. I want you to understand but you must promise to keep everything I tell you to yourself. I reckon we know each other well enough to trust each other.

            – True. OK, I promise. Go right ahead. Don’t wait for me to ask the questions. Tell me what’s going on.

            – Where to start? Did you know that there is a quirk in some people’s brain which makes them horny when they see someone with a plaster cast or on crutches?

            – Yeah, I know that.

            – Well, that can go a lot further. Some people like to see amputees and sometimes it turns into a fetish so you can only get horny if you think of a stump on someone.

            – Yeah, I know that too.

            – So it’s only a short hop, skip and jump to wanting the same thing for yourself. To have a stump of your own. Or more of them.

            – OK, I don’t understand it but I’m with you.

            – One of the horniest things I’ve ever seen is a man wearing two hooks. It just turns me on more than anything else. And I was always horny and jealous whenever I saw a man wearing a hook. Once I saw a man wearing two and he became my ideal man. The funny thing is, now I’ve met him and know his name.

            – So to cut a long story short, you were jealous of his hooks and wanted your own so somehow this winter you decided the time was right.

            – Exactly.

            – So where do you go for completely unnecessary amputations? Who’s behind it?

            – No-one. I did it myself.

            – You’re shitting me.

            – No! It’s easy. There are no bones holding your hand onto your arm so you don’t have to saw anything. I had everything I needed to hand on the kitchen table, took a deep breath and half an hour later I was sewing my stump closed.

            – Why?

            – So it didn’t bleed everywhere.

            – No, you arse. Why did you cut your hand off?

            – I wanted a hook. I want to use a hook instead of a hand. In fact, I want two.

            – So who cut your other hand off? Don’t tell me you did it with your hook.

            – Chris did it, two days before Christmas. You won’t believe it, but he’s turned on by hooks and stumps and all the rest of it as well.

            – No wonder he was so infatuated with you.

            – I moved in with him in Christmas week. Nice flat at the top of a tower block. We’ll have a flat warming when things have settled down. Oh, and since everything was set out and ready, Chris took the opportunity of cutting his own hand off while I was taking a nap.

 

Greg was too dumbfounded to speak. He watched Lloyd’s contortions as he picked his glass up.

            – Doesn’t Chris work as a handyman? How’s he going to do his job with one hand?

            – Well, he’ll have a hook like mine. Except it’ll be a special design which is meant for people who work with tools and the like.

            – They have different hooks for different things?

            – Oh yeah!  There’s lots of different sorts.

            – I didn’t know that. So I suppose he’s home too until he gets a hook.

            – Yeah. We’re just moping around at home trying to kill time. We want to be back at work wearing our hooks.

            – How about you? You think you’ll be able to carry on in the bistro with two hooks? Isn’t that just a bit too shocking for our customers to see when they drop in for a coffee? You squirming around with a pair of hooks trying to make a coffee?

            – I do not squirm. I’ve given it a lot of thought, Greg. I haven’t gone through with all this without given it a lot of thought—for years, actually. You may be pleased to know that I have another set of arms on the way with artificial hands instead of hooks. I hope they’ll be a bit more decorous for use behind the counter. That’s what I’m buying them for.

            – Well, thank god for that. And when might they be ready?

            – Not sure. The second hook’ll be ready next week so I should be able to work over the weekend. The hands will take a bit longer because they’re being custom made. In America.

            – But you’ll have them fairly soon?

            – Yeah, I hope so. So what are you thinking? Do you think I’m mad? Do I seem any different from the bloke I was before? I can tell you one thing. My mind is clearer now that it’s not full of thoughts about amputations all the time.

            – Glad to hear it. Alright, Lloyd. Here’s what I think. I’m perfectly prepared to have you working with customers with your hooks but if sales drop off, you either stick to the back end or we come to some arrangement where I either buy you out or we close the bistro altogether. I don’t want to have to suffer financially or work full weeks plus weekends just because you didn’t like your hands.

            – I’m sure it won’t come to that, Greg. You’ve been great over the past few weeks, putting up with me. I’m sure I’ll be able to pull my weight like before once I learn to use these properly.

His stumps twitched.

            – Do you want another beer? You’ll have to get my wallet out, sorry.

Greg let Lloyd buy two new beers and carry them one by one to the table. He would have helped if asked but did not offer and Lloyd was still too sober to need help. Life with one hook was different, though. Perhaps the second one would help make things easier.

 

– – – – – – -

 

            – I’ve put your right socket on a new harness, Lloyd. It will hold both your arms so take your prosthesis off for me and I’ll attach it to the new harness. And Chris, I hope you won’t mind taking over Lloyd’s old harness. I thought I’d save you a few credits by reusing it. If either of you have anything against the idea, I have a brand new harness for Chris if you’d prefer to keep your old one, Lloyd.

            – No, I’ve nothing against that. Good idea, actually. Recycling at its best.

            – Good. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll get the sockets attached.

He took Lloyd’s left arm to his work bench. Lloyd was left with two naked wrist stumps for the first time outside his home. He stared at them. They were both almost fully healed. The scarring was obvious and slightly untidy but they were both comfortable and capable of bearing pressure. Chris had worn his red sheath which now stood on the coffee table in front of them. He was excited and impatient to don his very own hook for the first time. Schneider returned with Lloyd’s new harness from which hung two long flesh-coloured sockets terminating in hooks.

            – Come over to the other table and sit down.

He arranged the prosthetic arms in front of Lloyd and sat down next to him.

            – To put these on, you need to feed your stumps through the straps in a certain way. If you get it wrong, you won’t be able to operate the hook properly so you’ll have to take the sockets off and start again. Here’s what to look out for.

 

Lloyd followed Schneider’s explanation and understood. He was easily able to use his long even stumps to position the harness and its straps so that he could don the arms. Chris watched him, intrigued by the mechanical precision of the prostheses and the erotic beckoning gesture of the hooks. Lloyd pushed his stumps through the strapping and into the long sockets to Schneider’s satisfaction.

            – The next step is to get the harness to lie aross your shoulders. Spread your arms to straighten the straps. Now lift your arms up and duck your head. You want the harness to go over your head and stretch across your back. That’s it.

Lloyd grinned at Chris. Both his stumps had disappeared inside the pristine pink sockets. The material was cool and the sockets felt secure and reassuring through his cotton stump socks. Lloyd shrugged and pulled the harness into position by stretching his left and then his right arm. The harness settled into the centre of his back and Schneider checked its fit. He had adjusted the right prosthesis with approximately the same settings as the left. Lloyd was immediately perfectly happy with the fit and comfort and stood holding his hooks in front of him admiring them.

            – Come around here, Lloyd, and test the hooks. You’ve done all this before so I shan’t need to describe what you’re supposed to do. I know it seems juvenile but this helps me spot any obvious adjustments.

Lloyd used each hook in turn to twist the other into the required position. It would be one of the most commonly repeated actions he would make from now on, moving the hooks from pointing up to pointing inwards. He sat and performed the simple tests he had completed before, only weeks previously. Chris watched impatiently. He could see his prosthesis on Schneider’s workbench and was eager to test it. Schneider busied himself with making small adjustments to Lloyd’s harness and announced that he was pleased with the way this pair of arms had turned out. They were symmetrical identical versions of the most basic design and would serve Lloyd for many years with a little care and attention.

            – Now, Chris. Your turn.

 

Chris’s socket was black carbon and looked more muscular than Lloyd’s. Its entrance curved up behind and around his elbow, holding his arm more firmly and providing protection against knocks and falls. It required a little more effort to squeeze into. Chris’s hand trembled with excitement as he tightened the biceps cuff and placed his hand through the harness’s shoulder loop. Schneider tidied the harness and checked that the cable could operate freely. He had fitted the socket with a farmer’s hook, longer and heavier than what Lloyd was wearing. It was more robust and more suitable for the rough work Chris did in his trade. After a few weeks practice, he should be able to use the hook for most of the functions he had done with his left hand. Schneider set him the same tasks which Lloyd had just completed and watched for slack in the strapping and cabling. Chris was soon pronounced the owner of a functioning prothesis and thanked Schneider.

            – We ought to exchange that worker’s hook for the tamer standard one but I think you can do that. Lloyd will show you.

            – Yep. I can’t help him but I can show him what to do.

            – Good. For the same reason, I’m not going to book either of you into our rehab course. You both know more about using prosthetics than most prosthetists. I have to say this is one of the most extraordinary cases which I have come across or heard of. Rest assured that anything you have told me will be treated with the utmost confidentiality.

            – Thank you, Dr Schneider. It’s good to be able to put our trust in a company with our interests at heart.

            – Well, as you may know, the company’s founder is also a bilateral amputee like yourself, Lloyd. He demands complete secrecy in everything related to our customers’ needs and wishes. I hope I am not betraying your trust too much if I tell you that we have a fairly large clientele of amputees whose injuries were self-inflicted in the hope of wearing prosthetic limbs. We provide the necessary equipment with no awkward questions, to a high standard and a fair market price.

            – That’s all very reassuring to hear. I don’t want to go into details but I can confirm that your suspicions about our amputations are correct and we are overjoyed to finally have the mechanical prostheses we have longed for since we were small children.

            – I’m delighted to hear it. Now, I have a little more news about the pair of wooden hands. They have left the manufacturer and are currently on a cargo ship crossing the Great Lakes. So I should have them in about three weeks, assuming there is no delay at customs.

            – Have you started making the sockets yet?

            – No, not yet. Why do you ask?

            – I was wondering if I could have the same black as Chris’s socket.

            – Yes, of course you could. Actually, I have a suggestion which is only my own preference, so take no notice if you don’t agree. I think the artificial hands would look better on your present sockets, the skin-toned ones and we could transfer your hooks over to the new black sockets. Black and steel always looks smart.

            – Yes, I think you’re right. The hands are only for work, so my hooks don’t scare the customers away.

            – Oh, you might be surprised by how many customers drop in specifically to see you using your hooks. It is quite a spectacle, after all. I suspect you intend using the hands without a cosmetic glove on them. The bare wood and steely fingers are also going to look remarkable.

            – I certainly hope so.

            – I’ll keep you informed, Lloyd. Thank you both for coming. I’ll send your invoice by post and an email copy if you want to settle up beforehand. I hope you enjoy your new hooks and I wish you well. Don’t forget that we’re always ready to help out with anything related to your amputations.

 

Chris drove them home. He opened his farmer’s hook and found its shape to be perfect for gripping the steering wheel. Lloyd watched him jealously, conscious that his own rigid forearms were not conducive to driving. Not yet, anyway. He would have to practise opening and alternating his hooks until he was dextrous enough to handle a steering wheel.

 

Both men were determined to return to work the following Monday. They both spent several hours of the weekend picking up and testing their hooks with crockery, cutlery, tools, textiles and clothing. Lloyd had trouble dressing, especially with buttons which evaded him completely. The easiest thing would be to buy a new set of clothes without buttons. Hoodies and T-shirts instead of dress shirts. Lloyd had trouble putting a sock on. Chris tied a loop of shoestring to his jeans zipper so he could open and close his flies. Chris concentrated on finding ways to hold an electric drill and other equipment he had at home. His new hook seemed robust and he gradually became used to the idea of planning his movements in advance. He wanted some kind of project to work on to put his prosthesis to the test and suggested that he start work on designing a peg leg for Lloyd. It would extend up to Lloyd’s knee and be held on by a leather strap of some kind which went around his leg above his kneecap. Lloyd knew exactly what he meant and sat beside Chris and suggested alternatives to what Chris was drawing. Lloyd would have liked to sketch a few details himself but could not. He could not hold a pencil yet reliably. That was something else he would have to practise. Still, Rome was not built in a day. He would learn what he could and could not do with his hooks and he still had the wooden hands to look forward to. Perhaps they would be more suitable for the kinds of actions he needed to perform at the bistro.

 

As once before, Lloyd wanted to demonstrate to his partner that he was still capable of holding his own. He arrived early and used a trick to let himself in. He used an Allen key to twist the key in the locks. He emptied the dish washer and stacked the crockery. He made sure there was space for the first batch of cheesecake and went to the counter to initialise the coffee machines. Most of the dispensers operated by push buttons which were ideal for his hooks. Some of the steel containers were too wide to pick up with one hook. Lloyd discovered he could use two. He opened them wide and gripped the container between them. He had learned how to pick up spoons and forks by pressing on the bowl and tines with one hook and grasping the raised handle with the other. He carefully poured coffee grounds into the espresso machine and made himself his first coffee. He drank it from a paper cup. The traditional espresso cup was a hopeless shape but a hook could hold the thick saucer with ease. Lloyd’s body movements were adapting to his disability. He was using his shoulders and upper body to replace his wrists. His sockets held their hooks firmly in the position Lloyd physically set them to. There was no mechanical adaptation on his prostheses to turn the wrist mechanism. Lloyd had chosen to forgo all additional technical embellishments.

 

Lloyd was carrying stock from the storage cupboard when Greg arrived. He was pleased both to see Lloyd and to see the place ready for business. He hugged his friend and asked for an espresso. He changed into his work clothes and watched Lloyd preparing coffee.

            – Are you done with your alterations now, Lloyd? No more surprise absences on the way, are there?

            – No. I have to go and collect my second pair of hands in a week or two but apart from that I’m back here for good. Thanks for being patient with me, Greg. I know I’ve let you down but I’ll make it up to you somehow.

            – You’re OK. I still think you’re mad but in a good way. It looks like you’re managing that without any trouble.

            – This is my second cup. I’ve been practising already. I want to be out front as usual. That’s if you don’t object.

            – Not, not at all. I’d rather you did it. If you need a hand with anything, you only need to shout. Sorry, Lloyd. I’m not trying to be sarcastic.

            – About lending a hand, you mean? It’s impossible to avoid expressions like that, so why try? It doesn’t offend me at all. Do you want an espresso cup?

            – Yeah, please.

Lloyd placed a saucer near the espresso machine and twisted his left hook so it pointed up. He carefully gripped the cup’s handle and lowered the cup onto the saucer. He changed sides and picked the saucer up with his right horizontal hook and held it out to Greg.

            – Good. You managed that very well. Maybe you could find a box or something to put the saucer on so you don’t need to bend down so far. That’s the only thing that looked odd. Apart from your hooks, of course. Are you going to put your jacket on?

            – Yeah, in a minute.

            – That will hide your sockets. Is that what they’re called?

            – The pink bits? Yeah, sockets.

 

Greg opened for the regular early morning customers. Lloyd was welcomed by many who stood dumbfounded at being served by their old friend now sporting two hooks. He expected some kind of comment or questioning but no-one said anything. With a short queue of neighbouring shop workers waiting for their morning joe, Lloyd quickly incorporated regular movements into his routine to position his hooks for his next action. He kept his hooks clean by holding them under the steam from the milk frother. At ten to nine, Chris turned up.

            – I’ve been upstairs talking to my foreman and giving him a short demonstration of my carpentry skills with this.

He raised his farmer’s hook, in case there were any doubt what he was talking about.

            – And what conclusion did you come to?

            – I’m back, provisionally. If I can’t hack it, I’m out.

            – Fair enough. You knew that anyway. Want a coffee?

            – Yeah, the usual. How are you getting on?

            – What do you mean?

            – Ha! What?

            – Well, no-one has said anything and here’s your coffee. But between you and me, it’s going great. Better than I hoped. Greg doesn’t mind, either. He’s glad I’m back because he hates being out front but he’s cool with these.

            – Good. Right, see you later, Lloyd mate.

Chris took his coffee across to the window seat and watched the shopping centre coming to life. He leaned with his elbow on the back of the seat with the farmer’s hook on full display while he sipped his coffee. He looked handsome and intriguing.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Lloyd’s disability did not go completely unnoticed. One of the red tops heard about the barista with two hooks and sent a reporter and a photographer to interview him. It was a half page photo reportage in which Lloyd’s injuries were explained as being due to a tragic accident and that he bravely insisted on continuing his trade as before. His artificial leg was not mentioned. Lloyd’s handsome smiling face with its impressive beard was a good free advert for their bistro which was not named although the shopping centre was. Business boomed for a couple of weeks as inquisitive readers visited. Lloyd grew tired of fending off impertinent questions about subjects which were not related to his work.

 

Schneider announced that the new prosthesis was ready. Lloyd begged time off on a Tuesday afternoon and rode out to Harlow for a fitting. He was met by both Schneider and Paige, who had heard that the young man he had spotted wearing a stump sheath was now a bilateral amputee and an enthusiastic customer. He fully agreed with Schneider’s opinion that Lloyd and his similarly afflicted companion were successful wannabes. He had no qualms about the matter and regarded all his clients’ amputations with the utmost confidentiality. It was best for business. Paige was intrigued by Lloyd’s purchase of a pair of the American wooden hands. It was such an unusual request that he wanted to talk with Lloyd about his choice.

 

            – Take your hooks off, Lloyd. Let’s see how the new sockets fit. They ought to be the same but it’s best to make sure.

The new sockets looked identical in shape and size except for the material. The new pair were black carbon fibre. They felt much lighter without terminal devices attached. Lloyd squeezed his stumps into the sockets and flexed his arms.

            – These feel fine. I think they may be just a tad tighter than the others.

            – But they’re not uncomfortable, I hope.

            – No, they feel fine. Actually, the tighter fit feels better.

            – You can always use a thinner stump sock with them. OK, good. Do you remember what we mentioned about wearing the hooks on these sockets and the hands on the pink ones? Shall I swap them over?

            – Yes please.

Schneider unscrewed the standard hooks from Lloyd’s old set and attached them to the new sockets. The straps on the harness needed adjusting, as did the length of the control cable. Gradually the harness fit better and more comfortably and the responsiveness of the hooks improved until they functioned exactly as they had done before. Lloyd was satisfied with the new harness and pleased to see the visual difference the black sockets made to his appearance. They looked much more assertive and masculine.

            – I’ll put the hands on your old sockets and you can test them.

They were in plain white cardboard boxes, individually packaged in bubble wrap. The first was the right hand. Lloyd looked at it with interest from every angle as Schneider screwed it into his wrist. It was such a familiar shape and yet so artificial and alien. The connector between the cable and the hand was a different length and Schneider needed to adjust the harness again. To save time, he made the same adjustments in advance to the left side of the prosthesis. He attached the left hand and asked Lloyd to test the hands. The fingers were spring-loaded and closed with the thumb. It was possible to pick up any irregular object of a suitable size and the grip remained locked when tension was released. To open the hand, Lloyd had to exert tension again. He realised that the hands would require twice as much effort as his hooks. Schneider fetched his tray of building blocks and sundry objects. Lloyd rapidly learned that without wrists, wooden hands were fairly cumbersome appendages, quite different from his streamlined hooks. The bulk of the fingers hid part of what he needed to see to pick something up.

            – Could you bring a cup and saucer and a glass, please? I want to see how these work ´with the sort of stuff I need to handle.

            – Good idea.

Schneider collected a few items from the kitchen and tried a few moves. He could put a cup on a saucer but the hand was too bulky to let him then pick up the saucer. Schneider saw the disappointment in Lloyd’s face. He had an idea and found a sheet of paper. He handed a pen to Lloyd and watched with pleasure as Lloyd was able to write for the first time in months.

            – There’s something the hooks can’t do.

            – Well, Lloyd, the hooks can hold a pen. You only need to practise it. But I’ll admit that it’s easier with the hand.

Grasping a straight-sided glass was also easy. The opening between the thumb and fingers was enough to encircle a glass but larger objects would not fit.

            – Can you fill this with water? I want to know what the grip is like.

Schneider filled the glass with water and returned with a litre bottle of soda. Lloyd slowly lifted the glass to his lips and sipped. The litre bottle weighed a kilo and slipped a little.

            – I can increase the grip force if you want, Lloyd. The mechanism is under the steel plate.

            – Oh. I wondered why that was there.

            – The thing is that you’ll need to exert more force each and every time you move the fingers and it can get tiring.

            – If you can adjust it so I can lift a kilo or so, I’ll be able to manage most things.

Schneider unscrewed the cover and tightened a screw. Lloyd peered into his hand, seeing the mechanism with its steel cords ingeniously arranged to operate the hand with one simple movement. Schneider left the cover off and asked Lloyd to pick the bottle up again. This time it did not slip.

            – OK. Let’s leave it like that. Shall I do the other hand as well?

            – No, leave that one as it is. I can ask Chris to adjust it later.

            – How is Chris, by the way? Is he managing at work?

            – Seems to be. He was told that if he can’t manage the work, he’d have to leave but he says he’s had no problems. He really enjoys his hook. Wears it all the time.

            – Good. I’m glad to hear it. Well, Lloyd, I think this set of arms is a good as we can get them today. As you’ve found out, using these hands is a little different from the hooks and you’ll probably have to spend some time at home practising before you’re confident enough to wear them at work. Let me know if you want the cosmetic covers for those hands.

            – I will. I think I’ll probably put some tight leather gloves on them.

            – That might improve the grip a little. Which pair do you want to wear out?

            – The hooks.

            – Take those off and I’ll put them in a box.

Lloyd was relieved to have his familiar steel hooks back. He was accustomed to them and felt the were almost part of him. The new hands seemed odd but he hoped that he would find their advantages before long.

 

Greg messaged to tell Lloyd not to come in for the last couple of hours. Lloyd went straight home to find a surprise waiting for him. Chris was already home, unusually at this time. He hugged his friend and helped remove Lloyd’s jacket.

            – Oh!  You’ve got new sockets. They look very smart. I’ve got something for you.

He pointed to a long cardboard box on the lounge table. Lloyd took his bag containing his old arms with the new hands with him and pulled the box open. It contained a gleaming black peg leg.

            – How have you managed to get this made so quickly? Wow. It looks fantastic.

It was an elegant shape. Most of its length was outwardly shaped like a muscular lower leg and it tapered to a five centimetre diameter tip. Lloyd opened both hooks and lifted the peg out and placed it upright, leaning against the sofa. He sat and asked Chris for help removing his jeans and artificial leg. It was one of Chris’s favourite things to do. Lloyd’s stump sock was a little musty. Chris fetched a handful of stump socks and rolled one onto Lloyd’s stump. He held the peg leg firmly to allow Lloyd to place his stump into the peg. The fit became tighter the further the stump entered. Lloyd stood and put his weight on the peg. Its upper rim reached his knee and the peg held firm.

            – It looks like it fits. Is it comfortable?

            – It feels strange because the inside is a different shape from what I’m used to and I can feel pressure in new places but, yes, it is fairly comfortable. I think I can walk on this.

 

Lloyd had never worn a peg leg before. The absence of a foot was the most immediately striking thing about it. The peg felt light. Lloyd took a tentative step, unsure whether he could trust the peg. It put pressure on the top of his leg just below the kneecap, exactly as a well-fitting below knee prosthesis should. Lloyd walked carefully to the hallway, testing the peg’s length and weight. Its thick end tapped against the floor. Lloyd appraised himself in the mirror. Two new black sockets on his arms and a matching black peg leg. He looked magnificent. Chris watched him and was relieved that his work was appreciated and that the effort was worthwhile.

            – Thank you, Chris. This is great. Can you put my jeans on again and roll the leg up so the peg shows? I think I’ll wear it for the rest of the evening.

            – Will it get loose?

            – That’s what I want to test. If it does, we’ll have to work out a way to buckle it onto my leg. How was it to make using your hook?

            – Fine. I had to do some manual planing but otherwise it was turned on a lathe.

            – Has your boss said anything?

            – Not that I’ve heard. He did come and stand around for twenty minutes the other day, sort of watching what we were working on. I suppose he was checking out my hook.

            – What do your mates think of it?

            – They’re in awe of it. They’ve all asked me to show them how it works and they’ve all insisted on putting their fingers in it to see how hard it grips. They won’t be doing that again, I don’t think.

            – And what do you think of it? Any regrets?

            – You know what I think of it. I want two. I watch you and wish we could swap places.

            – Chris, I hope and wish that you’ll become a bilateral too but face facts. Your hand is really useful to us both.

            – I’m pretty sure we could still help each other if I had two hooks.

            – You may be right. But you’d definitely have to give up your job.

            – I know. That’s why I’m biding my time.

            – You won’t be able to do a second amputation yourself, will you?

            – I don’t suppose so. Not with a left hook. You’d need a pair of hands for that.

            – Which reminds me. Do you want to see my new hands?

            – Oh yeah! Show me.

Lloyd pulled his harness over his head and let the black sockets fall onto the sofa. He hooked the new prosthesis over a stump and laid the sockets onto the table and arranged the straps. The old sockets seemed loose in comparison with the new carbon arms. The wooden hands maintained their unnatural gesture of the thumbs pinching the index fingers. No-one ever held their hands like that. Lloyd shrugged the harness over his head and worked it into position. He tensed his shoulders and the hands opened.

            – They look really exotic. I’ve never seen anything like them before. Wooden palms and fingers like steel springs. Are the fingertips rubber?

            – Something like that. They won’t operate my phone, unfortunately. I have to hold a stylus to use my phone.

            – It looks like they could hold a pen or a stylus. Have you tried writing?

            – Yup. I can hold a pen. I think I’ll practise writing now. These seem a bit more intuitive than the hooks when it comes to writing. I think I’ll wear these for the rest of the evening as well, just to see what they can do.

            – You could put a pair of leather gloves on them to keep them looking pretty. It would be a shame if they get stained with coffee spills at the bistro.

            – I was thinking of that. It would look fairly sinister to wear black gloves behind the counter.

            – Mate, you look sinister flashing your hooks. Black gloves don’t come near it.

            – Ha!  You may be right. I’d want thin leather gloves. There’s a special sort. I can’t remember what they’re called. Have to check the net.

            – That’s something you could do now. Have you got a stylus?

            – Yeah. There’s a packet of them in the kitchen drawer. Can you get one for me?

            – Coming up.

The rubberised stylus stayed firmly in Lloyd’s right hand. He tapped out a search for thin leather gloves and after following a few links found what he was looking for.

            – Police gloves! Really thin leather and too short to reach the wrist. I reckon those are the ones I need. Can you measure these hands for me so I order the right size?

Ten minutes later, three pairs of black ultrathin leather gloves were on their way.

 

– – – – – – -

 

Chris’s boss called him in to the office one afternoon. He immediately anticipated getting a reprimand for some misdeed or failing but could think of nothing recent when he had let the side down. He put his tools down, made sure they were safe and went to meet the boss.

            – Ah, Christensen. Come in. Have a seat. Be with you in just a minute.

Chris watched him enter a few more keystrokes on his laptop. He took a thin file from his desk drawer and placed it on his desk.

            – I’m glad you could come. I know you’re busy. It’s time to talk of the future. As you might expect, I, along with other people, have been watching your progress since you returned after your accident. I must admit to having my doubts but I concede now that it was because of my ignorance of your situation. But that’s not why I called you in. The company is expanding, I am happy to say, and we need two more supervisors. Rather than invite people in from outside, we always prefer to recruit from our own personnel if at all possible. And we are unanimous in wanting to invite you to accept the role of production supervisor from the beginning of next month on our next project in Willesden.

            – You mean the Perkins warehouse conversion?

            – The very same. The job is not necessarily difficult but we need someone with a sense of responsibility who can communicate and liaise with the customer, understands logistics and ordering materials as well as general maintenance and upkeep as well as acting as a rep for the other personnel. There are aspects to the Perkins project which are new to us and we would like someone with foresight who can anticipate problems before they occur.

            – I understand.

            – Good. I knew you would. So what do you think? Are you interested?

            – This would be a permanent position, would it?

            – Yes, certainly. It has its own pay level so your income would rise appreciably.

            – This is quite a surprise. Not at all what I was expecting. But I would like to accept.

            – Good. I’m pleased to hear it. I have a contract here which you need to read and sign and you’ll be set to begin on the first. Before you go to Willesden though, come by this office first thing and you’ll get the permits and papers you need.

Chris read through the two pages and noticed an additional five days summer holiday allowance. His pay would increase by about fifteen percent. Best of all, he would now be able to become a bilateral hook user. He looked at his flesh and bone hand signing at the bottom of the page and imagined it to be fashioned from wood with steel spring fingers.

 

Lloyd used his wooden hands almost exclusively at the bistro. They both wore short black leather police gloves which were durable despite the thin and pliable leather. He was able to grip smooth shiny surfaces much more reliably and enjoyed the quirkiness of wearing gloves all the time. But the wooden hands remained in his locker overnight. He donned his black sockets just before leaving each evening and wore hooks home. He knew Chris preferred seeing them.

 

As time passed, Lloyd became adept with his wooden prostheses. The hands were adjusted so they were not too strenuous to use for ten or twelve hours although his hooks seemed lightweight and responsive in comparison. Lloyd’s long forearm stumps remained muscular and capable thanks to the particular kind of amputations he had undergone. He learned to write legibly with his wooden right hand and he could handle a knife and fork, contorting his body to compensate for the lack of wrist movement. Similarly, his method of sinking a pint of beer involved considerable acrobatic skill.

 

Chris worked longer hours than before. He was liked and respected by both his co-workers and his clients. His hook was an easy topic of conversation when meeting new people. He explained it as the result of a traffic accident in which his hand had been crushed. Lloyd suggested that he wear the same kind of hook that he had but Chris was used to the bigger farmer’s hook and its versatile design. It suited his image on a construction site. As the summer holiday season approached, Chris began to plan his actions so that he could recover from a second amputation and return to work in late August as a bilateral amputee with two farmer’s hooks. He had been deliberately testing his hook in situations which would arise regularly and was satisfied that he would continue to be successful at his supervisory job with bilateral stumps. Only one problem, or possibly two, remained. Would Lloyd be able to used his wooden hands to amputate Chris’s right hand and would he agree to do so? Lloyd had suggested that Chris should keep his natural right hand but that was before both men had as much experience of their artificial arms as they had now. Chris might need to persuade Lloyd that the pair of them could still get by as well with two pairs of hooks.

 

Lloyd and Greg came to an arrangement about working during the summer. They alternated weekends as usual up until the start of July when Greg started a three week break. He was going to travel for one week but would be ‘around’ if Lloyd needed some assistance.

            – I won’t bother you unless it’s absolutely life or death. I owe you that much.

Lloyd was dubious about taking more time off. If he had to work the whole summer, he would think nothing of it.

 

Chris got in touch with his prosthetist, Tony Schneider, to ask about his availability over the summer months. Schneider would be back after a couple of weeks at the end of July. Chris thanked him for the information. He would be able to get his second prosthesis well before he was due back at work, assuming he could lose his hand. Chris hardly gave a thought to the possibility that he might not. A week before his holiday began, Chris broached the subject with Lloyd.

            – I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Lloyd. I know we’ve talked about it before but I have the time now to act on it.

            – I can guess what it is. Go on.

            – It’s this hand. I want it gone. Schneider says he has time to make me another arm during August.

Lloyd looked at his lover with amusement. His former objection to Chris’s second amputation had weakened in relation to his own increasing skill with both the hooks and the wooden hands. Lloyd had stated that he wanted Chris to keep one hand because it was so useful for the things which hooks could not manage. But recently, there were few things which Lloyd found difficult and where a hand was needed. He preferred to persevere with his hooks rather than ask Chris’s assistance. Tying his laces was an example.

            – Fine. Go ahead. I don’t mind.

            – Really? You’d be OK with it.

            – I would. So how are you going to lose it?

            – Well, that’s what I wanted to ask you about. Would you do it?

Lloyd was taken aback by the idea. Before saying anything, he thought through the process and the equipment he would need to use. His wooden hands were capable of holding a scalpel firmly enough. If everything were made ready beforehand, right down to pre-threaded surgical needles, it might work.

            –  It might get messy. Look Chris—in theory I agree with you. I know how much you want a pair of stumps and it’s unjust of me to deny you. You helped me get mine. I’d better start practising, hadn’t I? Will you order everything? When do you want to do it?

            – Shall we start on Sunday after next at ten in the morning?

            – Alright. You’ll have to fend for yourself during the daytime. You know that, don’t you? I can’t stay home with you.

            – I know. I can manage with one hook.

            – Yeah, I think you can. OK. I’ll do it.

            – Thanks, Lloyd. I knew you’d help.

Lloyd put his hooks around Chris’s neck and pulled him close for a reassuring hug.

 

Breakfast was eaten and the dishes washed. Lloyd had spent an hour sterilising scalpel blades and needles, threading ten of them with lengths of thread. They were stuck into a piece of styrox. Lloyd had tested his hands and his hooks on his sewing skills. He discovered that Chris’s farmer’s hook held a needle the most securely. Five scalpels waited in foam rubber tubes to make them more easy to handle. Chris sat with his right hand in a bowl of salted ice cubes and tried to calm his nerves. Lloyd looked confident enough. If they botched the amputation, there would be a messy visit to the local emergency room.

 

Lloyd put two tourniquets on Chris’s arm, above the elbow and halfway down his forearm.

            – Are you ready? You’re going to lose your only remaining hand. Do you want to be severely disabled? Do you understand this is permanent?

            – Yes, I understand and I want you to amputate my right hand at the wrist.

            – Alright, Chris. Let’s start.

Chris put his numbed hand onto the towel and Lloyd picked up a scalpel in his Neoprene-gloved wooden hand. He poked at it to alter the angle and sliced across the back of Chris’s hand. Another slice, deeper, severing tendons and arteries. The third slice severed the nerve, muscle and hit bone.

            – Turn your arm over.

Lloyd picked up a new scalpel and repeated his actions across the base of the palm. He cut tissue at each side of the wrist. Lloyd took the bloodied hand into his own as if to shake hands and twisted the unwanted flesh away from the wrist. He picked up a third scalpel and tried to tidy stray fragments of flesh.

            – Don’t try to make it look beautiful, Lloyd. Just try to get a few stitches in.

            – OK. Could you try it too? I know your farmer’s hook holds a needle pretty well.

Lloyd’s rubber-tipped fingers and thumb plucked one of the threaded needles and Chris held his wrist so Lloyd could begin to close the wound. The sharp point pierced the skin with slowly applied pressure. A line of stitches grew from the middle of the wrist towards the sides. The skin from the back of Chris’s hand folded down over the amputation site. Lloyd had not tried to make his handiwork beautiful but was determined to do an adequate job. Chris was showing increasing signs of discomfort as the fresh stump regained sensation. Lloyd folded a sheet of gauze into four and dropped it over the stump. Chris held the end of a compression bandage in place with the tip of his hook while Lloyd’s wooden hands circled it. Fifteen centimetres was enough. Lloyd held out the red plastic stump sheath and Chris carefully pushed his new stump into it.

            – Thank you, Lloyd.

            – How are you feeling?

            – Shagged out.

            – Go and lie down.

Chris slept through the afternoon and woke around six. His stump felt sore but tolerably so.

 

Not having been quite so reliant on his hook as Lloyd had been, Chris found himself considerably more disabled than he had bargained for. His left farmer’s hook was powerful and robust, far beyond the requirements of small domestic actions. Chris continually reached out first with his missing right hand before realising once again that it was gone. Lloyd had liquidised it and it was feeding sea life by now. Lloyd changed his bandage every morning before leaving for work. Chris had a few sandwiches and fruit and was capable of brewing tea if he wanted it but satisfied himself with tap water. He wore the red sheath all the time including at night. By the end of the first week, the stump had closed. It was tender still but that was to be expected. Chris discussed a new prosthesis with Lloyd, who suggested booking an appointment about ten days ahead. The stitches would be out by that time and the swelling should have reduced enough to make fitting a prosthesis feasible. Lloyd suggested that Chris apply for a standard hook rather than a matching farmer’s hook. Chris agreed. There was nothing wrong with having mismatched hooks, on the contrary.

 

The prosthetist, Schneider, made no comment about Chris’s return for a new arm. He noted Chris’s request for a standard hook and for the same wrist as on his left prosthesis. Schneider would attach both arms to a new harness which would be ready in a couple of weeks. Chris would have a week or so to get used to having a hook on his right arm before returning to work and the construction site in Willesden. Schneider escorted Chris to the door, walking on bare leaf-sprung prosthetic feet and tubular steel pylons. It was not a good look.

 

Chris was in a better mood on leaving. The difficult part was over. From now on, he would be the bilateral hook user he had always fantasised about. There would be no more guilty envy of Lloyd’s double hooks. When the fresh stump had healed completely in a few months, he would bare both arms and use his powerful muscular stumps to grip things. Lloyd rarely bared his stumps but Chris saw no reason not to show them off in public, although he would always need his prostheses at work. He considered ordering a pair of the wooden hands which Lloyd used at the bistro. He would need a larger pair to match his beefy forearms. The more he considered it, the more he liked the idea. Two artificial hands would look less shocking than two hooks when he met clients and he seldom needed the versatility of his farmer’s hook. He tapped out a message to Schneider and requested that he place an order for another pair of the wooden and steel hands, size ten.

 

Chris asked Lloyd to stop helping him so much. There were always sandwiches ready. Chris believed he could make his own with one hook. Lloyd agreed and left his thoughts unspoken. Chris would face some problems but perhaps it was better for his friend to discover the limitations which his disability entailed. The red sheath was useless for any practical purpose but Chris would shortly be able to use his naked stump in conjunction with the hook. Chris arranged for a driving test to be re-certified as an amputee driver. He would need both hooks for the test and an appropriate time was scheduled five weeks hence.

 

Schneider was aware of his patient’s increased disability and made an extra effort to finish the right prosthesis ahead of time. Chris would need a new harness to hold both sockets. The finished article was ready in five days and Chris rushed to the clinic as soon as he received notice that a fitting was now possible. He had to wait for Schneider to finish business with another patient first, an elderly man whose right hand had been severed in a lift accident. Chris spent much of the afternoon testing his new prostheses, the left socket equipped with his farmer’s hook and the new right socket with a standard Hosmer Five. Schneider was satisfied with the fit and function of his handiwork and Chris was satisfied with the steel replacements of his hands. Schneider once again persuaded his patient to order a new pair of sockets for his wooden hands which were already in transit. The hands worked with the same cable mechanism as his hooks but changing them required altering the length of the control cable and Schneider did not believe that Chris nor Lloyd would be able or willing to make the alterations several times a week. It would be far easier to alternate between two pairs of arms. Mindful of the extra expense, Chris reluctantly agreed. It would be worthwhile. As Lloyd had said, disability was expensive.

 

Chris returned to work after a six week absence. He drove himself although he was not yet licensed to operate a motor vehicle with two prosthetic arms. But in slow London traffic, he was perfectly able to manage. His new appearance caused a storm of scandal among his colleagues. They could not understand how someone could be so extremely unfortunate, not to mention accident-prone. Chris shrugged it off, saying that he had learned to compensate for the loss of his left hand and expected to manage the new one just as well. Gesturing with both hooks, he saw himself as a man completely at peace with himself and the world. He had his steel hooks at long last and if they were not to someone’s taste, there was a pair of wooden hands on the way. Chris departed for Willesden, met the client’s reps and held discussions with foremen. He made no explicit mention of his new hook but it was the main subject of discussion behind his back. Men who had no reason to speak with him found an excuse to drop by for clarification on some technical detail in order to see the boss and his hooks. What a guy! Management caught wind of his new disability after a few days and the construction site was visited by several of his superiors who wanted to see Chris in action. Chris escorted them around the site, pointing out various locations where work had been done and moving warning signs out of the way to ease their passage. Everyone who met him was convinced of his ability to continue in his profession with two hooks.

 

Chris’s stumps matured. Hair regrew over the ends. At weekends, Chris wore his hooks only part of the day. After lunch, he removed them and enjoyed seeing and using his handless arms. His wooden hands had become his everyday prostheses. Unlike Lloyd, he preferred to wear the hands without gloves. He had selected flesh-tone for his sockets and the broad wooden hands seemed a natural extension. The position of the fingers and thumb at rest looked incongruous on such a masculine man but as time passed, Chris learned their capabilities and preferred them to his hooks. The one thing he wished he could do was point a finger. Gesturing with a wooden fist was not the same.

 

As another Christmas approached, Chris reminded Lloyd of his promise to visit Prague with Lloyd and show him around. They decided to spend five days over Christmas together in a fine hotel in the town centre, no expense spared. They gave some thought to which prostheses would be more suitable for a visitor and concluded that Lloyd would wear standard hooks, Chris his large wooden hands. Between the pair of them, they should be able to handle most situations with no problems. Lloyd had become familiar with his hooks over the past year. He knew their limitations and ways to adapt to them. Chris was still learning. He still felt sexual excitement when he wore hooks but seeing the naked wood and spring-loaded steel fingers of his artificial hands brought him great satisfaction and peace of mind. The thumbs touched the index fingers in a gesture of delicate precision, completely opposite to what one might expect from a masculine man’s large hand. The pink sockets to which the hands were attached were also slightly effeminate, glossy approximations of his beefy forearms. His healed stumps were even and covered in dark blond curly hair. He was proud of his stumps. Lloyd often commented on how handsome his arms were. Lloyd rarely removed his sockets. He felt that the black carbon arms with their trusty hooks were part of himself. He felt fulfilled, grateful that the pain and inconveniences were behind him. His determination to use hooks had indirectly brought him a lover, a life companion, who would share the adventure of handlessness and the perfection of muscular stumps.

 

MATCHING PAIR