The Bilateral Club

 

THE BILATERAL CLUB

An unlikely tale from strzeka (05/23)

 

Nicholas Williamson, Nick to his friends, was at the end of his tether. It was the weekend for the big deed, the final stage, which would see him transform from an able‑bodied man of twenty‑four to a severely disabled double amputee. Two of his most admired contacts had promised to sit with him during the freeze and Nick was reduced to pacing the floor waiting for them to arrive.

 

It was the end of a process which had begun three years previously when Nick joined an internet forum dedicated to amputees and their admirers. Most of the members belonged to the latter group, full-bodied young men for the most part who wanted to become disabled in a certain way and who wished to make contact with men who had undergone the kinds of amputation they wished for themselves. Experienced older amputees gave advice to the newly amputated and described their experiences of wearing artificial limbs and dealing with ordinary life without limbs. They posted photographs of their prostheses and naked stumps, all of which were saved on a thousand hard drives and shared on public sites in dedicated channels over and over again.

 

Nick had mentioned his own desires and requirements over a year ago. He was unusual in wanting his amputations which were regarded as extreme or too disabling. Most members wished to lose a leg, usually the left one above the knee so they could either use an artificial leg or walk around on crutches with a trouser leg folded up and tucked into their belts to contain their stumps. Nick was different. He wanted his hands off, to be replaced with hooks. There were few bilateral hook users but they were exceptionally encouraging. They knew the pleasures of arm stumps, of losing something as basic as touching and feeling, having nothing but arm stumps. And the joy of wearing rigid sockets with hooks instead of warm sensitive hands. The transformation from an ordinary man into someone extraordinary who would be noticed and remembered by every onlooker.

 

Nicholas thought himself a sensible man and although he was certain about how he wanted to live the rest of his life, he also wanted confirmation and encouragement from men who had experienced the same compulsions and acted on them. He frequently posted invitations in the forum to spend a weekend with him, no expense spared, in order to discuss what it really meant to live life with a pair of hooks. Five men had taken up his invitation and arrived from as far afield as Ohio, Brisbane, Nairobi, Warsaw and Toronto. With two exceptions, Nicholas paid for their return airfares and only one guest, from Poland, returned after one night. The others stayed a minimum of seven days and Nicholas became accustomed to hosting bilateral arm amputees in his apartment. He enjoyed not only the company and alternative lifestyles of his guests but also watching them operating their artificial arms. Some were old hands at the game, bewhiskered old‑timers from the Mid‑West or from the Outback, whose hands had been sliced off by farm machinery almost as soon as they were old enough to work on the farm. They were Nick’s most admired guests. They used their beat‑up prostheses quite naturally, never missing a beat, the steel hooks always obeying every necessary action. Nick hoped to use his stumps as well as the old‑timers, just as a beginner wanted to speak a language as well as a native. It would never be possible but the goal was worth aiming for.

 

A message arrived, causing his phone to sound an alert. Nick read it and his mood improved immediately. His two guests had co‑operated and arranged to travel the last few miles together. They would arrive within half an hour. Nick checked for the tenth time that everything was ready. There were glasses and plates on the coffee table, wine in the decanter, the coffee machine was primed and ready to go and the finger food waited in the refrigerator. The guest bedroom was ready with two top‑of‑the‑range inflatable mattresses decked in stylish bed linen, space in the closet for clothes and wall hooks thoughtfully provided on which to hang arm prostheses. Nick grabbed his pipe and lighter and went out to smoke on the balcony overlooking a park and the adjacent slip‑road where local bus routes terminated. Nick assumed his guests would avail themselves of the easy cheap alternative from the station. He would wait outside, smoking, until he saw his guests get off a twenty‑seven.

 

He guessed correctly. A single‑decker pulled in and opened its doors. Moments later, Andrew Knight and Darren Hawkins stepped off, both pulling small wheeled suitcases. They looked up and down the street for Nick’s address and Darren raised a hook towards Nick’s building. They crossed the road and were lost from view. Nick shook ash from his pipe and left it outside to cool.

 

            – Welcome! Great to see you. Thank you for making time for me. Did you have a good journey?

Both guests offered hooks for Nick to shake. He ushered them further into his apartment and helped them remove their coats.

            – You can keep your shoes on. It’s perfectly fine.

            – Oh, that’s good. So how are you, young man? Big weekend, eh?

            – Let’s hope so. Go into the living room, do. Sit where you like.

The guests did as invited and Nick quickly collected his canapés.

            – I hope you’re not too hungry. We’ll have a proper meal later but in the meantime, do help yourselves. Can I offer you a glass of wine? I found this quite recently and rather like it.

            – Yes please. It’s time for a drink.

Nick poured everyone a glass. Andrew and Darren guided their open hooks past the stems of their glasses and raised them.

            – Your very good health! Welcome. I’m very pleased to see you both.

            – It’s a pleasure, Nick. We both realise what this means to you and we’re only too happy to be able to help in any way we can. It’s a big step but we’re both quite sure that you’re ready to join the bilateral club.

            – Is that what you call yourselves? Quite a good name, if I may say so. Cheers.

            – Cheers. I don’t know if you realise it, Nick, but there is a fairly close community of us bilaterals. We don’t make much noise about it or advertise for memberships, but for instance both Darren and I have been in contact for a good ten years…

            – At least.

            – …and we have a get‑together every so often, maybe twice a year.

            – There are so few of us, you see. It makes sense to keep in contact, swap ideas and info about new devices and so on which make life a bit easier. So we call ourselves members of the Bilateral Club.

            – And I’m about to join it, I hope. How do I become a member?

            – Nothing to it. Once you have your hooks, just log onto the forum and let people know. Someone will get in touch with you. I suppose there are a few formalities to make sure you’re a genuine case and not a wannabe trying it on.

            – Do people really do that?

            – Course they do. Usually people who wear pretender hooks and want to mingle with the rest of us who have no choice.

            – Strange. What else do you talk about?

            – Well, it seems to me that everyone is far more open about the causes of their amputations. I mean, what you’re about to do may strike you as uniquely odd but you’d be surprised at the number of men, quite young, around your age, who take the plunge and join the club, knowing they’ll be severely disabled for the rest of their lives and reliant on steel hooks.

Darren lifted his own pair and snapped them both open to demonstrate. They clicked shut.

            – You mean they deliberately cause their amputations?

            – Yup, exactly that. It’s understandable, really. There’s a certain beauty in the bilateral loss of a man’s hands. His stumps are phallic remnants, hairy, often tattooed, very masculine. Two arm stumps look very impressive on a man, especially if he feels comfortable with them and with his hooks. It’s not the sort of thing you’d want to see on a woman, be honest, although they make a brave effort, let’s be fair. So what you’re about to do is by no means unusual as far as the Club is concerned. Don’t get me wrong—there are a lot of men who lost their hands through accidents on the road or at work and a few to meningitis. But the end result is the same. Men in the prime of life who find themselves wielding a pair of steel hooks instead of their hands and appreciating every minute of it.

Nick’s mouth opened more the longer Darren spoke. He began to realise that not only would he be gaining the stumps he lusted for and the prosthetic devices he fetishised, he might also be joining an exclusive company of like‑minded and like‑bodied men, all of whom were equipped with artificial arms and hooks. He might even find a life companion from their midst.

 

They polished off the canapés, which Nick had spent much of the morning creating, all the while discussing aspects of disability and rehabilitation which had not occurred to Nick. He listened and watched his guests gesticulating with their hooks, understanding instinctively how basic human gestures translated into the steely movements his guests were capable of.

 

            – Nick, it occurred to me that if you set out our evening meal in the kitchen, we could help ourselves during the evening. I suggest we start the process now. Where do you want to be?

            – In here, at the table. Are you sure you don’t want to dine later?

            – Quite sure, aren’t we, Darren?

Nick was surprised and a little alarmed at how soon the process would begin. He had all his equipment ready. He needed only the watchful company of his bilateral amputee friends for encouragement.

 

He had constructed a freezing chamber from a plastic storage box. It had two holes cut into one side into which he would insert his hands. The holes were ringed with foam plastic for insulation. A twenty litre bag of dry ice slowly sublimated in his freezer. He collected four medical tourniquets from his bedroom and ensured that one or both of his guests would be able to manipulate them with their hooks. Andrew smirked and assured him that everything would be fine. Nick excused himself and set about arranging plates and cutlery in the kitchen. A fresh salmon salad waited in a bowl in the fridge accompanied by a loaf of bread. Nick sliced it into chunky pieces, wondering when he might next be able to do such a simple thing. Finally, Nick took the bag of dry ice from the freezer and filled a mixing bowl with the small spherical chunks of ice. Tendrils of gas dropped over the lip of the bowl and spread across the table. Nick took a pair of long rubber gloves from beneath the sink and returned to the living room with his equipment.

 

            – Are you ready to begin?

            – Yes, I think so. The food is still in the fridge but everything else is ready so help yourselves.

Nick looked at his guests and their serious expressions. What he was about to do would cause life‑changing injuries and there would be considerable pain. He glanced at the men’s prosthetic arms and found reassurance in their mechanical perfection.

            – Put the tourniquets on your left arm how you want them and I’ll do your right. How long were you intending to wait before starting the ice?

            – I thought about an hour or ninety minutes.

            – Yes, I agree. Your hands should be numb by then. Listen, there’s no point in having the dry ice out yet. I’ll put this back in your freezer until we need it. There’s no point in wasting it.

 

Andrew lifted the freezing bowl with frost on its outer surface and carried it back to the kitchen. Nick fitted the first tourniquet over his upper arm and tightened it. The second one fit halfway up his forearm. Almost immediately, his hand formed into a claw with very restricted movement. He pulled the left rubber glove on and fitted it over his paralysed fingers. Andrew advised Nick to place the glove on his right hand first and used both hooks to apply the remaining two tourniquets to Nick’s right arm, mirroring the left. The waiting began.

 

            – Tell us about your foreign visitors, Nick. I have to say I’m impressed by your determination to meet other bilaterals.

            – Well, it seemed perfectly logical to me. They have something I want and I was keen to hear more about it. I have to admit that I haven’t always been a hundred percent certain that being bilateral is the right course for me. I always knew I would become an amputee but I was never quite sure if I could succeed with two stumps.

            – And so you wanted to hear from other amputees what their experiences were.

            – Yes, exactly that. You see, without wanting to brag, I can afford to pay for my guests’ airfare if they wish to visit. All they need is the time off work, or whatever. My family is fairly well‑off—I’m sure you know Williamson’s Jams.

            – Oh!  Is that your family business?

            – It is. I had a fairly decent inheritance when I was twenty-one and apart from buying this apartment by the park, I haven’t done anything with the money.

            – So you have the liberty to wear hooks.

            – That’s the way it is. So I thought that by talking to men who have experience of using a pair of hooks, I would get a better idea of how my life would change and, so I hoped, get some reassurance that what I was doing was worth it.

            – And what did you find out? I must say, I’m quite intrigued myself. I wish I’d had another bilateral to talk to beforehand.

            – You knew in advance that you’d be a bilateral?

            – Oh yes. I did these myself.

            – How?

            – I’ll tell you later. Tell us about your foreign guests first.

Nick shifted the position of his paralysed arms and allowed his rubber‑covered hands to touch.

            – Well, the first visitor was the Australian. He lived, or lives, forty kilometres north of Melbourne on his family’s farm and is the senior now in the family company. He started working for real when he was eighteen. Of course, he’d been helping out since he was a little boy, learning everything his dad was doing.

            – That’s how the farms grow so much and stay in the family, so I’ve heard.

            – So he was working with some piece of farm machinery. This was about nineteen seventy and the machine was already on its last legs. And for whatever reason, some revolving part caught hold of him and dragged him into the machine and by the time he managed to free himself, it had chewed both his hands off. There was nothing left of them except bloodstains on the ground. Anyway, within six months he’d been fitted with a pair of hooks and according to what he told me, he carried on like nothing had happened.

            – It sounds like he was a pretty proficient hook user.

            – Oh yeah. Believe it or not, he even made his own roll-ups. We used to sit out on the balcony smoking and chatting.

            – How old was he?

            – Nearly eighty. He still had relatives over here which he’d never met, although they exchanged Christmas cards and that sort of thing.

            – It sounds like he took the opportunity to come over to say goodbye to them.

            – Oh no! It didn’t seem like that. He was excited by me wanting to become a hook user. He said it was the best thing that had ever happened to him and opened up all kinds of possibilities which he’d never have had otherwise.

            – How did he get in touch with you? Was he a forum member?

            – Yeah. He’d been online since the beginning, almost. He was very internet savvy. Used it for years. They’re used to technology in Australia to keep in touch, you see, because of the distances.

            – I see. That makes sense. So how about the other senior? Where was he from?

            – The guy from Ohio. God, he was a strange one. One of those people who let you in on every family secret since they arrived in America. They ended up in Ohio and settled on their forty acres and made a go of it. Within a decade or so, they’d bought up most of their neighbours’ land and were campaigning for the railroad to come by their property so they could sell their produce in Chicago and so on. Well, that happened and they had a spur right up to their farm. One of the locals who worked for them was an old man who had lost his hands in the first world war and was fitted with old-style split hooks, big brass things twice the size of yours. And the guy said he was fascinated by them and began wondering what it would be like to have a pair of big hooks instead of his hands. So one morning when they were expecting the weekly arrival of a train to load up with grain, he snuck down to the railroad tracks and hid himself until the locomotive had passed and then he put his wrists on the rail so the next wagon would run over them. Needless to say, it caused a whole lot of mayhem on the farm and his father drove him in their rusty old truck to the nearest town where the doctor did his best to amputate the lad’s hands. And that’s how he got his stumps. He took his arms off to show them to me and they were uneven and a bit untidy but he said he’d never had any pain from them and was grateful to the doctor for doing a good job. He said he never got the big brass hooks he’d wanted because by that time, they were all steel and a lot smaller. More practical, I suppose.

            – And I suppose he could use his hooks without any problem too.

            – Oh yes, completely naturally. He could use a knife and fork to eat but he did it like us instead of cutting up food first and putting the fork in his other hook, the American way.

            – Fascinating. What about the others?

            – Well, the Canadian was a lot of fun. He paid for his own trip because he said he could put it on company expenses and had other business in London, and he did disappear a couple of times for most of the day, but we were always together during the evenings. He’d lost his hands in some road accident when he was still a baby. His mother was a drunkard and probably pushed him out into traffic without checking. Anyway, he had no memory of the accident or ever having hands. He was adopted directly from the hospital by a wealthy couple who couldn’t have children of their own and was brought up as their own son. The father was well-off and provided everything the amputee boy could need and you can imagine that losing your hands at such a young age means that he was able to use his hooks for everything. He had a farmer’s hook on the left and a Five on the right, which I thought was an odd combination but he seemed to be completely comfortable with it.

            – So what did he teach you, after the old‑timers?

            – It wasn’t so much what he could teach me, it was more a reaffirmation that using hooks was a viable alternative. He had used hooks his entire life, from infancy to university and beyond, and he wanted to encourage me to acquire my own, if that’s what I really wanted. It was strange the way he was so supportive, never having made any decision himself about having stumps, but he was, and I’m grateful to him.

            – That’s good to hear. There are people who want to help each other. It seems these days that we’re few and far between. How are your hands?

            – Numb. I can’t move them and my wrists feel rigid.

            – I think you’re reaching the point when we can start the ice. What do you think?

Darren reached across and nipped one of Nick’s rubber-gloved hands.

            – Can you feel that?

            – Not really. I felt my arm move, though.

            – Alright. Let’s give it another quarter of an hour.

            – Darren, what did you mean when you said you did those yourself?

            – Oh, just that it was my fault. Playing around with fireworks. Actually, playing around with gunpowder. A friend and I bought some bangers and we split them open to get the gunpowder out. We must have emptied about a dozen into an old tin when all of a sudden the whole thing blew up just as I was emptying another banger. And I was suddenly left with two shredded hands with bits of finger dangling down.

            – That must have hurt.

            – I was too shocked to feel anything. You know how adrenaline kicks in. Anyway, my friend’s mum came out to the shed to see what the commotion was and when she came to her senses, she called an ambulance and before I knew it, I was waking up the next morning with two bandaged stumps.

            – How much of your arms do you have left?

            – Oh, most of them. They amputated about two inches above my wrists. Apparently, I could have ended up with disarticulations but the surgeon recommended trans-radial because it’s easier to fit artificial arms on conical stumps and the prostheses can be a little shorter. More practical, you see.

            – How old were you?

            – It was a week before my eleventh birthday.

            – So you went through school with hooks. Wow! How did you feel about it?

            – I felt special. All my classmates, the boys at least, were fascinated to see me working my hooks. The girls were mostly a bit squeamish but as we got older, they got over it.

            – You must have had to learn to write again fairly quickly.

            – True enough but it was something I wanted to do, as well as all the other things like use a knife and fork and tie my shoelaces, all that sort of thing. Mum and dad and my sisters were always around if I needed some help but they let me work things out for myself pretty much.

            – What did you think of becoming a hook user? Were you sorry you’d lost your hands?

            – Not really. I was more curious to know what it was like to have hooks. I never thought about being disabled or handicapped and quite honestly, I liked the look of myself with hooks instead of hands. I still do, to be fair. I think you know what I’m talking about, don’t you?

            – I guess I do. I always think it looks handsome, seeing a pair of steel hooks on a man where hands should be.

            – Right. How are you feeling right now? Shall we get started?

            – Yes. I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

 

Andrew got up and retrieved the bowl of dry ice from the freezer. Nick worked his senseless hands through the holes in his plastic box and Andrew carefully tipped granules of dry ice into it. Some of them had clumped together and Andrew poked at them with a hook to separate them. Nick’s rubber gloves were shortly covered by the ice and Andrew placed the lid onto the box.

            – We’ll check the ice every twenty minutes or so. Can you feel the cold?

            – No. It feels a bit odd to hold my arms like this.

            – Move closer to the table and stretch your arms along it.

Darren pushed Nick’s chair closer. It was a better position.

            – How long are you going to freeze for, Nick?

            – At least six hours. I have to get the hands frozen solid to make sure they amputate rather than try to save any tissue.

            – Quite right. The medical profession can be a sadistic bunch. They’d rather waste time and resources playing around with skin grafts and the like rather than do a couple of tidy amputations. They look at amputation as a last resort, like it was an admission of failure on their part.

            – I don’t intend to give them any alternative.

            – Absolutely. You OK? Tell us about your other guests. What were you saying about the Polish guy?

            – Oh god. He was really strange. He turned up dressed completely in red—jacket, trousers, shirt, socks, shoes, you name it. And he was wearing mascara. He was a transvestite—no, that’s not what I mean. He was undergoing a sex change from female to male.

            – It sounds like he was stuck halfway.

            – Ha! I suppose he was. We spent a very interesting evening chatting about our lives and what we wanted for ourselves. He’d had his alterations done in Bangkok three years previously. He’d had his or her breasts removed and then his forearms were amputated leaving only about an inch of forearm stump. His prostheses had the same kind of double cable system that upper arm amputees wear, you know the kind. And broad steel hinges on the sockets to restrict his movement.

            – Sounds a very odd fish.

            – Well, he got what he paid for. Apparently he stayed in Bangkok for six months until his sex change was under control, by which time he’d been kitted out with his artificial arms and hooks. He said he’d wait until his transition was complete before going back to have his lower legs amputated.

            – He has it bad, from the sound of it. So what happened to make him disappear so soon?

            – I don’t know, really. We seemed to be getting on well enough during the evening. We had a bite to eat and a couple of drinks and I asked him if he needed help but he insisted he could manage everything himself, so I left him to it. The bedroom was made up for him and we said good night at around midnight. Next morning, I made breakfast for us and he ate it almost without saying anything and seemed very stand-offish. And at nine o’clock, he collected his suitcase and left without a word.

            – How peculiar. What on earth happened to make him leave like that?

            – I have absolutely no idea. He hasn’t posted on the forum since then, either, and hasn’t replied to emails. I wonder if he expected me to make an advance on him and make love or something.

            – Well, it takes all sorts.

            – It certainly does. The guy from Nairobi was almost as big a surprise as well, but we got on really well.

            – Good to know. What was he like?

            – Well, the first surprise was that he was white. I really didn’t expect that. Had a really good tan on him, though. He was about forty, forty-five, I suppose, really big and muscular, big beefy calves and his sockets were the biggest I’ve ever seen. As soon as he arrived, he took them off and used his stumps for everything. They were well tanned, too. He said he put his prossies on—that’s what he called them—when he needed them otherwise he just relied on his stumps. Half the time they were hanging down his back. His stumps were about four inches long, so it was easy for him to slip the sockets on and off.

            – It’s handy to be able to do that. Not like for me and Andrew. Our stumps are far too long to be able to do that. Yours are going to be the same, as well.

            – I know. Anyway, his stumps were as muscular as the rest of him. He was a good‑looking bloke, salt and pepper hair and beard, big wide moustache and crinkly blue eyes.

            – He doesn’t sound much like a wannabe.

            – No, he wasn’t. He lost his arms in a skirmish with a local tribe which wanted land back which they claimed the guy’s family had appropriated sometime in the nineteenth century. They kidnapped the boy when he was only three and held him as ransom and threatened to kill him unless their demands were met. Apparently the family held out for a week or so and tried to appease the tribe with money but they were adamant that they wanted their land back. There was a lull of a few days and then the family received a parcel containing the severed hands of their son.

            – You are shitting me!

            – Well, that’s what the guy said and there he was sitting there with his hooks in his lap telling me. I’m hardly about to call him a liar, am I?

            – So what did the family do?

            – They arranged to meet the tribal leaders on condition that the boy be returned and promised the return of the tribal lands. That took another week or so until they all met and the boy was rushed off to hospital to have his stumps re-amputated.

            – So what was the outcome of all that?

            – Apparently, the guy’s family handed over the territory as agreed but two of the neighbouring groups had long‑standing disputes with the returning tribe and after a couple of murderous minor wars, they were driven off again. And five years later, the family got the land back.

            – That’s incredible. I suppose the bloke couldn’t remember anything about having his hands hacked off?

            – He said he could. He was familiar enough with seeing black faces and had no reason to fear them. He said he remembered how his arms were put on a pile of logs and how they were severed by a long sword, but personally, I think that’s more a memory of what he’d been told afterwards rather than a genuine memory, but you never know. He was great company, though. Dozens of stories about all sorts of things Europeans have no idea about. It was the first time he’d been to Europe and after a couple of visits into town, he said he was grateful to live in such a calm and peaceful country as Kenya. London was too chaotic for him.

            – Fascinating stuff. How’s the ice?

            – I can sense the cold somehow but that’s all.

            – OK, good. It looks like you’ve numbed your hands enough.

            – How about you, Andrew? How did you get your hooks?

            – Iraq. I was blown up in a jeep by an IED. It killed two of us, and maimed three others. I came off the worst and lost my hands and feet.

            – Oh! I didn’t realise you are a quad.

            – No reason you should know. I have a couple of BKs but with a pair of sturdy boots on them, walking is practically the same as ever.

            – I suppose you’re entitled to all the Blesma free stuff.

            – Yup. I have a cupboard full of all the prosthetics they’ve foisted on me over the years. You know the sort of stuff, automatic ankles, reciprocating grip, all that bionic shit. Well, it’s not really shit. It’s all very clever. It’s just useless. In the time it takes to program your plastic hand so it can pull your trousers on, you could have finished dressing with a pair of body‑operated hooks. So that’s what I wear and that’s what I like.

            – How do you feel about being a victim of war?

            – We don’t talk about it, do we? Not in this country. It was a national shame and we should never have got involved. I don’t mind being disabled now. It’s not something I would have chosen for myself but I get along fine with a pair of hooks and my rigid little feet. I met my wife after I was injured so she’s only known me as a quad and we have two young sons, twins, who only know their dad as I am now. I think when they were younger, they thought all dads had steel hooks.

            – Wouldn’t that be something? Have a kid and lose a hand. Have two and lose both.

            – Are you feeling OK, Nick?

            – I suppose so. Getting tired.

            – Put your head down and try to get forty winks if you like. We’ll be alright. I’m going to have a bite to eat if that’s alright with you, Darren.

            – Go right ahead. Take this bowl and bring us some ice when you come back. You know where it is.

 

Darren lifted his hooks onto the table where Nick could look at them. Conversation petered out for a while. Nick looked at the black carbon sockets. They were so alien, so inhuman. They terminated in steel rings, burred for grip, from which protruded the prize, the jewels, the entire point of the exercise. Two shiny steel hooks, completely static, immovable except when tugged by shrugging the opposite shoulder. Unnatural yet so practical and desirable. He tried to imagine how it felt to feed his arm stumps into cold and rigid sockets every morning in order to function as a man and how his stumps would enjoy removing them at night, sensing the relief of fresh air, pulling his covers over him with two stumps and turning on his side to sleep, stumps by his face, the remnants of his hands and arms which had felt like foreign flesh for many years. They were being destroyed, minute by minute. He was going to be an amputee. A double amputee. The word itself held excitement, a promise of the unknown. Something new. The promise of appearing as a different man with glinting hooks by his side like the men he had fetishised for many years.

 

Andrew returned and nodded at Darren. Darren left for the kitchen and his supper. The sound of the microwave alerted Nick. What was Darren warming? He wanted to know but the strength to ask had gone out of him. Andrew opened the lid covering Nick’s hands and poked around inside with his hooks, rearranging the remnants of the first batch of ice. He tipped more fresh dry ice in, almost to the brim and poked the lid around until it dropped into place.

 

            – How are you feeling, Nick? Tired? Does it hurt?

            – I’m tired. All of a sudden. Sorry.

            – Nothing to be sorry for. It’s good you can relax. There’s still a while to go but we’ll be here for you.

            – Here for me. Thank you.

Nick lowered his head onto his left arm and closed his eyes. Andrew watched for a few moments and left him to relieve himself. The apartment’s door handles were globular knobs and Andrew’s hooks skitted over their surface. He went to the kitchen and wetted a wash cloth.

            – Everything alright, Andrew?

            – Can’t get into the toilet. Round knob.

            – Oh that. Good luck.

The moist cloth gripped the knob and Andrew twisted his body to open the door. That was definitely something Nick would have to change after his amputations. How many other things might there be which he could no longer do because of his hooks? That was months away. Andrew shook his penis and carefully gripped his zip. So many things to relearn. He had always known, so it seemed to him. He had always known how to use his hooks to do exactly what he wanted to do, with one exception. He had never been able to handle a camera. It was only when cameras were added to smart phones that he had been able to indulge his creativity.

 

Nick seemed to be sleeping when Andrew returned. There was a temptation to take a few photographs of the situation but on second thought, it seemed to be an invasion of Nick’s privacy. Andrew tapped his phone and selected a piece of amputee fiction to help pass the time. He reread his favourite, a long story about a bar started by a couple of arm amputees where all the staff wore hooks. If only such a place existed! Darren washed some dirty dishes under running hot water and rejoined the others.

            – Is he asleep?

            – I think so. I’m surprised that he hasn’t complained about any pain yet. The tourniquets have certainly done a good job of deadening the nerves.

            – It could be that his hands have passed the threshold for pain by now. The nerves in his hands are frozen.

            – I think you may be right. How long has it been now?

            – Hour and forty minutes.

            – Four hours and twenty left before six hours is up. That might well be enough but I’d recommend that he holds out for eight just to be sure. We’re not in any hurry to get somewhere, are we?

            – Nope. Has Nick said anything about care after he gets back?

            – No, not to me. I would assume that a family in his position might have an assistant or two who might drop in.

            – He’s going to have a difficult time of it before he gets prostheses. I’m glad I didn’t have to fend for myself with a pair of fresh stumps.

 

While Nick slept fitfully, the two amputees whiled away the hours, reading, watching videos of game shows, all the while keeping an eye on the future bilateral and the level of dry ice. Andrew topped it up twice or three times an hour. The time approached midnight.

            – The six hours is up. We’ll let him carry on, shall we?

Nick stirred and raised his head.

            – Ah! You’re awake. Have a good sleep? It’s midnight, Nick. Six hours is up. How are you feeling?

            – Mmm, I feel OK. I can feel the cold in my arms.

            – Darren and I were saying that eight hours would make things certain. It’s hard to say what your hands look like right now under the rubber gloves but I would guess they’re black and blue.

            – Better not to see them.

            – You could be right. So another two hours, eh?

            – Yes, two more. What have you been doing? Sorry I’ve not been better company.

            – Don’t worry about that. We’ve been watching old tv shows on Darren’s phone.

            – And keeping an eye on you. Nick, we were wondering—how are you going to manage after you get out of the hospital? It’ll be a few weeks before you can get your hooks. Have you arranged to have someone come in to take care of you?

            – No, not yet. I was going to talk about that with the hospital staff. They have nurses which make house calls.

            – Nick, you’re going to need much more help than that. Look, I’ve had an idea. Let’s put a notice on the forum asking for a live-in assistant, all expenses paid for six weeks or so until you can fend for yourself again. How does that sound?

            – Sounds like a good idea. Will you post it for me?

            – Sure, I can do that. Let’s wait until you’ve had your amputations and have some idea of when you’ll be allowed home. I’m sure there’d be people more than willing to lend a helping hook.

 

The next two hours were tedious in the extreme. Nick was frustrated at not being able to change his position and was beginning to need to pee. The upper tourniquets bit into his arms painfully and he longed to loosen them. It was something he had been advised not to do. Due to the lateness of the hour, there was little talk. They were all tired, more mentally than physically. At five past two, Nick roused himself and suggested now might be a good time to call an ambulance.

            – Do you have your story worked out in your mind? There’ll be people asking you how you came to have two frozen hands,

            – Yeah, a cure for nerve pain. It was on the internet. Except something went wrong and I fell asleep.

            – Alright, it sounds ridiculous but people do things like that when they’re desperate. Just stick to it and don’t change or add any details unless you’re asked.

Andrew knocked his phone towards him and tapped the phone icon. He called emergency services.

            – Good morning. I need an ambulance to Parkview House, Richmond Road. A friend has severely injured hands.

He listened for a few moments and thanked the dispatcher.

            – Fifteen to twenty minutes, they reckon. We’ll keep an eye out. They won’t come with their sirens blasting at this time of night.

Darren stepped across to the balcony door and slid it open. Cool night air filled the flat and a dangerous amount of carbon dioxide flowed invisibly down to the street. 

 

An ambulance pulled up outside, all emergency lights flashing. Two medics jumped out and Darren went downstairs to meet them. Both young ambulance men took note of the man’s hooks and were further surprised to find their patient with an older man similarly disfigured.

            – We came back from town to find our friend like this. He said he’s been like this since we left, so that’s about eight hours.

            – OK. Can you walk, mate?

            – I think so.

            – Come on, then. Let’s get you seen to. Are you two going to be alright? We can take one in the ambulance if you want to keep him company.

            – What do you think, Nick?

            – No, I’ll be alright. Get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.

The medics glanced at each other with raised eyebrows and escorted Nick downstairs. Andrew and Darren looked at each other with doubt and resignation written across their faces. It was done. Nick was going to lose his hands. To all intents and purposes, he already had.

 

The receiving surgeon was livid. For the second time in as many months, an obvious BIID sufferer turned up with self-inflicted injuries which compelled amputations. The man had said something about seeing a cure for nerve pain involving dry ice. That was scarcely credible but what stretched the whole affair beyond belief was his claim to have fallen asleep. He was not drugged or drunk but for confirmation, the surgeon insisted on blood tests before proceeding further. The results were back forty minutes later. The man’s body appeared otherwise drug free but he had an extraordinarily high level of iron in his blood.

            – Blood clots. I want ultrasounds done first. With that level of iron and nine hours with tourniquets, I wouldn’t be surprised to see bloodclots in every artery.

A junior doctor examined Nick’s arms and discovered a total of fifteen clots between the first and second tourniquets.

            – Aha! Just as I expected. Get the boy ready for bilateral amputations. I’ll prepare the theatre.

Nick was given a wide range of drugs by injection and felt himself relaxing into oblivion. The operating theatre was quickly provided with all the equipment necessary for two emergency guillotine amputations of the upper humerus. The patient would awaken with short stumps at his shoulders. The surgeon felt a vestige of pity for a young life senselessly destroyed and a good dose of vindictiveness for wasting time and resources. The fool was lucky to have been found in the early hours when the only other emergencies were lacerations and broken bones due to intoxication.

 

Work on Nick’s arms continued until seven in the morning. His arms were initially severed immediately below his upper tourniquets. The tourniquets were removed, allowing access to the bones which were shortened by another five centimetres and treated to allow immediate closure. Nick had arms twelve centimetres long surrounded by three centimetres or so of cushioning muscle tissue.

 

He was kept in coma for three days. He was fed intravenously and his drip contained a blood thinner. Another drug, taken orally, would be prescribed to reduce his production of iron platelets. His blood was rather too rich for him and had caused him to lose both arms. He could be rehabilitated with prosthetic care but it would be a challenging time and he would always be disabled by his lack of elbows.

 

Nick was allowed to awaken gradually. His blood readings were approaching normal. He tried to push himself into a better position with his hands which he could feel but nothing happened. He looked down at his arms and saw the bulbous white bandages at each shoulder. Nothing more. Where were his arms? What of his stumps? This is not what he wanted! He let out a hoarse howl of horror, causing two nurses to rush to his side, both flailing with the enveloping curtains.

            – Quiet now! Everything’s OK. You’ve just woken up after your amputations so it’s bound to be a surprise. Take it easy. Is there anything you’d like?

            – Thirsty.

A nurse held a beaker of water to his lips.

            – Where are my stumps? What have you done? I can’t be like this!

            – Don’t excite yourself. You were very close to death when you were brought in. There were blood clots all up your arms and they had to be amputated to save your life. You’ll soon learn to use your new artificial arms, don’t worry. Just lie back and relax. Everything is going to be fine.

 

Nick spent three weeks in hospital, visited occasionally by Andrew and Darren, never at the same time. Andrew adopted the role of mentor, telling Nick what his rehabilitation would be like, when it was likely to happen, and arranging for an assistant to arrive at Nick’s home concurrent with his return. The forum was enthusiastic on hearing of Nick’s amputations although there were sympathetic comments on the tremendous effort needed to use hooks with shoulder stumps. Andrew escorted Nick from the hospital on his release, the sleeves of Nick’s leather jacket hanging empty and swinging with his motion.

 

Andrew sat with Nick in his flat waiting for the arrival of his assistant, a pharmaceutical researcher who had been made redundant recently and who had two months leisure before he started a new contract in Belgium. Living in another apartment gave him an excellent opportunity to empty his previous home of furniture and other contents before beginning anew in a new country. The doorbell rang and Alex Peters greeted Andrew hook to hook. Alex dragged a suitcase behind him and left it in the hallway before meeting Nick, who had stood and spread his stumps in an approximation of a hug to welcome his carer for the next few weeks. Alex introduced himself and leant back on his peg leg.

            – It looks like you’ve got yourself into quite a situation, my friend.

Alex’s accent immediately revealed his Australian origin.

            – But don’t worry about that. We can get by just fine.

Nick eyed the man’s hooks, which he used to gesticulate as he spoke. Nick knew he would never do the same. His hooks would stick out at a ninety degree angle or hang down straight. He sometimes succeeded in gaining an erection when he imagined himself like that, but not as often as when he thought of himself with two below elbow amputations. He tried not to think of what could have been. There was no point to it. He ought to look to the future and the promise of full‑length prostheses. He had no alternative.

            – Well, let me get my coat off and we can get to know each other.

            – Give it to me. I’ll hang it in the hall.

            – So! Tell me how you got into that state. I’ve been reading your posts on the forum and I had the idea you were after deebees. How’d you end up like that?

            – The tourniquets were on too long and I got blood clots. So both arms had to go.

            – Well, that’s a real pisser, mate. But look on the bright side. You’ll still be having hooks and with a bit of practice, she’ll be a good’un. No worries. What does a bloke need to do to get a coffee around here?

            – There’s everything in the kitchen. Normal or espresso.

            – You fancy a cup? I’m parched.

            – I’d love one. You’ll have to help me.

            – Mate, that’s what I’m here for. Relax and enjoy it. Jeez.

 

Andrew watched and listened to their conversation. He was impressed by the bilateral hook user, who had continued to wave his hooks around as he spoke, emphasizing points, just as anyone with hands might do. Alex looked across at the older man and raise his eyebrows.

            – Come on, Alex. I’ll show you where everything is.

Alex balanced on his peg leg and twisted himself around to face the kitchen. His boot clicked on the floor but his peg was silent.

            – Nick is going to need some pretty intensive care for the next few weeks and probably for a good time afterwards. Are you up to it?

            – Mate, this is the ideal job for me. I’ve always wanted to be a carer. Prolly cos I’ve had a good bit of caring meself over time and I’d love to give something back. That’s why I replied to the ad on the forum.

            – Well, it’s good you’re so enthusiastic about it. Nick’s helpless until he gets his artificial arms. Are you going to manage?

            – Don’t fret yourself, mate. He’ll be rosy. I don’t mind sticking around until he gets some arms and knows what he’s doing.

Andrew had filled the coffee machine with grouts and filled the top with three cups. He poked the on button with a hook and returned to Alex.

            – If you don’t mind me asking, how did you become a triple?

            – The first one was me leg and I don’t know what happened. Me parents never talked about it. I was four and probably mucking about around places I shouldn’t have been. Our homestead was right out in the bush so me dad was shown how to lengthen me peg leg and I was good to go.

            – What about your hands?

            – Oh, that was a different kettle of fish. We had this old auger, didn’t have any use for it. So me and me brothers and me dad were trying to get it to work to see if was worth selling, see? Dad had taken it to pieces and we’d all been at it cleaning it all up and so in the end we were standing around waiting for dad to finish. Then he started it up and the engine was coughing and spewing and I could see what was wrong so I stuck my arms in to clear the blockage and all of a sudden I’m standing there with a coupla more stumps and blood everywhere. Anyway, I was rushed to hospital in a fucking helicopter and got meself a coupla hooks to match me peg leg.

            – How old were you? You seem to use them very naturally. You have long stumps, do you?

            – I was ten. Yeah, they’re off about halfway up me arms. I often wear only one hook ’cos the stumps are handy. I have them on separate harnesses, see?

            – That’s unusual.

            – Yeah I suppose. It don’t make much difference and it’s good to be able to take a socket off when it gets warm.

The coffee machine gargled and Andrew poured three mugs of coffee. Alex took two and went back to sit by Nick.

            – I don’t know how you like it.

            – Black is fine, thanks.

It was awkward to lift the mug to Nick’s lips with two hooks. Neither of them were equipped with mechanisms to allow them to pronate. Alex gripped the mug with his left hook and pushed to tilt it with his right. Their stubbled faces were close together and Nick looked into Alex’s friendly brown eyes. There was a distant echo of attraction already. Nick was attracted to Alex merely by his possession of exactly the kind of prostheses he had wanted for himself. The scratched pink sockets looked extremely artificial against Alex’s tanned skin.

            – Thanks.

Alex put Nick’s mug down and tasted his own coffee. Nick watched him manipulating his hooks and knew he would never be as capable.

            – Does your peg leg not bend, Alex?

            – Nah. I’m used to having it all one piece, no knee. I take it off easily enough if I have to. I usually wear shorts, see? Not long pants like these. It just unscrews so I don’t need to take the socket off. That would be quite a game.

            – Have you ever had a prosthetic leg, you know, the usual sort?

            – No, never. Been offered them a dozen times but I like me peg and it likes me. Don’t see any reason to change.

            – It looks odd like that with your trousers draped over it.

            – Dead giveaway. How about you, Nick? Have you thought how you’re gonna wear your arms when you get them?

            – I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. Can you let me have some more coffee? Thanks. When I used to imagine myself with hooks, I always had a pair like yours, you know, below elbow sockets. I never thought of myself with little stumps like these. I don’t know how I’m going to use hooks or move the arms around.

            – Look, mate. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. That’s what me dad always said to me when I complained about me fake limbs. He said a lot of shit, my dad, but he was right about that. I do know that your arms are gonna be a bitch to learn to use and it’ll be a depressing time but if you keep at it, every day you’ll master them more and more until one day you find you’re using them without having to plan every motion and think about how to use them. You’ll just be doing it. And that’s when you can pat yourself on the back and return to normal life, except now you’ll have the hooks you wanted instead of hands.

            – You know about how I lost my hands?

            – Sure. I knew from the emails me and Andrew wrote. That’s why I was keen to offer my humble services. You’re a very unusual man, Nick. I’m sure you understand.

            – You don’t mind that I tried to freeze my hands off?

            – Why should I mind? A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I’d say you came a cropper though, ending up with short stumps instead of half your forearms but they don’t look bad, do they? You still have a broad manly chest and your stumps are a good shape. Do you want the rest of this coffee?

Nick nodded and Alex’s hooks clattered against the stoneware.

            – No mate. You’ll be fine. I can’t say watch how I do it ’cos your hooks will work different from mine. I reckon it’s something you’ll have to work out for yourself but it’s something you will do, so chin up, eh? When are you getting fitted for arms? Has anyone said anything?

            – No, not yet. My stumps have to heal a bit more first, you know, shrink down to size.

            – Yeah, I know. Still, you never know. You might have ’em before I have to leave and I might be able to show you a few pointers.

Nick looked into Alex’s eyes again and nodded. Alex carefully pushed an arm socket behind Nick’s head and Nick leant against it. It was as great a demonstration of amputee friendship as could be imagined.

 

Andrew sighed to signal it was time for him to leave. He hooked up the three empty mugs and took them to the kitchen.

            – I’ll leave you to it, then. You have my email so get in touch if I can be of any help.

            – Thanks, Andrew. I’ll see you out.

            – No no! Stay there. I know the way.

Andrew struggled into his coat and shrugged to settle his harness comfortably. He called out a farewell and Nick and Alex were alone.

            – He’s a good bloke, isn’t he? How long have you known him?

            – Since the night I froze my hands.

            – And you hadn’t met before? Wow! I thought you were old friends.

            – No. He and Darren came to sit with me. Darren’s a lot younger.

            – Is he an amputee too?

            – Yeah, bilateral hooks, like yours. I should ask him round. I reckon you’d get on together.

            – Listen, mate. I think me and you are gonna get on well enough that we won’t need outside help. Is there anything you want now?

            – Well, if I’m honest, I need a pee.

            – You only need to say. Come on!

 

Nick leaned forward for balance and stood. Alex shuffled forward on the seat until the tip of his peg hit the floor and he pushed himself upright. Nick stood aside for Alex to hook the bathroom door open. A chunk of rubber prevented the door from closing completely. Nick was wearing sports pants with nothing underneath. Alex pushed the pants down to Nick’s knees and moved around him to take Nick’s penis between the fingers of a hook. He carefully maintained tension to keep the hook open and watched a powerful steam of urine hit the bowl.

            – You shouldn’t keep it bottled up like that, mate. It’s not good for ya.

            – I don’t like to ask.

            – You don’t have any choice in the matter. Don’t do it again, right?

Nick looked at Alex in surprise and got a broad grin in return. His stream ended and Alex shook the last drops off. He turned the hot tap to its limit and ran his hooks under the water for a few seconds. He touched a towel hanging nearby and they returned to the living room.

            – What time do you want to eat? Don’t worry! I’ll feed you. Have you got food in or do we have to order?

            – There’s half a lasagne in the fridge. We could have that. Andrew made it a couple of days ago.

            – Good show. We’ll have that. I’m not much of a cook but I can do a decent fry-up. Shall we have it now?

            – Alright. Yes please.

            – Come and keep me company.

Alex followed Nick to the kitchen and Nick pointed towards the fridge with a foot.

            – In there somewhere.

Alex found the lasagne and Nick watched him manipulating his hooks to find plates and operate the microwave. Several times Alex paused to knock his hooks together to change their positions in an unself-conscious demonstration of disabled domesticity. Lasagne was a dish which required a fork or spoon to eat. Naked hooks were no good. They ate, sitting close together, passing comment on Andrew’s culinary skills. It was a tasty meal.

 

Alex had been present for only an hour but Nick already felt a growing sense of gratitude and warmth toward a complete stranger who had volunteered to sacrifice his time for him. Alex’s foreign background explained his complete lack of servitude. They were two men on the same wavelength with the same problem. Alex knew Nick was independently wealthy and need never worry about discrimination due to his disability but right now, he needed a bit of a helping hand and Alex was happy to give it. They lost their inhibitions towards each other during the afternoon and evening and by the time Alex helped Nick undress for bed around midnight, the atmosphere in Nick’s flat was much like that of two teenagers on their first camping trip. Alex made sure Nick was comfortable, wished him goodnight and retired to the guest bedroom. He removed his hooks, washed his stumps, spat out his dentures and pegged back to his room where he pulled his peg leg off. He massaged his leg stump with his arms stumps, enjoying the feeling of release from the confinement of the rigid sockets. He curled up on the inflatable mattress and was asleep within ten minutes.

 

Nick and Alex soon found a daily rhythm. The mornings were spent at home, most of the time in the kitchen, until Nick’s district nurse had visited and inspected his stumps. Five days after Alex’s arrival, Nick received permission to make an appointment with a prosthetist. Nick already knew through conversations with Alex what hooks he wanted, what type of socket and its colour. His stumps felt neutral unless he applied pressure to them. They were well cushioned, protected by muscle tissue. They were a little flabby but Alex assured him that it was better to have a bit of flesh on them. Alex and Nick discussed the choice of prosthetists in the local area and inevitably decided on Roehampton on the other side of the park, a hospital which had been famous for its rehabilitation of amputees for almost a century. An introductory visit was arranged for Tuesday the following week. Having settled that, it was time to go out for the daily constitutional in the park.

 

Alex threw a hoodie over Nick’s shoulders and poked the empty sleeves into the belly pocket. Nick had new elasticated shoes, cheap copies of a better known brand, found at the supermarket. Nick realised very well that his large selection of expensive lace-up shoes would need to be replaced with something he could manage himself, along with a huge change in his wardrobe. If he had a capable assistant, he would be able to appear in public at company functions in a suit and bow tie with exquisite patent leather shoes but he would never be able to dress himself that way. Alex dressed him comfortably and practically and the two departed for a long walk around the park. There were few other people around, few people to confront and notice the empty sleeves, or the restless silver hooks of the companion. Alex had no such compunction. He wore shorts and a T‑shirt, or a hoodie if the weather was cool. Nick grew familiar with the surprising appearance of his peg‑legged friend who walked as steadily and as quickly as he did himself. Alex never stopped gesturing with his hooks when he was talking. Nick loved seeing him and being with him.

 

The weekend approached.

            – What d’ya wanna do on Saturday? Shall we invite Andrew and his mate round?

            – I don’t think they live together but we could do that. What are you thinking of?

            – I thought it might be cool to have a few bevvies and get to know Whassisname.

            – Darren.

            – He’s the guy. Whatd’ya think?

Nick had not entertained guests for many weeks. The idea of rewarding Andrew and Darren in some small way was very appealing.

            – Let’s do it!

Alex sent email invitations and received grateful replies. They discussed what sort of food might go down well. Alex suggested spring rolls which were easy to handle and were usually fairly tasty and filling. Alex placed an order for four dozen tinnies, all the same supermarket brand, to arrive the next afternoon and sought out nearby Thai and Korean restaurants which delivered. Nick preferred Thai and Alex arranged delivery of fifty quid’s worth between four and six on Saturday afternoon. That was the catering sorted. Nick was amused by how matter-of-factly Alex simply assumed everyone would drink copious amounts of beer and nothing else all evening.

 

Andrew arrived first, soon after five. He held a plastic bag in one hook, which contained two bottles of red wine and two big bags of crisps.

            – Don’t know if this will help at all but I didn’t like to turn up empty-handed.

Alex took Andrew’s coat and threw it onto his bed. The pair shook hooks and Nick guided Andrew into the living room. Nick stood and Andrew hugged him.

            – How are you doing? Are you managing?

            – We’re doing great. I don’t know what I’d do without Alex around. Not only for the obvious reasons but I really appreciate the company. Just having someone around is a big morale boost.

            – Can I get you gents a beer? Can’t stand around empty-handed now the party’s begun. Darren won’t mind, I’m sure.

            – A beer would go down well.

            – Guessed as much. Half a tick.

Alex opened two beers and took them to Andrew and Nick. The third was for himself, the first of many. They walked out onto the balcony. The air was cool, the sun setting behind them, casting red and yellow light onto clouds silhouetting the trees, now almost bereft of leaves. It was a fine view. The bus Andrew had arrived on moved away from the terminus and turned towards the town centre. The next pulled in and Darren stepped off. He was also carrying a supermarket bag. Nick shouted down to him and Darren waved a hook in greeting. Alex buzzed him in and waited by the door. Darren exited the lift and the two men shook hooks and introduced themselves. Once again, Alex took the guest’s jacket and laid it on his bed. Darren took a bottle of vodka from his bag, which hung open from Darren’s hook.

            – Thanks very much, mate. I’ll put this with the others. You wanna beer?

            – Yes please.

Alex glanced down at the bag Darren was holding and saw something so unexpected that he swore.

            – Is that what I think it is? For Nick?

            – Who else? Yeah, it was on eBay and I’ve just got back from Kenton to pick it up.

            – I don’t know where that is but well done, mate. Jeez! He’s gonna go spare. They’re out on the balcony. Here, take this and go join ’em.

Darren received his first beer of the evening and went to join the others. He left the bag on the sofa.

            – Hi! How’s things?

            – Hi Darren. Good you could come.

            – I wouldn’t miss out on a good party. I brought a bottle, Alex took it. Vodka.

            – Oh good! Alex bought fifty cans of lager and nothing else.

            – I brought something else as well. A little something for you, Nick. It’s inside.

            – Oh? What is it?

            – Come and see.

The trio went back inside and Andrew closed the balcony door. Darren picked up the bag and withdrew a prosthetic right arm fitted with a Hosmer Five hook. Nick stared at it and at Darren, speechless.

            – I happened to see this on eBay yesterday and made a couple of enquiries about it. Apparently its owner and the seller got divorced and the wife is clearing out stuff that belonged to her one‑armed husband. He wears a bionic arm these days and doesn’t want this back.

            – So how come you already have it?

            – That’s the best bit. I asked where she would be sending it from and she said London, so I asked where. She said Kenton, so I’ve been up there to collect it. Came straight here.

            – How much did you pay for it?

            – Three fifty.

            – Wow!

            – Thanks very much, Darren. I’ll settle with you later on.

            – Do you want to try it out? It’s going to need some adjustment first, though. See if your stump fits in the socket.

Darren held it for Nick. The socket was longer than Nick’s stump. It curved around his shoulder and the harness was an inch or so too wide.

            – Let’s see if we can alter the harness.

Darren lifted the arm onto the dining table and everyone gathered around to watch. The straps were adjustable but were tight, having worn into a set position. Darren adjusted his own hooks in order to pluck at the webbing in an attempt to loosen them. It was difficult. The pink arm slid around on the tabletop.

            – Let me try. It looks frustrating. Darren, can you fetch a fork from the kitchen?

Darren did so. Andrew used it in an attempt to pry at the canvas straps with one of the tines. He continued for a few minutes until Alex also insisted on trying. Slowly, the straps were loosening. Nick was excited and impatient but said nothing. It was incredible to think he would have a hook by the end of the evening. Whether he could use it for anything was another matter. There was time enough to learn.

 

After an hour or so and four more beers, the prosthesis was ready for another trial fitting. Alex offered it for Nick to don and held it in place while Darren fed the shoulder loop over Nick’s left stump and centred the harness. The straps were comparatively easy to adjust. The cables also needed shortening slightly. Finally, Nick announced he was satisfied. Alex released his grip and Nick stood wearing his first artificial arm. He stretched his left shoulder and the forearm rose. He relaxed and it dropped. He laughed at the novelty of the situation and the others beamed at him.

            – This calls for a celebration. I’ll get some tinnies.

 

Those with bilateral hooks sat back with fresh drinks and watched Nick experimenting with his astonishing new equipment. The previous owner had treated it well. The harness was shiny in places where it had chafed against clothes and the elbow showed signs of wear, obviously by leaning on it. Nick had viewed many instructional video guides intended for amputee patients and understood the theory of how the forearm could be locked in position in order to then operate the hook. He swung the arm and tried to catch it at the optimum moment, jerking his stump and shoulder to lock the forearm.

            – Does it feel loose, Nick? The socket, I mean.

            – Well, kind of loose. The tip of my stump is not touching anything. I wonder if I added some kind of filler if it would feel more secure.

            – You could try something like foam rubber or styrox that you can shape to fit.

            – We’ll see what we can find. Otherwise we could roll up a coupla pairs of socks. Come and sit down, Nick, and have some beer.

Nick succeeded in locking his forearm at ninety degrees and sat down next to Alex who lifted a can of lager to his lips.

 

            – You know, if I can use this hook, I might not need a new pair.

            – True enough. You think you can get by with just one arm?

            – I was thinking that using two prostheses like this is going to be too demanding for me, at least to start off with. I’d rather have one and get used to it before thinking about having two. I like the way my left stump has found its purpose in life too.

It was long enough to keep the harness loop in place. A useful appendage.

            – Darren, before I forget, let me have your bank account number and I’ll transfer you the money.

            – Alright. There’s no rush, Nick.

Nick was soon on his feet again, practising. He wanted to bring the hook close to his face. If he could manage to hold something in the hook and bring it close, he might even be able to smoke a pipe again, although he could not imagine how he could ever work an ordinary lighter.

 

Alex maintained a regular flow of new beers and brought a plate of spring rolls direct from the microwave. Nick took Darren to the kitchen and told him to write down his bank details. He watched Darren wielding a pen, slowly forming a long series of numbers. He wondered if he would ever be able to write with a hook. He would make an attempt. He could start with his signature.

 

So the evening continued. No-one drank too much, just enough to feel a little merry. It was a uniquely special evening not only because Nick had gained a prosthesis but also because of the severe disabilities of the other three, none of whom regarded themselves as especially disabled. Nick took heart from watching them with renewed interest. In the present company, a pair of hooks looked perfectly normal. Nick determined to learn to use his new arm as soon as possible. It would make a lot of things easier if he could be one‑armed.

 

Alex was impressed by Nick’s dedication. During the following week, Nick set himself tasks to master and kept practising until he was satisfied. He concentrated on operating the forearm and hook first, paying attention to the unnatural body movements required to lock and unlock the forearm in the required position. He had seen similarly equipped amputees using their arms in a manner which seemed natural. They had learned to incorporate the odd movements into a single fluid motion. It seemed to be a matter of timing, something which could be learned only through continual experience. He practised lifting various objects, the easiest of which were the empty beer cans. Alex rinsed one and half‑filled it with water and Nick learned how to position his hook so the opening in the can would coincide with where his mouth was. His shirtfront was wet for much of the day.

 

Alex found some sturdy foam packing material in an unused cardboard box and stuffed the socket with enough to provide support for Nick’s stump. Nick asked Alex to fit him with his arm after they had used the bathroom in the morning. Alex lifted a clean T‑shirt over Nick’s head and stretched the harness across his back. Nick wore his hook until late in the evening, for walks in the park, during shopping trips and generally tried everything which Alex did. He was completely unable to use a key to open their front door and neither of them thought that Nick would ever manage. They would have to buy an electronic lock with a number pad.

 

Nick did not ignore the opportunity to be fitted with a pair of custom‑made protheses. He made an appointment with Timothy Rose, a renowned prosthetist at Roehampton and arrived for his first consultation wearing his single hook, much to the prosthetist’s surprise. Nick explained how he had acquired it. Rose was impressed, not only by the man’s prowess in using it but also by the unusual thoughtfulness of his friend.

            – I’m quite sure that you will find it more comfortable to use your own personalised prostheses, Mr Williamson.

Rose made moulds of Nick’s shoulders and arm stumps, discussed the appearance of the new prostheses and took orders for a pair each of symmetrical and standard hooks. There would be one fitting of the sockets in a week to ten days, otherwise Rose estimated that Nick would have his own set of glossy black carbon arms in three weeks.

 

In a bid to show solidarity with his friend, Alex often donned only his right hook in the morning and tried not to use his left stump at all. Nick adopted the typical appearance of a man using an above‑elbow prosthesis—he kept the forearm at a ninety degree angle. It was more convenient to use the hook in that position for many small tasks. Nick gradually became accustomed to jerking the arm to switch from elbow to hook control and vice versa. It no longer seemed illogical or inconvenient. It was simply the way his arm worked and the way he did things. As he gained confidence, Nick’s disappointment at losing his elbows dissipated. He began to enjoy being additionally disabled by their loss. The short stumps at his shoulders were handsome in both their length and size. He admired the reflection of his body in the full‑length mirror. He was still masculine and his stumps were inoffensive personal attributes which he could display with pride. He had been despondent to discover that the tips of his stumps could not meet across his chest. But, he reasoned, for all practical purposes that particular ability was low on the list of useful characteristics.

 

Alex prepared for his departure. His new job in Antwerp came with a semi‑furnished apartment, a large kitchen and living room and an adequate bedroom. It was on the second floor, one storey above street level, with no lift. There was a tram stop fifty metres from the entrance, a small grocery shop close by and a public library opposite. When Alex imagined himself in his new home, Nick was always present until he realised that Nick was not going with him. Then the attractive flat seemed desolate and lonely.

 

            – Nick, what would you say if I invited you to share my flat in Antwerp? Do you think you could arrange the papers in time?

            – You mean you want me to move to Belgium with you?

            – Yeah. It would be fun. There’s no reason you have to be here, is there? You can go anywhere you want.

            – Well, assuming I can get the right permits and everything. Are you serious? You want me to come with you?

            – Sure. Shall we look at the requirements for a resident’s permit? My new company is handling it all for me so I’m not sure what you’re gonna need. I’ve been thinking about us and I don’t wanna lose you.

            – I’d miss you too after all you’ve done for me. Alright, let’s have a look online. I suppose I could put this apartment up for rent. I wouldn’t like to sell it.

            – No, there’s no need to do that.

 

Nick felt huge relief. He was grateful for all of Alex’s assistance with all the domestic difficulties faced by a bilateral arm amputee. There was another aspect to their relationship which suddenly made itself obvious. Nick would not face another emotional loss so soon after losing his arms. The fact of the matter was simply that Nick loved Alex. Neither of them had said as much or had sought physical favours of the other. But any outsider would notice their easy fraternal relationship and assume they were in a committed, long‑standing relationship. Perhaps they were destined for one. Now they would have the opportunity to forge on in a new environment in a new homeland where they could be free to lead the lives they wanted.

 

There were still a few days before Nick’s prostheses were due. He enjoyed wearing the second‑hand arm. It was psychologically reassuring to have something which he could manipulate at the end of a prosthesis, a simple steel hook, which allowed him to actually do a few useful things. Learning to operate the device also helped fill the days until the move. They would depart for Antwerp with the bare minimum, a few clothes and personal effects. Alex made a few trips between his old apartment and Nick’s retrieving items such as books and records which he wanted to keep but which were cumbersome to take to Belgium.

 

Nick was invited to Roehampton to receive his artificial arms. The final fitting. It would be interesting to compare the new custom‑made equipment with the old prosthesis. Nick arrived in good time, wearing a smart jacket and jeans. The left sleeve hung empty and the steel hook glinted at the end of the other. Nick sat in the waiting room, staring at it resting motionless on his right thigh. Such a shocking sight to the uninitiated, so desirable and erotic to the few voluntary amputees like Nick who had willingly divested themselves of their hands in order to go through life using hooks. Such severe disablement, such fulfilling physical perfection. Nick was still conscious of the fact that he had been cheated of the stumps he lusted after, but despite becoming a DAE against his will, he was still excited and enthusiastic by the image of himself he would always present, a tall good‑looking man with sleek plastic prostheses and the eternal steel hooks. He wondered if the Belgian attitude to disablement was less mawkish than that in England. Time would tell. Tim Rose appeared and called Nick. Nick shrugged to raise his hook and the two men shook hands for the first time.

            – Good to see you again. Everything is ready for you to try on. How have you been getting on with that arm?

            – It’s fine. I’m slowly getting used to it.

            – Let’s see you use it. Can you do a couple of the training exercises for me? Can you manipulate these building blocks for me? Build a tower.

 

Nick struggled out of his jacket. It was easier to operate the elbow without extra weight on it. Nick stretched the forearm, jerked his shoulder to activate the hook cable. He picked up the first block and placed it on top of another and opened the hook. He swung his whole body around and leaned forward to position the hook over another block and repeated the sequence. Rose was more than impressed. He said nothing but was almost shocked to see how fluently Nick was moving, using his entire upper body to get the hook where it was needed, not needing to stop to alter functions. In the short time available to him, Nick had progressed beyond the abilities of most above‑elbow amputees after several months. Perhaps the man was a natural, one of those rare men who were destined to adopt prosthetic hooks and make them their own. Rose did not really believe in destiny. It was all a matter of determination. He had no idea that Nick had been determined to use hooks. He was seeing the result of Nick’s enthusiasm.

 

Nick looked up at Rose when the tower stood four blocks high.

            – Do you want more? How high shall we go?

            – Ha! You can stop now. I’m very impressed. I was especially interested to see how you switch between using the hook and operating the elbow.

            – I didn’t need to once I’d set the angle.

            – No, you didn’t. And that’s exactly what I would have suggested you learn to do. Come on over here and let’s see how you get on a with a pair.

 

Nick was amused by the care Rose took when handling the prostheses. He was used to seeing Alex slinging his harness over his shoulders every morning and roughly shoving his stumps into the sockets, followed by a shake and thrust to test the hooks. Alex was a little more thoughtful when donning Nick’s arm, making sure the tension loop was seated comfortably over his left stump in his armpit and holding the arm while Nick pushed his right stump into the socket. Rose treated the glossy black prostheses as if they were fragile. They were beautiful items. Everything about them was pristine, unused. He asked Nick to doff the arm and set about rolling two silicon liners with locking pins onto Nick’s stumps.

            – This is something you may have trouble with at first. If you have an assistant, ask them to help out at first. The liners are marked so you know which is left and right and also which way is forwards. Try not to allow the pin to point other than directly downwards. You will have two sets of liners when you leave. Make sure that you keep them clean—wash them every night and allow them to dry in the air overnight. Are they comfortable? Not too tight?

            – No, they seem fine.

            – Good. I am going to place the arms on the table and I want you to put your stumps into the sockets with the harnessing over them, do you understand? The next step is to raise your stumps, lower your head, and lift the harnessing so it falls behind your head and across your shoulders. Do you understand the sequence?

            – Yes, I understand.

            – Very well. Please go ahead.

The arms were both straight and pointed away from him. Nick bent low and twisted to persuade the thick black canvas harness up so it lay on top of the sockets. It would have been easier if his stumps were long enough to meet across his chest but they could not. Nick started on the left, entering the socket from a low angle, attempting to push into it. Friction from the liner caused the arm to simply slide away from him.

            – You see the first problem. Let me hold the arm while you try again.

            – Would this be any easier if I let the arms hang around my shoulders first and then put my stumps into the sockets?

            – That is an alternate way, and you are welcome to try later but this is the way we teach new amputees because it is possible to see the process and gain an understanding of how the prostheses fit. Try again while I hold the arm steady.

 

Nick knocked the socket into a better position with his stump and inserted it into the socket. The pin entered its locking receptor after a couple of attempts and Nick pushed into it further, hearing three clicks as his stump locked into the arm.

            – Very good. Try the other, three clicks to keep things even.

The artificial arms were locked onto Nick’s stumps. His libido awoke and he began to become erect at seeing his own artificial arms for the first time. His steel hooks curved attractively at their tips. No more hands! His erection strengthened.

            – Now all you need to do is to get the harness over your head. It may be a bit of a struggle but remember that your arms are locked on now and won’t come off.

Nick raised his arms, letting the harness drape across his face. He instinctively bent his head and struggled to raise the harness higher. Suddenly it flicked back, mussing his hair and fell across his upper back. For the first time, Nick felt the sensation of being caressed by the pressure from his artificial arms. He had become whole again.

            – If the harness feels comfortable, try spreading your shoulders. The locking pins either side may well sit more firmly.

Nick imagined lifting his arms to the side, spreading his shoulders. Two more clicks issued from both sides.

            – Good. How does that feel?

            – Great! I feel whole again.

            – That’s good to hear. Now follow me back to where we began and we’ll test the arms’ responsiveness.

 

Nick stood and felt the weight of the arms across his shoulders. The steel hooks weighed half a kilo each and their weight felt reassuring as they swung slightly with his movement. As he walked across to the other table, Nick jerked his arm to test the elbow lock. The arm rose to a ninety degree angle and stayed in place. He shrugged his left shoulder and the hook opened. Nick smiled with pleasure at how responsive the prosthesis felt. He had only his shoulders and two short stumps and felt he controlled the world.

            – Let’s see if you can rebuild that tower. You’ll need to reposition that hook first.

 

It was true. The right hook pointed left. It needed to point up. Nick looked around quickly for something he could hold the hook in place with while he twisted his body. He walked a few steps to a work bench with a drawer, pulled it ajar and inserted his hook. He turned to the right and extracted the hook to see that it pointed up.

            – Very well done, Nick. That’s exactly what I would have suggested. Use the things around you to help you. It’s possible to add a wrist which would allow you to alter the angle of the hook by pressing a button but they are a little unreliable and not as robust as what you are currently wearing.

            – I can manage with this.

            – I’m sure you can. Go ahead with the tower and pay attention to any slack or chafing you might feel. I want those arms to fit you perfectly without any pressure anywhere before I let you have them.

 

It took Nick three minutes to pile four blocks on top of a fifth. Rose watched his body movements. The left arm hung down. It needed testing too.

            – Now I want you to use your left arm to do the same.

            – It might be a bit slower. I’m not used to having an arm there.

            – No, of course not. It’s not a race, Nick. Take your time and get used to the movements. How did the right hook feel? Is it responsive enough for you? Can you feel any slack? Does it feel tight?

            – It feels perfect. It moves as soon as I put pressure on it and the elbow feels very solid. I was wondering, are these new arms shorter than the one I had before?

            – I think they may be a couple of centimetres shorter overall. Those are optimised for your stumps, taking things like weight and torque into consideration. Slightly shorter prostheses allow you to handle things like drinks more securely. You can get heavier objects closer to your face, you see.

 

Nick continued building his tower, gently aligning the edges with a hook on a rigid forearm. Rose was again impressed. His patient was a star. He might even be a useful candidate to teach new amputees, to help assure despairing patients and their families that life certainly went on after amputation with correctly fitted artificial arms. Rose would keep an eye on Nick’s progress during the following months and make a proposal later. Nick placed a fifth block on his tower and leant back, grinning at Rose, both hooks pointing toward the ceiling.

            – Whaddaya think?

            – I think you’re a remarkable young man, Nick. I’m sure your experience with your first arm has been useful but you seem quite accomplished with the new prostheses and I’m quite prepared to let you sign for them and take them with you. I’ll make an appointment for some time next month to review them, and then I suggest you call in every three months over the next year and we can make any alterations which may be necessary.

            – Well, there is one thing, Dr Rose. In a fortnight or so, I’m joining my current assistant in his new apartment in Antwerp, Belgium. I anticipate being out of the country for quite a while, and although it is not a great distance, it might be more convenient for me to find a local prosthetist.

            – Oh! Well, of course it would be. Antwerp, did you say? That is quite a coincidence. Antwerp has the Belgian equivalent of Roehampton, a centre for prosthetics and amputee rehab. Just a moment. I may have the contact details of an arm specialist whom I met at a conference last year. Excuse me for a moment.

 

Rose went to his office and flipped through his collection of recent business cards. Here it was. Henk Goossens, prosthetist upper extremity, Antwerp, Belgium. Rose copied all the details except the phone number onto a sheet of paper and returned to see Nick trying to twist his right hook by holding it with his left.

            – Here it is. Send him an email or write to the clinic. He might well take you on as a patient. Say hello to him from me. Tell him I sent you.

            – I’ll do that. Thank you very much.

 

Rose reached across the table for a sheath of papers. They were to confirm receipt of the prosthetic arms. Nick needed to sign in six locations. Rose held out a rubber‑clad rollerball pen and waited until Nick had gripped it in a hook.

            – You need to sign in these locations and the arms are yours.

Rose held the papers steady as Nick moved his shoulder slightly. The initials N and W were clear enough. Rose was again impressed. Nick had obviously practised writing. He was taking the business of rehabilitation seriously, quite independently of exhortations from an official source. Both men stood and shook again, hand to hook. Rose put the old prosthesis into Nick’s rucksack and helped Nick put his jacket on. He saw him to the exit.

            – Don’t forget you can contact us any time if you need advice. I wish you the best of luck with your move. I’m rather envious, in fact. I wish I were coming with you. Good luck, Nick.

            – Thank you for everything, Dr Rose.

 

Nick walked along the curving pathways of Roehampton’s entrance and crossed the road into the park. A mile ahead was his apartment, the long row of Edwardian terraced houses barely visible as yet. Once again, Nick appreciated the new weight on his shoulders and looked down to see the steel hooks hanging by his side. He had wanted them for all his life and now he had them at last. He was a bilateral upper limb amputee with prosthetic arms and the technical language disguised the reality—he had good‑looking healthy stumps and brand‑new steel hooks. The winter sunshine sparkled along their pristine curves.

 

Alex was impressed by the grinning figure standing before him when he opened the door. He glanced down at the hooks poking out of the sleeves. Now they were equals, almost.

            – Come inside mate and let me have a look at what they’ve given you.

Nick struggled with his jacket until Alex lifted it off his shoulders. The prostheses were visible in their entirety over Nick’s white T-shirt. They looked superb.

            – They look great! Are they comfortable?

            – Yup. I hardly notice I’m even wearing them.

            – Howdya like having two arms again?

            – It feels good. I like being symmetrical again.

            – You look really good, Nick. I guess you’ve got what you wanted now.

            – Apart from losing my elbows, yeah, I have. But I’m gonna make up for that by learning to use these at least as well as you use yours.

            – I hope you do. This calls for a celebration. Wanna beer?

            – I’d kill for one.

            – No need for that. They’re in the fridge. Bring me one, too.

Nick looked at Alex and broke into a grin. Now he could get back into things and Alex could stop having to pamper him. Alex watched Nick carefully extract two tinnies and rip them open. He was slow but he was doing something few men would ever experience. Nick bent his knees and lowered himself to pick up a can of beer, gripped it near the base and swung around to hand it to Alex, who gripped it near the top.

            – OK, got it.

Nick shrugged to release the hook and turned to pick up his own.

            – Cheers! To the future!

 

Alex arranged to be met at Antwerp Centraal by his future foreman Piet Winter, who had generously agreed to help his new colleague set up a new household. Piet was actually the same age as Alex but looked older with a long full beard which was already streaked with grey. He was completely bald. He was taken aback when Alex introduced Nick to him.

            – This is my good mate, my companion. I didn’t want to leave him behind so I brought him with me.

Piet reached out to shake hands. Nick had already anticipated it and had activated his elbow mechanism. He lifted his right hook and leaned forward to offer it to Piet. Piet shook it gently, shocked that both men were similarly disabled. He had never seen a man with two artificial arms before. Now here were two.

            – I’m pleased to meet you. Welcome to Antwerp. Shall we go first to your apartment? You can leave your baggage and then we can go to buy a few things you need.

            – That sounds like a good idea. Do you have a car?

            – Yes. It’s in the car park.

            – Good show. Lead the way, mate.

A gleaming silver Audi awaited. Piet took the newcomers’ rucksacks and suitcases and put them in the boot. He unlocked the doors and Nick climbed into the back seat. Alex reached down and began unscrewing his peg leg. He was wearing his cut-off leather trousers—one full leg, one sliced off at the knee. The steel pylon loosened and Alex sat in the front passenger seat, the pylon still in a hook.

            – It is not far to your apartment. I think you are very lucky to live near the town centre. And it is easy to get to work on the tram fourteen. It stops outside your building.

            – So we don’t need a car.

            – No, not if you stay around the town centre. And the public transport is quite good.

Piet pointed out a few useful places on the way. Antwerp was an interesting mix of the old and ultranew. Stunning experiments in post-modern architecture glinted in the winter sunlight making a bright contrast with the tall narrow facades of the older buildings. Piet turned into a cobbled side road with tram tracks each side and parked on the pavement in front of a residential building built a century ago.

            – Here is your address. You need the code to open the doors.

            – I think I can remember it. We’ll see.

Nick succeeded in opening his door which he regarded as a minor victory. Alex stepped out and leaned against the car, trying to home the pylon into the thread in his socket. Piet walked around the car and looked at the unlikely sight. The pylon refused to position itself correctly.

            – I’m sorry. Would you like some help?

            – D’you know, mate. I think I would. Take this and screw it into me stump.

Alex released his hook and Piet inspected the lower section of Alex’s peg leg. Alex lifted his stump so Piet would see how the pylon attached to his socket. Piet thought it was one of the oddest things he had ever done. It was oddly erotic, too. The black socket looked like some kind of huge phallus. For some inexplicable reason, he felt the onset of an erection. He nodded acknowledgement to Alex’s thanks and went to remove the meagre luggage from the back of the car. Alex pegged over to the entrance and tested the entry code he had memorised. The number pad had small numbered metal buttons. The tip of a hook fit onto them perfectly. The lock clacked open and he held the door open for Piet to lift their things inside. Nick bent his knees and waved his hooks around until they caught hold of straps and handles and carried his own possessions behind Piet and Alex. Their flat was one floor up and the building had no lift. Alex looked at the ornate curving art nouveau staircase, impressed by its beauty and began the slow ascent. Piet followed, looking at the motion of the steel peg leg. His cock twitched again. Alex’s left hook clattered on the brass handrail. Behind him, Nick walked up slowly at Alex’s pace. Reaching the landing, Alex looked around at four doors to find number three. He poked the number pad set in the wall and the door to his and Nick’s new home clicked open.

 

The exterior was a beautifully restored example of art nouveau architecture. The interior was very much up‑to‑date. The walls were white, the floors wooden with a golden patina, the kitchen white and brushed steel. Alex peeked into the bedroom where a double bed stood, bereft of sheets and covers. The longest wall comprised built-in cupboards. He pegged along to the bathroom and found a large tiled space with a shower, toilet, bidet and space for a washing machine. And the toilet and shower were equipped with steel supports for disabled users. It was superb. In addition, it had underfloor heating but Alex did not realise it yet.

 

He returned to the living room, where Piet and Nick stood by the window, chatting quietly.

            – This is great, Nick. You should see the bathroom.

Nick walked over to it and looked inside. Alex took his jacket off while chatting to Piet about the library opposite and then plucked at the buckles holding his left prosthesis. It loosened and he shook it off his stump. It hung by its straps and Alex draped it across the kitchen island which divided the living space. Piet looked at the hairy arm stump and immediately thought it resembled a huge penis. He had never seen a stump before and found himself staring at the remarkable sight of an arm without a hand. Alex continued to look around, scratching his stump with his hook, relieved to be free of the socket. Piet suddenly froze as he began to ejaculate into his underwear. He looked around in panic to see if the amputees had noticed.

            – Excuse me. I have to go to the bathroom.

To his great relief, there was half a roll of toilet paper in its holder. He opened his trousers and pulled his underpants open to wipe the wet mess. The smell of sperm rose to his nostrils. This was so embarrassing. What the hell was happening? He had never realised that amputees were a turn-on. And they were men! He cleaned himself and flushed the toilet. He checked his appearance in the mirror and decided that the best way forward was to distract himself. He rinsed his fingers and shook them dry.

            – Maybe you would like to go out and buy some things. You need plates and sheets, I think.

            – Yup. Are the shops open on Sundays here?

            – The big stores outside town are open but the small ones are shut, except for food shops.

            – So we can go shopping tomorrow for more stuff.

            – Yes.

Piet thought quickly.

            – Would you like me to come and help?

            – That’s very kind of you. Yes, of course we’d like some help.

            – OK. I will come about eleven. But shall we also go now?

            – Yeah, let’s go and get some coffee. I’m parched.

 

Piet held both men’s jackets for them while they fed their unfeeling arms into the sleeves. Alex was determined not to remove his peg again.

            – Let me sit in the back seat. I can stretch me peg along it. Nick can go in the front.

Piet drove them to an industrial area on the outskirts. There were a couple of hypermarkets, a swanky shopping centre and Ikea. Piet drove into the car park and stopped as close to the entrance as he could. His one‑armed, one‑legged passenger jumped out and opened Nick’s door from the outside. Nick’s hooks flailed as he sought his balance and exited the vehicle. Piet locked the car and they made their way into the labyrinth. Alex pegged directly to the Informatie desk and asked if his purchases could be delivered later that evening to Bruggestraat in the town centre. The young woman behind the desk immediately scrabbled on her keyboard and looked up. Alex had lifted his hook onto the counter top and was leaning on it. Her eyes opened wide until she realised what she was seeing and she made a brave effort to smile.

            – If you can collect everything in ninety minutes then we can deliver between eight and nine this evening. Tell the cash desk about delivery.

            – Perfect! Thank you very much.

Alex joined the others standing a little further away. The woman watched as the hunk she had spoken to walked away on a peg leg. His friend had two hooks! Her muscles relaxed and she felt the first warm frisson of moistness.

 

Nick tussled with a large plastic basket in his hooks. It slid around annoyingly. He tried gripping it between his hooks but it fell to the floor after a few seconds. They came to the kitchenware department. They needed two of everything. Forks, spoons, knives, glasses for water, for beer, mugs, a set of tall square glass containers, big plates, small plates, bowls for corn flakes. Nick and Alex both tested the cutlery to make sure they could handle them. A pack of tea towels. A brush for washing up. On to the bedroom section. Sheets, duvet, pillows, pillowslips. Bath towels, hand towels, flannels. A row of towel hooks held on by suction pads.

            – Put our hooks on that of a night, eh, mate? I reckon we’ve got enough. We can come back tomorrow if we’ve forgot something.

 

Piet had been watching the amputees operating their hooks and was infatuated with the way Alex manipulated his in conjunction with his hairy stump. What might that actually feel like? Not to have any hands. Just beefy forearms which ended in nothing. He was interested to know how the hook worked. How was it possible to open it and close it? He would have to ask one of the men. It must feel wonderful to put the hooks on every morning so you could do things and then simply take them off again at night.

            – Shall we pay for these and go?

            – We need to get some food. Piet, can you stop at a supermarket?

Piet stopped daydreaming about stumps and returned to the moment.

            – Yes, of course. There is a big one in the shopping centre or there is another small supermarket on your street. Which one would you like to see first?

            – Let’s get everything in the big one.

 

It was extremely well stocked. It sold clothing and domestic hardware as well as foodstuffs. Alex splashed out and bought a red and chrome espresso machine. They bought bread, margarine, sliced ham, müesli, milk, yoghurt, brown sugar and half a kilo of Italian ground coffee.

            – That’s enough for tonight and breakfast. We’ll take a look at the local shop tomorrow.

The two amputees walked in front of Piet towards the cash desk. Piet watched Alex’s peg leg. It was fascinating to think that something so simple could replace an entire leg. How was it attached? He had screwed the peg into the black socket but had no idea what the socket was like or how it stayed on the stump underneath. Piet decided he would take a look online for some more info. He was too polite to delve too far into such personal things. It could be a delicate matter which they were embarrassed about. On the other hand, Alex did not seem to be embarrassed about his peg leg, or his steel hook hand or his naked hairy arm stump. It was all completely new to Piet. And he rather liked it. It was interesting. He had yet another erection.

 

Piet had intended to help his new colleague for a couple of hours before returning home. Instead, he found himself unpacking groceries and setting up the espresso machine. They had foolishly forgotten to bring mugs and glasses with them. They would be delivered later in the evening. Alex announced he had no intention of spending a Saturday evening in an empty flat, so after persuading Nick, the three men left to explore the neighbourhood. Piet told them snippets of local history and explained the role Antwerp had enjoyed centuries ago in the Merchant Times. Alex spotted a bar and insisted that they pay it a visit to try out the local beer. Nick struggled with his prostheses. His leather jacket was a little stiff and he was unable to manipulate his elbows. Piet held his beer stein for him to drink from. It was a surprisingly intimate action. For some reason, which he did not understand, Nick was more disabled with two hooks than Alex was with only one. He did not realise that Nick had been a bilateral hook user for less than a month.

 

They returned via the supermarket. Alex bought a dozen tinnies and some disposable paper cups. It would be enough until the purchases were delivered. No-one said anything about Piet leaving. He declined any more beer, saying that he had to drive home later. He watched the amputees and their artificial arms, trying to discover how the hooks opened without enquiring. Once again, his penis reacted to what he was seeing and imagining. He would have to masturbate when he got home. How did these two masturbate? Did they use their hooks? How would it feel to wank with a hook? Was it even possible? He imagined Alex’s stump trying to hold his penis with the other stump which he had not yet seen.

 

Alex made espresso for them. Piet offered to help but Alex declined. Piet watched him struggling to open the tin of coffee. He gripped the tin with his stump and finally succeeded in loosening its lid. Before long, the machine hissed and the small kitchen filled with the aroma of fresh coffee. The paper cups were awkward to drink from. The hooks crushed them easily. Piet thought it a suitable moment to enquire about how the hooks opened. Alex got up and fetched his left prosthesis and handed it to Piet. It was surprisingly light. He indicated the cable and turned his back so Piet could see how it linked to the harness. Alex and Nick were amused by Piet’s innocent interest. He would certainly have a thorough understanding from now on.

 

Despite Alex’s insistence that he did not need help in the kitchen, Piet was reluctant to leave before their purchases had been delivered. He could help the amputees open packaging and perhaps assist in making up their bed. It was a little odd that they should both share the same bed but needs must. There was only one bedroom and it was not quite big enough for two beds.

 

The goods arrived shortly before eight. Two uniformed lads carried four cardboard boxes in and placed them in the entrance hall. One handed the invoice to Alex for signing and held out a pen. He watched in fascination as Alex held the paper steady with his handless stump and scrawled his initials with a hook. Alex nipped the invoice by a corner and handed it back. The boys left and Piet closed the door.

            – Let me help with these things and then I must be going.

Without waiting to hear the reply, Piet carried the first box to the kitchen island and began unpacking it. Crockery, cutlery and glasses needed to be washed. Labels needed to be sliced off but no-one had scissors or a sharp knife. That was something to buy tomorrow. Alex put his left prosthesis on and the pair made the double bed together.

 

            – I will see you again tomorrow at eleven.

            – Thank you, Piet. It’s been good getting to know you. Until tomorrow.

 

Piet drove home, poured himself a whisky and sat to watch a late evening news broadcast. He stared at the screen but all he could see was an image of himself bearing two prosthetic arms.

 

As promised, he returned the next morning. The amputees had made a mental list of the things they needed to buy, including electric scissors and a washing machine. It was going to be an expensive day. By four o’clock, they had breezed through a thousand five hundred euros and three separate deliveries were due throughout the following week. Piet dropped the men off outside their building and drove home. The amputees opened a couple of tinnies and relaxed in their new place. Alex was much less anxious about starting his new job the next day, having discussed it with foreman Piet and Nick was content to remain at home waiting for their recent purchases to be delivered. He was planning to learn Flemish. It did not seem difficult. Many of the words were almost the same as in English, which he had noticed when they were out shopping. And it didn’t seem too difficult to pronounce, either. He sought out a course to follow on his phone and hoped there would not be many written exercises.

 

Alex was welcomed into his team by his future workmates, none of whom had ever met an Australian before, not to mention an Australian with a steel peg leg and a pair of hooks. Brash as always, Alex shook everyone’s hands and did his best to learn everyone’s names. Piet briefed the entire team on a new project involving the mutation of an enzyme which might extend the shelf life of dairy products. Everyone including Alex would be in on the project from its outset and he immediately felt part of the team. Everyone spoke English, since it was an international crowd, but Alex thoughtfully spoke more slowly and used more formal English. He really ought to learn some of the local lingo.

 

Nick had ordered a pair of symmetrical hooks when he was fitted with his arms but they had not arrived by the time of the move. He was managing well enough with the Hosmer Fives but realised early on that it would be easier to handle things like bottles, tin, cups and mugs if his hooks gripped the cylindrical forms more securely. Doctor Rose had mentioned that Antwerp had a rehab centre for amputees. Nick set about searching for it with the intention of ordering a pair of the symmetrical hooks. He suddenly remembered that he had been given the name of a prosthetist. If only he could remember where he put it.

 

He found it inside his passport. Henk Goossens. He set about composing an email to introduce himself explaining he had been given Goossens’ name by Timothy Rose in Roehampton. He wanted to know if it was possible to buy a pair of symmetrical hooks.

 

Goossens was delighted to receive greetings from Tim and decided to meet the new arrival. He replied and invited Nick to the rehab centre three days hence. Nick was pleased and returned to his Flemish language course. It had been easy so far and he had heard some of the words and phrases he was learning actually being used in public.

 

Alex was faring equally well at his new job. The entire team kept a close eye on him. Most of them had never met an amputee before and they were astonished to see Nick doing everything with his hooks. Piet also dropped by several times to ask how he was managing, if he needed anything, how he was being received. The truth of the matter was that Piet had been unable to get the image of steel hooks and arm stumps out of his mind. He wanted to look at them. More than that—he was becoming certain that he wanted his own. It was surprising but seeing both Alex and Nick wearing bilateral hooks seemed uniquely desirable. He wanted to join them in wielding his own pair of prosthetic arms. He had never wanted anything so intensely or urgently, not even his car after he got his driver’s licence. His problem was familiar to Nick, at least. What was the best way to go about ridding himself of his hands to make way for hooks? He could hardly ask the amputees. It sounded ridiculous. Offensive, even. He had been too circumspect to even ask them how they had lost their hands. He watched Alex arranging a sheaf of papers for a few more seconds and went back to his office.

 

Nick was interested to hear about Alex’s experiences at work. He had shown three of his colleagues how the hooks opened and despite his warning, two of them had insisted on feeling how strong their grip was. Against his better judgment, he nipped the proffered fingers and laughed at the shouts of pain. He had four rubber bands on both hooks and knew the hooks could deliver a fearsome bite. Alex listened to Nick repeating a few words in Flemish and recognised some of them.

            – We should both make an effort to learn the basics. It’d be good to understand signage and get the gist of what people are saying. I know everyone speaks English anyway but it gives a good impression to learn a few words.

            – That’s what I was thinking.

They spent much of the evening watching an old comedy series on YouTube. They had not thought about buying a tv yet. Neither of them really watched it. They read the news on their phones, the entire gamut of the internet was available on their laptops. Alex realised they ought to arrange for a Belgian broadband service. The evening’s comedies had probably cost a bomb. Nick said he would get on to it as soon as their weekend’s purchases had been delivered.

 

The previous evening had been their first night sharing the same bed. It had been a busy day and they were both grateful to retire for the night. There was enough room for two and each had their individual covers. This evening, Alex pushed himself closer to Nick and rubbed his stump up and down Nick’s thigh.

            – Do you wanna cuddle?

            – Oh man! I wish I could.

            – Give it a try. Come here.

Nick squirmed as close as he could, holding his meagre stumps out in a futile attempt to grasp his friend. He was face to face with Alex. Alex gently bit Nick’s lower lip. Nick responded by kissing Alex full on the mouth. Their stumps flailed in an attempt to pull the other closer. Alex ran a stump around Nick’s face, touching his forehead and eyes. He kicked his cover onto the floor and worked his way under Nick’s. Neither man had access to their genitals. Both had erections and both altered position so their penises could touch. In the absence of manual excitement, the other’s dick would have to do. Alex started fucking Nick’s cock and balls first, enjoying the friction from his mate’s coarse pubic hair. His cock was standard issue except for its girth. It was thick at its base and looked shorter than it really was. It was powerful. Nick’s cock was longer, a generous eighteen centimetres, not so easy to control in the current circumstances. The glans slid around against Alex’s hairy thighs, now both wet with precum. Nick’s stumps tried to grip Alex closer and he groaned in frustration. More excited than ever by his limblessness, he forced his penis between Alex’s thighs and copulated into pubic hair and empty air until weeks of frustration erupted over both their cocks. Alex pushed Nick over onto his belly and used the slippery sperm to lubricate Nick’s arsehole. His rigid dick was unforgiving. Nick quickly relaxed as much as he could and allowed Alex inside. Alex leant on his elbows and shafted Nick with as much power as his thick cock could manage. A minute later, he was spent and placed his stumps around Nick’s neck.

            – Hold me.

Nick kicked the soaked cover onto the floor. Five minutes later, after recovering, Alex pulled his own back over the pair of them and they slept in each other’s stumps.

 

Piet spent a restless night. He had been watching a series of videos made by a man who had lost both arms above his elbows three years previously. He not only seemed perfectly content to wear the black prostheses but used them to work in his yard, digging and carrying sacks of mulch, and later when he was eating his evening meal. The sight of the narrow cylindrical forearms, similar to those which Nick used, was tremendously arousing. Now he understood why Nick was not as adept at using his hooks as Alex. Although he hoped to have his own hooks before long, he thought that amputations like Alex’s would suit him better. He wanted to be able to move his hooks around more easily than Nick. He seemed almost robotic in his movements. Piet dreamed of wearing two hooks. They were large, huge steel hooks half a metre wide. They poked out of his jacket and he tried to used them without luck. They clashed together. People stared at him in wonder. What were they looking at? Suddenly his body released its tension and he ejaculated into his sheets. It was his first wet dream in over a decade.

 

By the end of the week, everything the amputees had bought the previous weekend had been delivered and in the case of the washing machine, connected to the water supply and tested. More equipment was needed as life left its mark in the apartment. A vacuum cleaner would prove useful. Piet asked Alex in passing if everything had arrived and Alex mentioned still needing a few more items. Piet leapt at the opportunity to spend more time with the hook users and volunteered to ferry them out to the outskirts again to get what they wanted. He would call for them after lunch on Saturday.

 

They returned with a vacuum cleaner, an air fryer and a toaster as well as beanies and thick woollen pullovers. Antwerp was decidedly chilly in the winter months, thanks to its proximity to the North Sea. They called in at a phone store and signed up for Belgian national media services. For thirty euros a month, they would have access to unlimited internet and phone data. They had decided between them to go without a tv for the time being. Neither had the patience to invest huge amounts of time in following fantasy fiction, which seemed to comprise the majority of product on offer.  As Piet pulled up outside, Alex insisted Piet come inside for some coffee and he did so willingly. It was the ideal time for him to reveal what was preying on his mind, so he imagined. Nick slowly collected everything needed and asked only once for assistance. He could not lift and turn the container of water to fill the espresso machine. Piet did it for him and the two men sat opposite each other at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to brew.

 

            – Nick, I have something which is on my mind. It is something I do not understand and I am thinking about it always. I see dreams about it.

            – What’s on your mind, Piet? Waar denk je aan?

            – Oh! That’s very good, Nick. Well done. It’s difficult to explain. I hope you won’t hate me.

            – I’m sure I won’t hate you. What’s the problem?

            – It’s this. Since I met you and Alex, I can’t stop thinking about hooks. I mean that if I had hooks too.

            – You want hooks?

Piet looked at Nick with despair in his face.

            – Yes! I don’t understand it.

Nick understood only too well. Nick had obviously suppressed his BIID for years and seeing himself and Alex together had brought it to the fore.

            – It seems to me that I can not think of anything else except having a pair of hooks like you and Alex.

            – I understand, Piet. Don’t worry. I don’t hate you. Did you know that there are men who want to be disabled so they can use a hook or an artificial leg? Sometimes it is enough to just have a stump. It’s unusual but it not as rare as you think. There are lots of men who have arranged to lose limbs. Are you saying that you want to lose your hands so you can have hooks?

            – Yes, I think so.

            – Does it make you feel sexy when you see my hooks or Alex’s hooks?

            – I’m sorry, Nick. Yes, it does. I don’t know why. I don’t understand what is happening to me.

            – I know it’s difficult, Piet. Have you thought about how you can lose your hands?

            – No, not really. I don’t know how I could do it. I could put my hands under a tramcar, I suppose.

            – Oh, don’t do that. It’s very difficult for the tram driver and the passengers.

            – I guess so. I don’t know what to do.

            – But are you sure that you want to lose your hands?

            – Yes, I think so.

            – Alright. I will talk with Alex and we will try to think of something to help.

            – Thank you, Nick. I’m sorry if I sound mad.

            – No, not at all mad. There is nothing wrong with using hooks. It’s not mad.

            – You are very kind, Nick.

            – Shall we have some coffee now? I think it’s ready.

 

Piet looked so uncomfortable after his revelation that Nick did not mention it again, asking only about a few Flemish words he had seen around town but not yet understood. Piet immediately rallied and explained far more than Nick had enquired about. The language was beginning to make sense although the word order still seemed odd. Twenty minutes later, Piet made his excuses and left the apartment.

 

Nick had been surprised and then privately amused by Piet’s admission. He was hardly about to tell him about how he had frozen his own hands after pining for his own hooks. Without any hint of vindictiveness, Nick decided to help Piet come to terms with his obsession and composed an email, saving it in drafts, with advice from many sources on both BIID and how successful voluntary amputees had gone about their amputations. Nick’s hooks tapped slowly on his adapted keyboard. Later that evening, Nick repeated most of what Piet had told him to Alex, who laughed and admitted to recognising a wannabe in Piet. He approved of Nick’s email with its myriad links and Nick sent it on Sunday morning. Piet spent much of the day reading and rejecting the official descriptions of BIID and concentrated on the few bilateral amputees who admitted to causing their own disabilities. They did not look disabled to Piet.

 

Piet seemed subdued during the following week. He kept an eye on his team’s progress but spent less time in the lab. His infatuation with Alex’s artificial limbs threatened to become overwhelming and he realised in time that Alex would find the extra attention overbearing. In the interests of morale, he stayed away from the lab as much as possible. His mental turmoil did not diminish. He read and reread a thread taken from some forum in which its initiator described amputating his own hand at the wrist. It seemed to be a simple enough procedure. There were no bones to saw through. Once the tendons and so on had been severed, the hand simply fell off. Then the skin was sewn up and a month later, there was a viable stump. Piet assumed there must be more to it than that but the thread gave him renewed impetus. It was another method and probably the easiest to arrange. He spent several hours researching disarticulation and studied x-rays of the hand and wrist. In his growing determination to become an amputee, Piet did not consider the possibility that he was acting on impulse. His sudden introduction to bilateral amputation and the associated hooks which he fetishised overrode his normal consideration. He ignored the possibility that he would find himself severely handicapped after amputation. He had not yet thought about prosthetic care, nor did he yet have a realistic appreciation of what a life reliant on artificial limbs might be like.

 

Nick had been deflected from his own similar thoughts by the sudden change in living environment. He was financially independent and had no reason to worry about employment or how to adapt his maimed body to the demands of his working life. His long artificial arms were a daily challenge. Their range of movement was much less than Alex enjoyed with his below-elbow hooks and accustoming himself to operating his hooks was complicated and slow. Nick had been despondent about losing the opportunity to have long forearm stumps. All he had were short nubs at his shoulders, good only for holding the artificial arms to his body. But the stumps were handsome in their own right. Alex frequently complimented him on how masculine and well-balanced his body looked. Nick’s greatest frustration had been his inability to masturbate satisfactorily. The hooks extended to his genitals and a little beyond but he was unable to stroke his shaft with them. The problem was solved by Alex’s unsuspected preference for male sex and their proximity in the same bed. They were erotically excited by the other’s stumps—Alex by seeing a handsome man so severely disabled and Nick by seeing a masculine guy with only one whole limb who used his unsophisticated artificial limbs as naturally as a normal‑bodied man. Nick still regretted losing so much but was beginning to accept his short shoulder stumps. He loved his appearance when he was fully dressed, with Alex’s help, wearing smart chinos, a decent jacket and a good pair of boots with two steel hooks in place of his hands. It was the image he had wanted for many years and now he had achieved it. Learning to use his arms was a secondary matter. He would get there. In the mean time, he occupied his mind with something more outwardly useful—learning Flemish. It was proving to be surprisingly easy. The grammar was similar enough although the word order was a bit different. In order to practise writing, Nick set about making his own customised vocabulary list of words relating to disability and prosthetics which he found. When he met Henk Goossens, he intended discovering a lot more. It would be fun to be able to talk about his prostheses and his stumps with people in a pub. People sometimes asked. It was only natural. But he also learned to say Ik wil er niet over spreken—I don’t want to talk about it.

 

Piet discovered how the man who disarticulated his hand had prepared. He bought scalpels, a suturing kit, tourniquets and made five litres of icecubes. These were to freeze his wrist. He practised one evening to discover how effective his amateur anaesthetics actually were. After an hour, he poked at the flesh around his wrist with a fork and then with a needle and felt very little. He thought it would be enough. All he needed now was the courage to go through with his amputation and maybe someone to check on him to alert help if something went wrong. He had admitted his BIID to only one man, although he assumed that his companion also knew. However, Piet believed, correctly, that Nick and Alex were trustworthy. Perhaps Nick would agree to sit with him for an hour or so.

 

Christmas and the New Year passed. The amputees sent greetings to their friends back home and received greetings and promises to visit later in the spring from Andrew and Darren. That would be quite an event if they arrived together—four men spending a few days in each other’s company, all of them bilateral amputees with hooks. Piet waited until the festivities were over and the party season quieted. The hospitals were busy enough at this time of year without someone else turning up with a self‑inflicted injury. He checked his new diary and booked a week‑long winter holiday for the first week in February. He would amputate on the first Saturday morning and spend the rest of the time recovering on one condition—that someone kept him company.

 

The fact that whoever it was would probably sport a pair of artificial arms and spur him on was not lost on him. It would be unthinkable to fail at his attempt if Nick were watching. Nick’s full‑length glossy back arms were the epitome of desire. Piet’s intention was simply to use a hook. Making room for one at the end of his stump was the object of the exercise. No-one would ever know exactly how much stump Piet’s socket concealed. On the first weekend of the new year, Piet sent a text message to Nick asking him if he would agree to be with him when he sliced his hand off on the first Saturday in February.

            – Piet is getting ready. He wants me to spot for him next month.

            – Are you going to? Do you want to get mixed up with it? Suppose it goes wrong and you have to call an ambulance or something. How are you going to explain sitting there watching a bloke cut his bloody hand off?

 

Nick kept his appointment with upper extremity prosthetist Henk Goossens. He was a giant of a man, nearly two metres tall, with a dense salt-and-pepper beard and a gleaming bald head. He was a double amputee since boyhood and walked on prosthetic legs. He was also a fetishist regarding prostheses and owned a huge collection of self-made and purchased leg prostheses. His greatest pleasure was to strap a genuine nineteenth century peg leg to his thigh stump and ambulate in public using old-style wooden axillary crutches. However, in his work he was completely modern and recommended bionic equipment to those amputees with the patience and intelligence to benefit from them. Otherwise he was of the opinion that body-operated hooks served amputees as well as they had done for over a century. He appraised Nick’s arms and asked where they had been manufactured.

            – These were made in Roehampton.

            – Ah. I am not surprised. They look very well finished. Are they comfortable for you?

            – They feel fine. I should tell you that I have only very short stumps at my shoulders. There is not a lot left to feel uncomfortable.

            – Ha! I understand. Well, the situation is this. We can provide you with the hooks you requested and with any other prosthetic assistance you might need but because you have not lived in Belgium for long enough, you will have to pay more than a Belgian citizen.

            – Yes, I expected to.

            – So these hooks…

He pushed two cardboard boxes towards Nick.

            – … will cost you one hundred and seventy euros each. A Belgian citizen will pay about twenty‑five.

            – Oh! Even so, that’s much cheaper than I expected. I know they cost about seven hundred dollars in the United States.

            – They can cost very much more. But let us not talk of their terrible system. I can let you have these now as soon as I get your details into the computer. Will you be staying long in our country?

            – Yes, I hope so. For several years. I live with a friend who is employed by one of your pharmaceutical companies. I am able to stay at home and enjoy the life of a double above‑elbow amputee.

            – And how are you finding it? I assume you have not been an amputee for long.

            – It’s been about three months. I did not expect to lose my elbows…

That was the wrong way to express his loss. Goossens picked up on his misstatement immediately.

            – What were you expecting? Don’t be embarrassed. You are not the first.

Nick looked at the imposing figure before him. Oh well, honesty is the best policy.

            – I expected to lose my hands. I wanted artificial arms like my companion uses. He has below-elbow stumps.

            – I see. So what happened? Did you freeze them for too long?

            – No. I was using a tourniquet, two actually on each arm and they caused blood clots.

            – There is always that danger. You were lucky they were discovered. Otherwise you might have the stumps you wanted plus brain damage. That would not be fun.

            – No, I suppose not.

            – But now you are beginning to experiment with different hooks. Would you like me to change the ones you are wearing?

            – Yes please. That would be very kind of you.

            – It’s part of the service. I think you can manage for the rest of the day with symmetrical hooks both sides. You can ask your companion later to change one if you need. Perhaps a symmetrical hook one side and a Number Five on the other is the best configuration. Try them out. Only you can tell. Do you have a worker’s hook?

            – No, not yet.

            – Would you like me to order a pair? They will also cost a hundred and seventy each.

            – Yes please. That’s very kind of you.

            – Not at all. It’s the least we can do. You should have the choice of tools. I hope you will learn to change the hooks yourself. It can be challenging but it is not impossible.

 

The consultation was over. Nick stood and dropped his Fives into a trouser pocket, leaving the packaging behind. Goossens pushed himself up onto his self-caused below-knee stump and jerked his thigh stump to straighten his long prosthesis.

            – I’ll see you out. You will get an invoice in a few days and you have three weeks to pay. Do you already have a bank account here?

Somehow, Nick had not needed one. He charged everything to his credit card. He could open an account right away, he assumed.

            – No, but I’ll get one today. Thank you for your help and good advice, Dr Goossens.

They shook hand to hook and Goossens watched the young Englishman with the most restrictive artificial arms possible exit the hospital and turn towards the tram stop leading to the town centre. He leaned heavily on his below‑knee prosthesis and lifted his short thigh stump into motion. It was more satisfying to rely on artificial legs and all their variations than to be an upper limb amputee and restricted to merely changing one steel hook for another. He rocked his prostheses into his office and slammed the door.

 

While Nick was discussing the benefits of various current account variations in the centre of Antwerp, Alex was trying to persuade some of his co-workers to visit his apartment on Friday evening for a few tinnies. Much to his satisfaction, Belgians seemed to be as fond of a beer as Australians without the guilt and excuses which always accompanied an invitation from some others. It was perfectly usual to go out for a drink or two after work on Friday afternoon but more intriguing to be invited to someone’s home. It was unusual. Not having visited yet, several of his male colleagues immediately agreed that it was a grand idea and asked how long the evening might last. That affected the number of beers to bring. Alex was completely honest and told them until the beer ran out. None of his colleagues had any idea that Alex shared an apartment with another bilateral amputee who was more disabled than Alex himself.

 

Nick was pleasantly surprised to hear that they would have company on Friday. He went out fairly frequently but rarely had much opportunity to socialise. He knew Alex respected and liked his colleagues and looked forward to a relaxed evening in intelligent company. He was not sure if Piet would also attend.

 

Alex had not seen Piet to speak to. Piet had become reclusive as his mental capacity filled with thoughts of amputation and rehearsing the procedure. There were only two weeks to go. He wished the whole thing was behind him. He felt depressed, the default situation of a man unhappy with his body, tired of the status quo.

 

Alex once again ordered in copious amounts of lager and nothing else. It was convenient that the local shop delivered. Neither of the amputees would fare well with carrying several dozen tinnies. Nick was not sure how much weight his elbow joints could take but since he was reluctant to put them to the test, he took care not to strain them. Nick had begun to notice that there were occasions when he operated his arms and positioned the hook without really thinking about it. He knew there might come a time when their use would be almost automatic but for the time being, it was gratifying to find himself using the unwieldy protheses with less mental effort.

 

Friday. Alex said he planned on ordering in a few pizzas when the guys got hungry so Nick need not spend half the day making his fancy open sandwiches. As long as there was enough beer and a place to sit, that would be enough. Alex pulled Nick closer and kissed his neck, their carbon arms sliding against each other. Alex’s suggestion of pizza left Nick without anything constructive to do during the day. He spent half an hour revising the imperfect tense and listened to a talk show in Flemish about, as far as he could make out, a new water processing plant. Nick was discovering that it was not essential to understand every word and it was good to get used to the sounds and rhythm of the language.

            – Het is erg belangrijk voor onze regio.

Nick repeated it a few times. Important for our region. He had heard enough. He simultaneously jerked and swung his forearm and tapped his phone with the hook to silence it.

 

Nick could hear the approach of Alex and their guests. Male laughter echoed in the concrete entrance hall. Nick listened a moment longer and went to face the door, ready to greet Nick’s colleagues. He had made an effort to dress smart casual in an off-white hoodie and black running pants. He had a pair of white sneakers whose laces were poked down inside the heel. Nick strode in and hugged him, followed by Marc, Jan, Dirk and Wim, all of whom shook the proffered hook in surprise.

            – This is Nick, my companion. He and I have the same problem, as you can see. But we get by, don’t we, mate?

            – We do. Welcome everyone. If you want to take your jackets off, just leave them on our bed.

Nothing Nick could have said would explain their relationship more explicitly than that. Alex raised a hook to indicate their bedroom.

            – Just in there.

Alex gripped Nick’s head between his hooks and planted a kiss on his man’s mouth. Nick laughed.

            – Can we leave that for later?

            – If you insist. Guys, what do you want to drink? Is beer alright?

Everyone agreed that a beer would be excellent. Nick and Alex ferried tins of lager to their guests in both hooks and returned to fetch their own. The conversation turned to Nick in order to break the ice. Alex had not mentioned Nick’s existence before, let alone their growing attraction for each other as their nightly exploration of the other’s body and anatomy progressed. How did he like Antwerp? Did he have a job? What did he do all day?

            – I became an amputee only quite recently. I have been learning to use my prosthetic arms—in fact, I am still learning. So I am not quite ready to return to work.

He did not mention that he had no financial pressure to do so.

            – And I love being here. It’s a lovely city. People seem much more content with their lives than back home. I’m very happy to be here.

It was exactly the right thing to say. The guests were happy to hear that their hometown gained the approval of a foreigner. Alex agreed.

            – It’s true. Since we’ve been here, we’ve had nothing but kindness and help when needed. It’s really impressive.

Wim was watching Nick’s convoluted movements to drink his beer. Nick was immensely pleased by his new symmetrical hooks which gripped a ‘tinnie’ far better than his original hooks.

            – Nick, I hope you don’t be angry, but may I ask if you have the same hooks as Alex? I think you have long prosthetics. Is that right?

            – Yes, it’s right. My prosthetics come up to my shoulders. Alex has short prosthetics. He still has his elbows.

            – I understand. You see, my father had one arm and he had a long prosthetic arm too. But he did not like to use it. He said it is too difficult. So he was usually just a one-armed man.

            – What did your father do?

            – You mean, what job? He was a teacher. He had a stump on the left. Very short. He wore a prosthesis in school but always took it off when he came home. He had a plastic hand, if you know what I mean. It was not so shocking to see as a hook.

            – Yes, I know what you mean. How did he lose his hand?

            – I don’t really know. He only spoke of an accident. He lost more than a hand. He had only a little stump right up here.

            – That’s what I have. Both sides.

Wim looked at Nick with sympathy and concern. Of all the guests, Wim had the best understanding of Nick’s challenge. After his retirement, the old man had never worn his prosthesis again to Wim’s knowledge but functioned as well as could be expected. He had never complained nor contemplated on what might have been.

 

Wim paid a lot more attention to Nick during the evening. They downed beers at the same rate as each other and sat together, listening to the jokes and conversations of the others. Wim had no idea that the bilateral amputee he was watching over was a millionaire and heir of the famous Williamson’s Jams family, whose products Nick had been pleased to find on the local supermarket’s shelves. Wim was simply thoughtful and considerate. He was popular at work too, never denigrating his workmates with derogatory remarks when problems arose nor assuming the worst of people when things went wrong. His father had always instilled in him that people had the capacity to excel regardless of their current situation. It was a wise adage for a schoolteacher. Wim sensed Nick’s frustrations during the evening and wordlessly assisted. His familiarity with a man whose left arm was merely a short stump encouraged him to look after a man his own age who was struggling to learn to cope with two.

 

As the evening progressed and their noise grew louder, Alex ordered the delivery of four family‑sized pizzas which should be enough for the rest of the evening and for breakfast if all went well. Alex did not escape conversations about his peg leg nor his artificial arms. It was the first chance that his colleagues had had to grill their Australian colleague about his prosthetic limbs at leisure and Alex went to some length to expand on what he thought had happened when he lost his leg. He was too young to remember the event. His first memory was of being in hospital and having the stump bandaged. He remembered thinking that it would grow back. A little later, he could remember being fitted with a little boy’s peg leg and riding home with his dad. Once a year, he had a new socket made and insisted that he wanted a new peg leg, not one of the horrible pink pretend legs. And so, twenty-odd years later, here he was with a steel peg and never thought about adopting a prosthetic leg.

 

The guests were familiar enough with Alex’s hooks that they did not ask anything further about them. Only Wim was curious about hooks, specifically those being worn by Nick under his hoodie. Nick was uncertain about Wim’s interest. He could not be sure if Wim was an enthusiastic devotee or a potential close friend.

            – Wim, will you help me? I want to take my arms off. My stumps are getting tired.

            – Of course I will help.

            – Come into the other room with me.

The others glanced at the pair as they went into the bedroom and closed the door.

            – Can you take my hoodie off, please?

Nick gave no directions about how Wim should go about removing it. Obviously it needed to come over his head and up his prosthetic arms.

            – Sit on the bed please, Nick.

Wim started by pulling the hoodie up over Nick’s head. The artificial arms stretched out in front. Trying not to touch them, Wim gripped the cuff of the right sleeve and pulled it to reveal the glossy black prosthesis underneath it. Wim stared. It looked so alien and inhuman. He repeated his movements on the left sleeve and the hoodie was in his arms. He held it by the shoulder, shook and folded it. He laid it on the bed and looked back at Nick.

            – What do I do now?

            – Look at my back. Do you see the silver ring? I want to you pull it up over my head. OK, you can start, Wim.

Wim held onto the ring and lifted it. Nick’s harness rose with it. He raised his stumps and suddenly, his stumps were out of the sockets and Wim was left holding both prostheses and the harness.

            – Just put it by my hoodie, Wim. Thanks very much.

Wim looked at Nick with excitement and admiration. The stumps were shorter, smaller than he had expected. They were beautiful.

            – May I touch you, Nick?

Out of habit, Nick spread his arms wide as if to gesture ‘Help yourself’. Only his nubs rose a couple of centimetres. He held the position. Wim cupped his hands and placed them gently around Nick’s stumps.

            – Your hands are warm. It feels nice, Wim.

Wim was astounded by the sensation of cupping Nick’s stumps. They felt remarkable. It was so unusual to see an armless man. Wim gyrated his hands lightly, feeling the soft muscular tissue in the unique appendages at Nick’s shoulders.

            – It’s getting cold. Can you put my hoodie back on me? Then we can go back for some more beer, OK?

            – Yes, OK. Thank you, Nick. That was a beautiful thing to do. You know I think that I love stumps. It is kind to let me touch you.

Nick had not known but he knew now. It was fine. He had long loved stumps himself. Wim had been completely respectful and very gentle. He dropped Nick’s hoodie back over his head and squared it over Nick’s empty shoulders. Nick grinned at him and they returned to the living room. Wim did everything for Nick for the rest of the evening which had been Nick’s intention all the time. Alex watched his lover whom he had not seen before dressed but without his arms since Nick got his prostheses. Let him have his fun.

 

Marc and Jan left around midnight and caught the last tram. Alex and Dirk were deep in conversation in the kitchen. Nick and Wim sprawled on the sofa. Wim was tired and battling to remain awake as long as Nick did. Nick needed his help. Once again Nick mentioned needing to piss. They rose and went to the wc.

            – Sorry, Wim. I’m too drunk to fuck.

            – Ah, I wasn’t thinking of that. Nick, I want to show you something so you understand better.

            – OK.

Wim shook Nick’s generous penis and placed it back inside Nick’s trousers. He looked at Nick, more serious suddenly than during the rest of the evening and pulled his trousers and underpants down to reveal his genitals. Nick looked in surprise. Wim’s penis was minuscule but erect. It’s perfectly shaped glans was half the width of a normal head and the penis was about the size of half a stick of chalk. Two tiny bollocks were held tight by a miniature hairless scrotum. Wim touched his penis to show Nick that he did have an erection. It was simply something no-one would ever notice nor something Wim could ever use to fuck.

            – Do you see, Nick? I do not like you for sex.

He pulled his clothes up and they returned to the living room. Nick wondered which of them was the more severely disabled.

 

Alex slept in his own bed. Dirk returned to the living room and slept under a blanket in an armchair. Nick and Wim fell asleep against each other on the sofa around two o’clock. In the morning, the two guests awoke at different times and quietly let themselves out. The amputees’ day began with headaches, a large slice of cold pizza and the first lager of the day. They sniggered and shook their heads at how they had done it yet again. It felt like being back at uni.

 

Wim sent a text message later in the day thanking Alex and Nick for their hospitality and hoped that their hangovers had been tolerable. He also offered his services for anything the amputees might find difficult. He was honest with himself in admitting he had been smitten by Nick and the way he was dealing with his recent disability, not least of which were the short symmetrical stumps at Nick’s shoulders. Wim found them intensely erotic. Despite his own disability, he was quite capable of enjoying genital stimulation although it never led to a typical orgasm. Much of his sexuality was based on mental images of the things he found arousing. He knew that Nick’s presence and appearance generated pleasurable sensations and he wanted the two of them to be together as often as possible. But it would have to be at Nick’s invitation. Wim had already experienced the loss of a promising friendship when he had behaved in too overbearing a manner and the recipient of his affections had asked him to leave him alone. He also bore recent bilateral stumps below his knees. Wim was infatuated with the motion of the rigid feet. He learned to approach future prospective friends more calmly.

 

Alex showed Wim’s message to Nick.

            – He had the hots for you on Saturday. What were you doing in the bedroom?

            – Oh, I let him take my arms off and touch my stumps. He’s a devotee but I think he must have had some bad experiences because he was very considerate. He never pushed himself onto me, if you see what I mean.

            – And how did that make you feel? You’ve not had a devotee to deal with before, have you?

            – Well, only you.

            – Ha! Don’t kid yourself, mate! I have enough stumps of my own to admire. But what do you think? Is Wim going to be a nuisance or shall we let him come round more often? I think he has a car. He could take us shopping on Saturday mornings if he wants to spend time with us.

            – That’s a bit sneaky.

            – I can’t think of any other innocent way to go about it, Nick. He gets to see you and we get the week’s shop done. Would you rather carry two loads back on the tram?

            – No. I see what you mean. Alright. Tell him we’d like some help on Saturday mornings for shopping and see what he says.

 

Wim was delighted. He had an electric car which seated three with luggage space in the fourth passenger’s place. The car appeared taller than it was long but it was fast with sharp acceleration and Wim did his short commutes in it. He could just as easily have ridden a tram but it was fun to drive. He replied immediately and said he would gladly help.

 

Back at work, Alex was pleased that his weekend guests were all present and correct without any sign of Saturday’s debauchery. They settled down to their tasks as usual. There was a lot less banter and general joking around than there had been in London. It was not because Belgians did not have a sense of humour—Saturday had demonstrated that—but rather that work came first. Alex had a decisive phase in one line of research coming up and reserved the centrifuge. Dirk also wanted to use it but demurred to Alex, thanks to the previous weekend. Alex had no way of knowing, but a few lagers had their professional benefits too.

 

Wim arrived back mid-morning on the following Saturday. Alex had mentioned that they needed to get some household stuff from one of the box stores on the outskirts. Wim had immediately jumped at the chance to help out and see Nick again. He left his electric car parked just outside and greeted the amputees. Nick immediately pulled him aside.

            – I need your help, Wim. My left stump is a little bit sore so I want to take the arm off the harness.

It was untrue but Wim need not know that.

            – Do you remember how you took my arms off last time? Do it again for me, please. And then I can show you how to get the arm off.

Wim pressed the broad steel buttons on Nick’s sockets to release the pins and lifted the harness off his friend’s shoulders. The bilateral prostheses lay across the kitchen table.

            – Do you see how the left arm is attached? Undo the straps and the arm will come off.

Wim slowly worked the straps open and tried to remember how they were replaced. Luckily for Wim, unluckily for Nick, he had another example in the other socket. Wim lifted the result of his efforts into the air and helped Nick don his right prosthesis. It was the first time since he had received the new set that Nick would go about one-armed. Today he would expose his prosthesis. His left stump would be hidden inside the empty sleeve of his T-shirt. He expected Wim would somehow contrive to feel it some time during the day.

 

They all went downstairs in single file. Alex took one look at Wim’s car and laughed.

            – I’ll never get me peg in that. Wim, I have another prosthesis for you to remove. Will you unscrew me peg leg, mate?

            – What must I do?

            – Just grab it and twist it until it comes off.

Wim knelt in front of Alex who rested his hooks on Wim’s shoulders. The peg was tight but loosened with more pressure and it was in Wim’s hands.

            – Just put it in the car.

Wim released the door locks. Nick climbed into the back seat and sat sideways for more leg room. Alex sat in the front next to Wim, who discovered he had to get out again and circle the car in order to fix Nick’s seat belt. Alex managed his own. Ready at last. Wim gripped the joystick and the car moved silently away from their building.

            – Did you order an adapted car with a joystick, Wim?

            – You mean this? No. This is standard on this car.

            – Strewth! I could drive this by the looks. What’s on the floor?

            – Just the brake. But there is the main brake on the joystick too.

            – Wow. Nick, shall we get one of these? It would make life a bit easier.

            – If you want, sure. Wim, will you let Alex test drive it?

            – Yes of course. If there is room in the car park, you can try when we arrive.

Alex watched Wim control the car with one hand. He pulled the joystick towards him to accelerate and pushed it away to brake. Turning left and right was self-evident. The whole thing was so intuitive and obvious that Alex wondered why all cars did not have joystick control as standard.

 

Wim pulled into a large car park at the first destination. Instead of driving as close as possible to the building to find a disabled space, he stopped the car just inside the perimeter where there was ample room for Alex’s test drive. Alex got out, hopped around the front and got into the driver’s seat. Wim slid into the passenger’s seat.

            – Press the starter button for three seconds and you will start the motor. Then just pull on the stick. Push it to stop.

Nick leaned forward to watch Alex drive the car with hooks. If Alex could do it, so could he. It depended how much pressure the joystick required to operate. Nick could not generate much force with his short stumps but he was willing to give it a try. Possibly when and if they had a car of their own.

            – This is brilliant! I’m going to look into buying one. Probably have to get a Belgian driver’s licence, though.

            – It might be different for you because you are handicapped.

            – Really? OK. I’ll ask. Shall I drive over to the shop now?

            – If you want.

Alex turned the car in the right direction and drove slowly towards the entrance. Alex remained seated while Wim screwed his peg leg back into his thigh socket. Wim then steadied the one‑hooked Nick as he exited. Alex gripped a shopping trolley with both hooks and they set about collecting their merchandise. Wim did Nick’s bidding. Nick was unable to raise his hook any higher than his head and it was not possible for him to lift a box or heavy jar of anything from a shelf. Wim imagined himself similarly disabled. It would be a difficult life. He had no partner, unlike Nick. He was fairly sure that having Alex around made it possible for the two bilateral hook users to live independent lives. Maybe if he was one‑handed, life could go on. More importantly, if he was one‑hooked. As Alex demonstrated every day, it was perfectly possible to continue work at the lab with a pair of hooks. Other customers noticed Nick’s disability—he was wearing only a T-shirt and his long prosthesis was fully visible.

 

After touring the store for nearly an hour, Alex pushed the trolley towards the cash desk. He had two large bags rolled up in his cargo pants pocket into which Wim bagged their items. Without being asked, he grabbed both bags and carried them out towards his car, followed by the amputees.

            – Must you be home soon? Would you like to have coffee in town?

            – What do you think? Coffee?

            – Yes please, Wim. Take us to your favourite coffee shop.

 

Wim insisted on buying everything. Alex and Nick sat watching him load a tray with fresh pastries piled high with whipped cream while waiting for the coffee. He collected some cutlery, paid and brought the tray to the table.

            – I don’t know how you expect us to eat that, Wim.

            – Oh, don’t worry. I can help. This is the traditional pastry of Antwerp and I want you to taste it. It’s too bad that you do not buy it only because it is difficult to eat without hands. You must taste it.

Alex made a good effort by gripping a fork in a hook but Nick was not yet adept enough. Wim hovered his hand over Nick’s pastry and asked May I?

            – Yes please, Wim.

It was delicious. It had been months since Nick had eaten anything as frivolous as a cream pastry. Flakes of it stuck to his lips and dropped into his lap and onto the table. The tastes of almond and raspberry and sweetened cream. It was glorious. The coffee was in conical mugs which Alex dared grip but Wim again lifted Nick’s coffee to his lips. Their shoulders touched and Nick wriggled his stump against Wim. It was all the thanks Wim needed. It was an intimate gesture, invisible to all outsiders. Inadvertently or not, Nick was cementing his limblessness as a beacon of fraternity and friendship with Wim. In Wim’s mind, the sensation of secretive manipulation by a short stump reinforced his opinion that gaining a stump would be a desirable goal.

 

Piet’s absence was immediately noted by everybody at the Monday morning review. Some knew he would be absent. Dirk went through the week’s agenda and news items which were safe to make public. In a nearby apartment, Piet set out towels, scalpels, medical alcohol, sutures with pre‑attached threads and other tools like scissors and shears, all of which had been sterilised by alcohol and in the microwave. Opened rolls of elastic bandage were close at hand, as were large adhesive plasters intended to be sliced into strips. One of them would cover the wound across his wrist. He wrapped his upper arm with one tourniquet and fastened another around his forearm. His hand almost immediately closed into a claw.

 

Nick was on his way, stuck in traffic on a rush hour tram. He was wearing both hooks again and was sharing the invalid seating with a teenage girl whose leg was in a plaster cast. Nick felt like an imposter. He would easily be able to stand and hold on to a pole with his hooks but he had not yet done so during rush hour. It was safer for him and other passengers if he sat down out of the way. He peered ahead and saw several hundred metres of red tail lights. He would get off at the next stop and stroll the rest of the way.

 

Piet welcomed him with obvious relief. He was over twenty minutes late and Piet was beginning to fear that he was not coming at all. Nick could see Piet’s mental distress and decided to let the man work out his own timetable. Nick chose the most comfortable chair and pulled it around to face the table where Piet would work. Piet gave a wan smile and sat down. He pulled a face mask over his mouth and nose, rubbed hand gel around his wrist and waited for it to dry. His claw was numb, not least because of Nick’s delay. He picked up his first scalpel and sliced the skin open in a pattern which should allow the wound to be closed without undue pressure nor excessive tissue. He sliced through tendons and tried moving his fingers. There was no movement except in the tendons. Piet would shorten them later.

 

Nick watched him turning his gory wrist from side to side, inspecting which tissues needed to be severed next. Suddenly the hand dropped onto the table top. Piet inspected his stump. He wanted as much extraneous tissue to be amputated in this one pass and clipped short segments of tendon and nerve. Lastly, he peeled the skin flaps forward, hoping that they would meet halfway and quickly set about suturing them. He started in the middle with a few deft stitches and then picked up a new needle with thicker thread to close the left side of the wound. Another new needle worked on the other side. Piet held up the bloodied stump, with ugly black sutures crossing its tip and inspected it from one side and the other. He cleaned some of the dried blood with kitchen paper and the alcohol hand gel, gently lowered the entire width of the wound plaster over the incision and began to wrap his stump with elastic bandage. Five minutes later, he had what he wanted and had done as much as he could. Nick and Piet stared at each other for many seconds, after which Piet looked at his bandaged stump and burst into tears.

 

Nick rose and stood behind Piet. He placed his prostheses over the man’s shoulders and leant to hug him. Piet moved his stump out of the way of Nick’s left arm.

            – It’s alright, Piet. It’s just the shock of the operation.

Nick held the trembling man as tight as he could. Through blurred vision, Piet saw two steel hooks holding him and drew strength from them. He would have a hook soon and he would use it for the rest of his life.

            – Next year, we will take the other one, yes?

Nick was surprised but not shocked. He spread his stumps and his artificial arms shrugged.

            – OK, Piet. Next year we take the other one.

Nick plucked the severed hand and dropped it into a plastic container which he placed into Piet’s freezer. Its final disposal was not his problem.

 

Nick let himself out much later in the evening when he was certain that Piet was physically and mentally stable. He had not had a heart attack, he said his stump felt sore but not especially unusual and that he was not sorry for what he had done. Nick did most of the clearing up, dumping the bloody brown towel into the bathroom and patiently transferring various items into the kitchen. Piet now sat in the same chair as Nick had earlier and felt a great love for the man who had allowed him to become the disabled man he had yearned to be.

 

            – How did it go?

            – It was a cross between boredom and terror. I was worried he would panic and mess up but he sat there carving away and sewed the stump closed. Then he burst into tears.

            – Probably from relief, I should imagine.

            – Yeah, I think so. But it’s done now. I left him sitting in the lounge. You know, I don’t think he was a hundred per cent sure about wanting to become an amputee but it was something which had been weighing on his mind so much that he decided to go through with it simply to stop the thoughts.

            – Maybe so. How do you feel about it? Do you think he’s mad?

            – No, of course not. You know how much I wanted my hands off so I could wear hooks. I gave him all the encouragement I could beforehand and he should be familiar enough with the way you get through the day.

            – Does he know you froze your hands?

            – No, I don’t think so. We’ve kept that bit secret, I hope.

            – Well, I’ve not told anyone. It’s not the sort of question which comes up very often.

Nick sat down next to his mate and lifted his left prosthesis around Alex’s neck. He could feel nothing but the position and angle of his stump reminded him of what it was like to hug a mate.

 

Piet slept in his chair. In the early morning, he awoke from an odd dream. He was in a church surrounded by strangers with the exception of an old girl friend. He had to read a passage out of a heavy old Bible in the French language. He was proud of the fact that the ex did not know he spoke French and the congregation could not see his stump where a hand should be. Despite his injury, he held the book with no trouble. Real life was not as forgiving. The first problem was handling a tube of toothpaste. The second was opening a new packet of coffee. They would both be easier tasks if he could use his stump but it was tender and he dared not put pressure on it. He ought to keep it elevated, he knew, but there was no-one else to make him breakfast. He would simply have to take things slowly until he could use his stump and better still, until he had a hook. He stared at the shocking sight of his fresh stump and began to worry about what he had done.

 

Nick filled his time with the Flemish language and became quite proficient with the simple sentences and basic words needed during daily life. Alex picked up a useful amount at work through osmosis, although he did not make the same kind of effort as Nick. Wim became a regular and welcome visitor, always ready to help out, pleased to act as a pair of hands for his bilateral amputee friends. As time passed and Wim learned more about wearing and using prosthetic arms, he adjusted his expectations. It would be a life-changing event but that did not necessarily mean for the worse. Alex was the best example of that. There was nothing he could not do. Wim did not realise that Alex did not even attempt to do the things he knew he was incapable of doing. Everything Wim saw had been done thousands of times before. He had seen Alex open dozens of tinnies, as he called them, but never a bottle of champagne. Alex would not even attempt such a feat but Wim did not realise the things which were not possible with a pair of steel hooks. Slowly but surely, Wim’s own desire to become a bilateral grew, reinforced on every visit by seeing Nick and his glossy black prostheses.

 

Piet rallied after he returned to work after his week-long break. He felt self‑conscious about the empty space where his left hand should be and wore a black sock over his stump to disguise it as much as possible. The team was curious to know what had happened to cause the injury but Piet was not forthcoming and the matter was left hanging in the air. One Monday, Piet arrived wearing a hook. Alex grinned at him across the table during the weekly run-down of events and from that day forward, Piet’s mood improved and he was seen more often in the lab just as he had been before. Wim was plainly disconcerted by Piet’s success. He was envious. Alex noticed the change after a couple of days and drew him aside.

            – What’s the matter, Wim? You seem very quiet all of a sudden.

            – I know. I am just so jealous of Piet’s hook. I really want two but I don’t know how to get them.

            – You want two stumps?

            – Yes, just like yours.

Alex laughed.

            – You know I’ve had hooks for nearly twenty years, don’t you? I make it look easy, I know. It isn’t. Bilateral hooks is a bugger. But if you really want a pair, talk to Nick. He might have some advice for you.

            – I don’t dare to keep asking Nick about his arms. I know how difficult things are for him.

            – Don’t worry about that. Tell him what you want and see what he says.

 

Nick explained one Saturday morning when Wim brought his car around for another shopping trip.

            – All you need to do is buy some dry ice and put your hands in it for eight hours. Your hands freeze and the tissue dies so the doctors have to chop them off. Easy.

            – It sounds very painful.

            – Oh yes. It is very painful.

            – How do people do it? Do you know someone who has done it?

            – I do. It depends on how much you want hooks. You are in agony for eight hours. But you will have hooks for the next fifty years.

            – I must think about it more. Perhaps I can think of an accident.

 

Alex and Wim worked together to decipher the rules and regulations current in Belgium concerning the acquisition of a Belgian disabled driver’s licence. Things were made more complicated by Alex’s Australian nationality but after several friendly emails to the traffic authority, Nick was issued with a five year driver’s licence allowing him to drive a vehicle which was designed for or adapted to use by a bilateral arm amputee, to be ascertained and approved by a local authority. Nick had already agreed to pay for the vehicle outright and an invalid parking spot was reserved at the rear of the building, where a charging post for four electric vehicles had been installed the previous summer. The bilateral amputees went in Wim’s car to the dealership in Luik, where the proceedings were conducted in English, avoiding the eternal Belgian problems with French and Flemish. They bought a more recent version of Wim’s car with more comfortable seats and better ventilation. Nick paid with a credit card and Alex signed all the papers with his jagged signature. The two cars travelled back to Antwerp in tandem and the rest of the weekend was spent in empty car parks as Nick also tried his best to control the car. In truth, he could not but Alex assured him that he simply needed more practice. Nick was never to become a driver. He needed more accurate control over his mechanical elbows and it was simply not available to him.

 

Piet asked Nick to spot for him again. He had been practising the motions necessary to wield a scalpel with his left hook and felt confident that he would be able to sever his right hand. Nick declined, not through disinterest but because he wanted Wim to see what was involved. Wim occasionally mentioned wanting to freeze his hands to achieve below elbow stumps but never seemed to have the determination to proceed.

            – Piet, why don’t you ask Wim to sit with you? I’m sure he would help you.

            – I did not know Wim is interested. Thank you, Nick.

 

Wim was more than interested and agreed to spot for Piet when the man amputated his right hand. Wim would sew the stump closed if Piet found the task too demanding.

 

Piet demonstrated his year‑old stump. Wim had not known that Piet’s stump was the result of disarticulation from the wrist. He had assumed that there was a below‑elbow stump like the ones Alex sported and like what he wanted for himself. But he quickly realised that to use hooks, he need only copy what Piet was about to do. He should watch closely and learn and he would be able to do the same thing for himself. This was exactly what Alex had had in mind. Piet donned his left prosthesis, purchased independently from a private prosthetist eight weeks after his amputation. It was fitted with a so‑called farmer’s hook which gripped a scalpel more securely than the standard issue hook. Piet believed he would be able to perform his second amputation by rotating his right wrist. Everything he foresaw needing was on the table in front of him, covered by a thick black cotton bath towel, folded to catch the inevitable spatters of blood. He tied two tourniquets to his arm and pulled them tight with his hook. His right hand was now useless, cramped into a rigid claw. They would wait an hour for the hand and wrist to become numb.

 

Both men placed left‑over face masks over their mouths and noses. Piet succeeded in gripping the first straight‑bladed scalpel with his hook and, taking a deep breath, traced the outline of the skin flaps he needed to cover the wound. Beads of blood formed and dropped invisibly into the black towelling. Piet picked up a new scalpel with a curved blade and began separating subcutaneous tissue from the epidermis. These were terms he had learned by watching medical educational videos. He sliced deeper, revealing nerves, veins and tendons. The first problem presented itself. The tendons leading to the fingers were more resilient that Piet had realised. He was unable to sever them. The scalpel moved in the hook making it useless. Piet began to vocalise, an indistinct vowel which rose in tone. Wim looked at him in alarm and saw the distress in his face.

            – What’s wrong, Piet? Is there a problem?

            – I can’t cut the tendons.

Wim weighed up the alternatives.

            – Do you want me to help?

            – Yes, I think it would be best. Snip through the tendons as near to my wrist as possible. Use these.

He pointed at a pair of side cutting pliers in front of him. He had used them a year ago to sever the main nerve in his wrist. Now Wim might use them to sever everything.

 

Wim looked at the gore and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Piet tried to point with the tip of his farmer’s hook but it was too broad for accuracy. Wim found the tendon for the middle finger and severed it. The other tendons were as easy to find.

            – Can you continue? Are you OK?

            – Yes, I can continue.

            – Cut the veins with a fresh scalpel.

More blood dripped from the open wound. Wim was careful to cut as close to the tip of the future stump as possible. Last of all were the two nerves.

            – Use the pliers. It’s quicker.

Wim severed them as short as possible. The hand was almost detached. Wim used a scalpel again to cut the remaining tissues which held the hand to Piet’s wrist. The hand bent and dropped onto the towel. Piet inspected his wrist and believed that it would result in a healthy stump.

            – Would you like me to sew it, Piet? It might be faster.

That was true. Wim had never sutured anything before. The needle was oddly curved and there was already a thread attached somehow to its end. He had to use a special tool to hold the needle and pierce the flesh around the skin flaps. Piet directed him to start in the middle and work towards the sides. The sutures were untidy but adequate. Wim secured the ends of the threads to Piet’s satisfaction. They looked at the bloodied stump from every angle. Wim used kitchen towel and alcohol to clean some of the dried blood. He placed a wide strip of plaster over the incision and wrapped the stump in elastic bandage.

 

Wim was shaken by what he had done but also grateful for the opportunity to learn how to disarticulate a hand. Piet leant back on his chair with his steel hook and new stump on the towel. After taking a few minutes to calm themselves, Wim cleared the equipment and removed the towel. Piet held his stump erect while Wim slowly removed first the upper and then the lower tourniquets. It was the most dangerous stage in the entire procedure. The sudden change in blood pressure might aggravate any latent heart problems Piet had. He remained seated, half expecting, half fearing that he would slump forward, stricken by the onset of arrhythmia but nothing happened.

 

Piet remained where he was. Wim had tidied the place and removed the severed hand. As before, it was in the freezer and Piet would permanently dispose of it later. There was nothing more to be done. Piet briefly thanked him for his help and Wim let himself out. Piet was left alone, with a farmer’s hook and a fresh throbbing stump. He should have asked Wim to change his hook before he left.

 

Wim finally arrived at his decision. He would wait until the start of the summer vacation before amputating a hand. He would have five weeks to recover which might even be enough time to be fitted with a hook, although manufacturing one might take longer. Now he understood the procedure and the equipment he would need. It was an enormous relief to know that he could perform his own amputation. There was no more need to think about improbable accidents which might cause him to lose a hand. Society was so safe these days that accidents like the ones he envisaged were utterly improbable.

 

Piet’s stump healed. The line of scarring was uneven and would remain so but it was of little importance. Very few people would ever see his naked stumps and it was difficult for Piet to view the sutures unless he really tried. After three months, Piet took delivery of a pair of identical prosthetic arms equipped with standard hooks. He felt whole again. His useless hands had been replaced with indestructible steel hooks which asserted his status in society as a survivor, a member of elite amputees who bore their stumps as tokens of honour and whose every action would be forever controlled by the pinch of a solitary steel finger. Piet sat quietly for two hours after returning home with his bilateral hooks staring at them, admiring their mechanical perfection, their shapes, movements and subtle sounds. He was grateful for the loss of his hands and the appearance of his new sleek black forearms. The future Piet had arrived.

 

At the same time that Piet was still experiencing the euphoria of bilateral hooks, Wim was preparing for his first amputation. He wanted to be disabled and reasoned that it would be more disabling for him to lose his right hand. He had ordered equipment from the net during the months leading up to the start of his annual vacation and made enquiries of several prosthetists around the country regarding their pricing and usual methods of dealing with private patients who had, for one reason or another, no access to the national health service for prosthetic care. He found a sympathetic prosthetist in Charleroi, of all places, who had made many prosthetic limbs for successful wannabes. The prosthetist was more circumspect in his emails but indicated that his comparatively low price was due to the lack of continued prosthetic care. He would make an artificial arm and ensure it fitted but that would be the end of the matter. Wim thought it sounded like a good deal and said he hoped to present with a healed disarticulation of the right hand in late August.

 

Wim knew that all the other amputees had started with the left hand. He was not sure about Nick. But he was right‑handed and wanted to disable himself. Therefore he would become right‑hooked. And after that, it would be easier to use his right hook to slice off his left hand at some future date. It seemed a grand plan. He put it into action on the first day of his holiday. No-one else knew what he planned except for those who knew that Wim was envious of their bilateral hooks. Wim severed his right hand in much the same way as he had severed Piet’s. He bandaged his stump and inserted it into a protective socket which he had made of quick‑drying modelling clay to protect it from knocks. Wim slumped across the table with his arms crossed in front of him, one rigid and thicker than the other. He later moved to his bedroom and slept for eight hours, waking at two in the morning.

 

Nick stood aside from the spate of new amputations manifesting themselves at Alex’s workplace, specifically in his section. Piet had returned in full force, supervising the team, directing their project and informing them of scientific breakthroughs relevant to their field. Non‑amputee staff members had come and gone, including Dirk who had held the team together while Piet was indisposed. New arrivals were astonished to find so many bilateral hook users but after their initial surprise, they ceased to wonder at joining such a concentration of amputees through working alongside them for several weeks until they learned the new routines and working goals. Wim, Piet and Alex all sterilised their hooks several times a day by dunking them into almost pure alcohol or by holding them in boiling water. They were probably the most thoroughly hygienic workers in the entire building.

 

Nick made occasional trips to London on business. Old acquaintances were appalled to see how disabled Nick had become. Nick assured them that he managed fairly well and that he had assistance at home in Antwerp should it be necessary. In the two years since his amputations, he had continued to make the extra effort his full‑length prostheses demanded. He had learned the movements required to lock and release the mechanical elbows, enabling him to perform almost as well as Alex who had much longer experience of hook use. He offered Piet and one‑handed Wim advice on ordinary domestic chores which amputees usually found difficult. Nick ran the household, allowing Alex the freedom to concentrate on his career and relax at home.

 

Darren and Andrew visited twice at Nick’s invitation. He paid for their rooms in a central hotel and on both occasions, the trio toured the city admiring treasures in museums and exhibitions, enjoying the best of Flemish cuisine. When Alex joined them later, onlookers were treated to the sight of four bilateral amputees dining, all of them with two steel hooks instead of hands. Andrew was especially impressed by Nick’s mastery of his arms and they discussed recent developments in bionic technology which promised to return the sense of touch to upper limb amputees. None of the men were more than marginally interested. The body‑powered limbs which they favoured were reliable, familiar and deeply satisfying mechanical replacements elevating their users into the elite bilateral club.

 

 

THE BILATERAL CLUB