AHAB
Fiction by strzeka (6/24)
A severely disabled young actor rediscovers himself
– “The ever-impressive energy of Keller commands respect for his otherwise minor rôle as the swashbuckling Starbuck.” That’s all it says.
– That’s good, isn’t it? They even managed to squeeze ‘swashbuckling’ in. Few actors ever get that accolade, Paul. Errol Flynn was once called swashbuckling.
– And was typecast and condemned to swashbuckling for the rest of his career. Oh, it’s not a bad review I suppose. Impressive energy is alright, isn’t it?
– It’s more than alright. It’s quite satisfactory.
– Ha! I knew you would have a good word.
Paul Keller shut the lid of his laptop. After reading three other reviews of the production to his boyfriend and lover, Paul seemed calmer. Melville’s old trope Moby Dick was the last production he had expected to be cast in. He felt he was much more suited to playing a handsome husband in a tv sitcom where he could flaunt his good looks and perfect muscles, honed to perfection by regular and moderate exercise. He had landed the rôle of Starbuck thanks in large part to his narcissism. He had prepared by intensive upper‑body exercise for the previous three weeks and could wield a sword with admirable elegance. The old queens on Winchester Theatre’s casting board had been smitten by Paul’s coy offstage charm and yearned to have him close by whenever they visited the theatre. They were sure they could teach the boy a thing or two.
Theo Marsh suggested they return home. Paul agreed and tidied their table of debris. Theo concentrated on raising himself until his leather and steel leg braces locked and he was mobile again. He watched his lover sorting crockery and paper remnants into their respective containers for a few moments. He grabbed his walking stick and rocked towards the door. Paul pulled it open and took Theo’s arm as he swung his crippled legs over the threshold. His black carbon fibre boots twisted slightly, finding their balance on the pavement and the pair returned to Theo’s bungalow, part of his inheritance and bestowed very much in advance, which they had both worked hard to adapt to Theo’s disability. It had been a run‑down Fifties building on its own compact tract of land but was now fully wheelchair accessible inside and out with half the front garden paved for Theo’s electric trike.
Theo rarely used his wheelchair. He preferred to to be upright and the elaborate combination of tall customised boots and robust steel bracing allowed him to be so. He walked by swinging his hips and his legs were confined to forward motion only by restrictive hinges which prevented lateral movement. He was quite satisfied with his current situation. It was more severe than what he had envisaged for himself when he began a regime of alcohol injections into his nervous system, but after three years of progress and relapses, his legs were no more than dead weight. He could feel nothing below his pelvis. His ultimate goal was to persuade a surgeon to amputate his useless legs to allow him easier mobility.
Paul pulled Theo’s old pair of braces out of the closet and removed his trainers and jeans. Both men were identical in height and Theo’s old pair of leg braces fit Paul’s legs perfectly. They were scratched and the leather had had ugly repairs done on it but they were secondary concerns. The main thing was the immensely erotic sensation of converting his handsome muscular legs into rigid copies of Theo’s limbs. The old boots were a hundred percent leather, reinforced with steel. They held his ankles and feet rigid. To all intents and purposes, Paul was just as crippled as Theo with the sole distinction that Paul could still feel his legs. This allowed him to wear the braces and move around without additional assistance, although he owned a pair of aluminium crutches for special occasions like when they strolled together on bright sunny days to Richmond Park for a picnic.
The two men spent as much time together identically disabled. Paul was content to satisfy his craving for disability in this manner. Theo had incapacitated his lower limbs deliberately in order to be fitted with leg braces and he had persuaded his orthotist to manufacture a formidable set of braces, heavy rigid and demanding. They were currently being worn by Paul. His second pair had been even more restrictive, made even more so by his thick carbon fibre boots. Crippled in this manner, they lived their unobtrusive suburban lives, Paul regularly slipping into alter egos as an actor and Theo as a prompt engineer affiliated with the University. He occasionally ventured out to deliver a lecture but otherwise worked from home.
Paul had reason to travel up to London for personal reasons. He compared train and coach prices and timetables and decided that the train was more convenient, quite an improvement compared with the former situation. He debated whether to wear two leg braces, one or none. He chose the right brace and took a thick tall cane in his left hand. He pulled his long shaggy Starbuck hair into a man bun as a disguise and dressed in black leather including skin tight police gloves which he would remove only after returning home. With the steel brace gripping his leather trousers, he admired himself in a full‑length mirror. He bade Theo goodbye, heaved his crippled limb over the threshold and made his way to the station. It took a couple of hundred metres before he found his rhythm. The brace was rigid from his crotch to his toes, although it had a drop lock at the knee so it could bend when he sat. The thick boot felt divine every time its steel‑rimmed heel struck the ground. Paul had a double-thick soled paratrooper’s boot on his left foot, polished to a high shine to match the orthopaedic boot.
Paul’s agent, who had invited him to discuss further prospective work in private, was surprised to see the disabled figure but quickly understood when Paul explained that he was training himself how to walk as a disabled man in case he should need to understudy Ahab. The agent thought it demonstrated the determination for perfection which his promising young ward had shown previously and paid no more attention to the crippled leg. Their discussion dragged on beyond the matter at hand and into fiscal affairs. The agent had long experience of how provincial theatres attempted to keep remuneration for promising upcoming actors as low as possible without actually deterring them. Finding Paul to be a charming interlocutor, the agent suggested an early dinner at his favoured hotel, and they dined on lax à la Suède with a bottle of white and the agent footed the bill. Paul was eager to escape his agent’s loquacious verbosity and made his excuses after the unexpected second bottle. He grabbed his walking stick and hurried to Waterloo for a local back to Winchester, already waiting alongside the platform. He was slightly drunk in a pleasant way and closed his eyes. The train clattered its way onto the route which would take him home.
He awoke in St Mary’s Hospital surrounded by medical staff waiting for him to revive from his artificial coma. Two weeks had past. St Mary’s was one of five hospitals coping with the aftermath of the Alton derailment. The dead had been buried. Survivors would bear their scars for a lifetime. Paul was one of the luckier victims, having been thrown onto the tracks, away from the inferno. His injuries were life‑changing but he would survive and might thrive with modern prosthetic care. His stumps had been inspected earlier in the day by his operating surgeon. He was declared heathy enough for his first prosthetic fittings in a week or so.
Theo was informed only of Paul’s whereabouts and advised to visit only when the patient himself notified him. No relatives had been found on Paul’s phone, after diligent work by the police. The agent was tearing himself apart with guilt. If only he had not taken Paul to dinner, he would not have been on the same train. His injuries had been described only as life‑changing, the catch‑all phrase for everything from emphysema to total paralysis. Theo was too worried about his companion to even bother donning his leg braces and wheeled himself aimlessly in a futile search for non‑existent answers. His phone beeped. come and see me. i need you. Paul.
Theo wheeled to the bedroom and donned his kafos over his shorts. He hefted himself up, tottered into the hallway to collect his walking stick and soon his three‑wheeled electric bike made its steady way towards St Mary’s in Roehampton. The address itself would have alerted many people to the nature of Paul’s injuries but Theo was allowed a few extra minutes of blissful ignorance. He explained the reason for his visit at reception and was escorted to Theo’s ward. He had already glimpsed enough of the resident patients to guess the nature of Paul’s injuries but seeing his friend, suddenly a double amputee, was both shocking and intriguing. They had spoken before about their ideal configurations and Theo had been shocked to learn about Paul’s infatuation with artificial arms, the old‑fashioned kind with cables and straps and hooks. Paul’s long above‑elbow stump was squeezed by a silicon liner. Paul noticed Theo’s arrival and spread his arm and stump wide in welcome. He had grown some impressive stubble in the intervening time and, except for the paleness of his skin, looked healthy.
Patients in neighbouring beds studied the man struggling in leg braces. One or two considered their own recent loss and thought about whether a leg brace was preferable to a leg prosthesis. The man’s legs looked atrophied, possibly quite useless.
It was the wrong place for overly physical greetings but the two men hugged awkwardly, both with only one hand.
– Paul, I had no idea.
Theo pointed at Paul’s arm stump with his free hand.
– I’ve lost my left leg as well. Can’t you tell?
Paul kicked at the blanket loosely covering his legs. His leg stump made itself obvious. He looked at Theo’s face, watching for his reaction. Theo merely stared. It was a long stump. Both of Paul’s stumps were long. He was going to be able to wear a wide selection of prosthetic limbs.
– How are you feeling?
– Happy to be alive but apart from that, can you imagine how I feel? Two stumps, Theo. Two! One of each. How do you think I feel? I’m over the moon.
– Shh! Not so loud. They don’t hurt you, then?
– My stumps? Oh, they hurt well enough but they’re healing.
– Did you have any other injuries?
– Only cuts and bruises but they’ve mostly gone. I count myself very lucky.
– Do you remember anything about the crash?
– No, nothing. I think I must have been asleep when it happened. The doctor said one of the steel panels detached and did most of the damage. My arm was smashed up and hanging off by the skin at my elbow and my leg was completely severed.
Theo was unable to think of anything to say. Paul had nearly lost his life and it was only thanks to the expertise of medical staff that he was here now. Paul had recovered from the mental trauma of discovering that he was a double amputee and was inwardly pleased with his new stumps. He was looking forward to both wearing an artificial leg and learning to walk on it as unobtrusively as possible and boasting an above‑elbow prosthetic arm. He intended to make it into his defining feature and was excited to discover the many difficulties and pitfalls associated with operating one. The idea of going about his daily life using some kind of primitive hook on an insensate arm was intensely erotic.
– Have you heard anything from the theatre yet?
– Not directly, no. My agent said the cast missed me and sends their best wishes.
– I expect it’ll be a while before you can get back.
– If they’ll have me. There aren’t many amputee actors on the stage. They get called in for stunt work mostly. I suppose I should say ‘we get called in’. I keep forgetting.
– When are you going to be allowed up?
– Don’t know. I’ll be in a wheelchair for a while. I reckon a pair of crutches will be beyond me, having only one hand.
Theo was happy to see his friend in such good spirits, thinking about the future and tentatively even planning a return to acting. They sat together for an hour. Theo promised to visit every day and asked if there were any messages he could forward to the agent or theatre co‑workers should they make contact.
– Tell them I’ll see them again and sooner than they think.
Paul’s understudy was caught between two emotions on being offered the rôle of Starbuck. He would be earning more and getting more publicity but what had happened to Paul was an awful way to get it. He did an adequate job but one of the more favourable reviews noted that ‘the sparkle which Paul Keller made a keynote feature of the rôle is sadly missing’. One or two co‑actors regularly messaged Theo to ask about Paul’s progress and had to satisfy themselves with Theo’s polite but brief replies.
His doctors were sufficiently satisfied with Paul’s physical recovery to grant him permission to use a wheelchair with the proviso that he was not to propel himself. There were fortunately other ambulatory patients on the ward with whom he was on good terms and they occasionally pushed Paul along to the cafeteria or secluded back garden to enjoy a spot of sunshine. Unknown to himself, Paul was also being monitored by a psychiatrist who blended in with other medical staff on their rounds and who had already noticed Paul’s unconventional reaction to his limb loss. She was familiar with the phenomenon of body identity disorder and suspected that she might have her first case before her in Paul Keller. She intended interviewing the patient before he underwent his first fitting for prosthetic limbs in order to discover the reason behind his unusual positivity. Much of her work involved maintaining the spirits of recent amputees and any new knowledge might provide an insight into encouraging them in their mental recovery.
Appointments were made for Paul to be fitted with an artificial arm. The psychiatrist was informed according to protocol and she held her first session with Paul in a corner of the gardens.
– I hope you feel up to a brief chat, Paul. I heard that you’re about to begin the process of receiving your first prostheses and what we would ideally like to know is how you feel about it all and what expectations you have.
Paul shifted in his wheelchair and moved his thigh stump to a more comfortable position. It was clad in a silicon liner giving it a pleasantly rounded shape. His arm stump was naked and Paul had already begun gesturing with it.
– I don’t know what to say. Of course, I’m looking forward to having something to replace my hand. It really is quite an inconvenience to have only one hand, you know.
– Indeed it must be. You aren’t too upset by the loss, though, are you?
– Not really. You see, I already know something about using artificial arms and so when I think of myself wearing one, it doesn’t upset me, if you see what I mean.
– So you’re comfortable with the idea of having an artificial arm?
– Yes, I think so.
– Paul, how did you become familiar with upper limb prostheses? It’s not a subject most people would know anything about.
Paul thought about the many evenings he had spent watching uploaded videos of patients in rehab, demonstrations by over‑enthusiastic manufacturers and good‑looking young guys who had lost one or both hands. He preferred not to divulge his obsession to this woman, who he already suspected of being a psychologist. He had to be careful what he said or they might think he was deranged or posed a danger to himself.
– It’s just something I’ve come across online and found interesting. It is quite a big change for someone, to lose a limb, and maybe it’s because I’m an actor, I find it interesting to see their reactions and how they adjust to their new rôle, as well as how they actually use their new equipment. It is quite an intriguing and unusual thing, wouldn’t you agree?
– So you don’t have any misconceptions about wearing an artificial arm?
Paul wondered what he was supposed to answer.
– Do you mean am I worried about what people might think or say? I don’t think so. Not really. I expect people will want to ask at first but once they know, that will be the end of it.
– So you intend wearing the prosthesis as much as possible, rather than coming to terms with life without one.
– Oh, I’m sure I’ll be wearing it. I know it might be difficult or inconvenient at first but there are people who have learned to use them just as well as their own hands.
– And you intend to join their ranks.
– Yes, of course. It would be quite a mark of distinction, wouldn’t it?
– I assume it would. Very well, Paul. I have enjoyed our little talk and I wish you good luck with your fitting this afternoon. Will you stay here or shall I take you back to the ward?
– I think I’d better be inside if they’ll be looking for me.
He was introduced to his first prosthetist, Dr Charles Shadwell, who specialised in upper limb amputations. He donned a pair of thin rubber gloves and made a close examination of Paul’s arm stump, which still showed obvious signs of recent trauma but was deemed suitable for prosthetic use. He referred to x‑rays and ultrasound images and gently squeezed Paul’s flesh as if to confirm their veracity.
– Yes, I think we can work with this, young man. I understand you are prepared to use a conventional body‑powered limb. I would also recommend you do so initially. Bionic devices have their own difficulties and I believe it best to acquaint the patient with something more readily understood.
– That’s exactly what I was thinking. But I have been thinking about a cosmetic hand too. Something which looks natural. I’m an actor, you see, and it would be odd to play most rôles wearing a hook.
– I agree. I would. Very well. We shall discuss terminal devices later. There are several kinds of hand which you might consider. But let’s get started on your socket.
Shadwell scanned the residual limb from every possible angle and uploaded the resulting data to his laptop, where a modelling app created a virtual model of the stump. Shadwell had his own preferences about how far the socket should extend on the patient’s shoulder. For a new amputee such as Paul, he explained, it would be advantageous if the socket was held firmly over the shoulder. This would lessen its apparent weight and make long‑term use more comfortable. Paul nodded his understanding and imagined his stump completely hidden by the artificial arm. He sighed, an unusual reaction, and agreed that the long socket was the better alternative, although it imposed some restriction of movement. It was one of the aspects of the prosthesis which Paul most wanted to savour.
They compared several stock versions of the prosthetic forearm. If Paul wanted something which mirrored his natural arm, a version could be made for an additional cost. Once again, Shadwell advised against it, citing the disadvantages of additional weight and cost for a limb which might very well be quite temporary. He recommended a cylindrical arm, which Paul admired for its unnatural artificiality.
– The arm will terminate in a prosthetic steel hook. There are several types which I can show you.
Shadwell rose and fetched a selection of split hooks. Paul recognised them all and knew what applications they were most suited to. Shadwell gave a long explanation of each and Paul listened with interest. It was one thing to see and admire the hooks as erotic items and fetish objects, quite another to know that they would permanently replace his missing hand very shortly.
Paul’s first socket was ready for testing two days later. It was of transparent thermoplastic and fit tightly to allow visual inspection of its fit and range. It looked odd without an attached arm. Paul experienced how it would restrict his arm movements. He would be able to raise his stump to the side and forward by twenty degrees. The completed prosthesis would not allow him to stretch the arm behind his back. Paul twirled his stump until the socket was criss‑crossed with Shadwell’s grease pencil markings and was shortly returned to the ward. His arm would be ready in seven to ten days. What of his leg stump? Surely that was healed enough by now to allow a fitting? Paul’s dilemma lay in the fact that he would not be mobile to any practical extent without an artificial leg. He was unable to use conventional crutches and after having insisted that he intended wearing a prosthetic leg, the medical team made arrangements to allow Paul’s continued presence on the amputee ward although his injuries required only time to heal further.
His first fitting for a prosthetic leg was first thing on Monday morning. The lower limb specialist was an enthusiastic recent immigrant with an accent which required concentration to understand.
– I am going to start you with a pylon. You might also call it a peg leg. I will make a socket and fit a long steel pylon with a simple knee joint. You must unlock the knee manually if you wish to sit. Do you understand?
– I think so. I’ll have a long thin peg leg with a manual knee lock.
– Exactly. I want you walking as soon as possible. We can discuss more conventional prostheses later but the main thing is to get you back on two feet. Are you ready, Mr Paul?
– Yes, I am.
Once again, the process followed the same manufacturing procedure. Paul was surprised to see that the socket would extend above the top of his thigh with a broad rim. To all intents and purposes, he would sit on the fluted top edge of his peg leg. None of the pressure of walking would be borne by his stump. It would be transferred to his backside. This stump too would be completely hidden by the socket of his artificial leg, his peg leg. Paul watched the prosthetist coax his data into producing a design which had to be printed and cured before he could trial the test socket.
While the transparent socket for his leg stump was still curing, Paul was invited to test his artificial arm for the first time. The nurse walked him slowly to the prosthetics department, tormenting him purposely in his impatience, so he thought. He was excited to see his new arm for the first time.
The fitting lasted over three hours. The forearm hung uselessly for much of the time while stump liners were trialled, the black canvas harness was adjusted time and time again, requiring readjustment of the control cables every time. There was a standard steel hook as his first terminal device but the control cable was often loose and the hook inoperable. At last, the final insult. He was invited to use his new arm to pick lengths of coloured dowel from a young child’s toy and place them into adjacent holes. He had known to expect a puerile test of some kind but had not expected to find it a challenge. He willed the hook to open and move where he intended but it remained closed at the end of the cylindrical forearm. Perhaps learning to use it would not be as effortless as he expected.
The main difficulty was something Paul was already aware of. Moving his forearm up and down and opening his hook were all controlled somehow by his shoulder. He needed to lock the elbow first at the angle required before attempting to grasp with the hook. Then there was the same problem in reverse. He had to unlock the elbow joint without opening the hook and dropping whatever it held. The prosthetist made encouraging noises and reminded him repeatedly to lock his elbow first.
– You’re making good progress on your first attempt. I’m satisfied with how the prosthesis fits and I’m willing to let you have it. Do continue practising. I’m going to make some appointments for you in the rehabilitation department over the next few days.
Paul thanked the prosthetist and was wheeled back to the amputee ward by a nurse summoned for the purpose. She also made encouraging sounds similar to those heard earlier but knew from experience with other patients that Paul faced many frustrating hours of desperate attempts to control the artificial arm before he could be confident of succeeding in even the simplest of tasks. Paul held the steel hook in his hand rather than allow it to rest on his leg stump.
His fellow amputees were interested to see Paul’s new gear, even those to whom a full‑length artificial arm was not immediately relevant. Paul’s ego received a much needed boost by the others’ admiration and the complements about the appearance of the arm, which still gleamed in it pristine condition. Paul demonstrated the odd movements he had to perform to operate his artificial elbow and inwardly appreciated the additional difficulty which made the arm less of a fake arm and more of a completely new experience, something which looked alien and behaved in an alien manner. He returned to sit on his bed, toying with the hook. His shoulders became sore and he was relieved when a nurse suggested that perhaps he had worn his prosthesis for long enough and it might be wise to allow air to his stump.
His leg man had assembled the peg leg and summoned the patient. He began with a long explanation of its few components and theory of walking on a peg. Paul listened patiently, often realising the similarity between the peg leg and wearing Theo’s leg braces. The prosthetist was concerned that Paul realise the difficulty in controlling a rigid peg. Paul wished to reveal that he was perfectly accustomed to walking with two rigid legs but remained silent. What had happened to the brace he was wearing during the crash? No‑one had mentioned it or enquired about his right leg.
Paul was surprised by how very light the peg leg was. Unlike his artificial arm, still hanging beside his bed, the peg leg seemed to be immediately usable and controllable. It was fitted with a broad rubber ferrule. The prosthetist made several adjustments to the knee, minuscule changes which could not possibly have any practical effect on how he stomped around. Without wishing to give the game away, Paul played the rôle of a new amputee, cautiously testing the mechanical replacement for his left leg. The prosthetist was completely satisfied with his handiwork, the result of which stood before him with a satisfied grin of accomplishment.
– Paul, I’m going to allow you to keep the peg because I’m pleased with the fit and how you seem to be ready to use it. But for the next few days, please don’t wear it for more than an hour at a time and give your stump and rest of at least eight hours before you make another attempt. Do you understand?
– Yes, of course. May I walk back to the ward now wearing it?
– If you feel you can, yes you may. I’ll have the chair collected later.
– I hope I shan’t need it after this.
– Oh, you haven’t seen the last of your wheelchair, young man, but for the next hour or so, feel free.
– What about the proper socket?
– Give it a few days and we’ll review the situation after your stump has become accustomed to the socket. It won’t take long to make a carbon fibre socket once I’m certain of the correct dimensions.
Paul experimented with different styles as he returned to the amputee ward. He could swing the peg directly forward but it resulted in having to lift himself on tiptoe up and over the rubber ferrule. It might work if the peg were a tad shorter. When he swung the peg slightly, the arc took a little longer and slowed his pace but it was a more comfortable gait. He tried stretching his peg leg but no longer had the muscles to do so. The pressure against his bum bone, the ischias as the prosthetist called it, felt odd but was not unpleasant and he was sure he would soon get used to it. The liner gripping his stump added to the sensation of artificiality and his first experience of walking somewhere on an artificial leg for the first time felt oddly familiar, although he could feel nothing except pressure along the skin of his thigh stump. His fellow amputees applauded with whatever flesh they had available on his return and he strutted up and down the ward, deliberately exaggerating his peg leg gait. Paul felt he was ready to face the world outside. He could walk in his own fashion and was sure that a few week’s practice would tame his recalcitrant artificial arm. Theo arrived late in the afternoon, after Paul had woken from an afternoon snooze, and was impatient to have Paul home now he had his artificial limbs. They would throw a party for all their friends to celebrate Paul’s return.
The following morning, Paul was summoned to his prosthetist and told to bring his peg leg. The black carbon fibre socket was ready and could be substituted for the transparent test socket. The process involved removing and replacing four screws. It was done with laser accuracy and when the prosthetist was happy with his work, he invited Paul to don his definitive peg leg. Paul was impressed by the high gloss of the socket which contrasted beautifully with the steel pylon. He took a few steps, trying in vain to detect any improvement in the socket’s fit. His artificial arm hung motionless by his side. From one side, Paul appeared normal but from the other, his limbs were completely artificial. Not a vestige of skin was visible. The prosthetist watched him carefully. It was unusual for a patient to acclimatise himself so quickly to a simple pylon. There was the additional psychological aspect of using such a conspicuous and unusual device. Perhaps the chap had already inured himself to that particular challenge. His prosthetic hook would always be visible and it too was difficult to disguise.
– Is it comfortable on your stump? And around the rim? No sharp corners? Very well, if you care satisfied, I’m prepared to let you have the pylon. Sign here, please. I have a suspicion you’ll shortly be discharged. Have you heard anything yourself?
– No, not yet.
– Well, I suspect we won’t be meeting again for a while so I wish you good luck and remember you can always contact us if you have any problems with the peg leg or with the stump itself.
– Thank you, doctor.
Paul and the prosthetist shook hands and Paul strutted back to the amputee ward. He felt empty, as if he had completed a long and arduous journey and arrived at his destination only to find it completely unremarkable.
He ate another hospital lunch, cold and watery cottage pie, before his discharge swung unexpectedly into action. A nurse checked on him first and messaged other staff, who arrived to check on his medical and psychological condition. He thanked them all and received the same advice which his prosthetist had given him. Finally, his discharge papers were produced. He could stay overnight if necessary but had to be gone by noon the next day. After nine weeks, he had no intention of staying a moment longer than necessary. He signed his papers, arranged for a taxi and checked that Theo would be home when he arrived. Holding a plastic bag containing his meagre belongs in his left hook, he pegged out to the forecourt and carefully got into the cab.
Theo was in two minds about Paul’s return. He understood well enough that Paul was content with his stumps. He had achieved much of his intended body already but at the wrong time and in the wrong way. He could have been killed so easily. Theo was worried about the lingering effects of trauma and suspected he might need to tiptoe around the subject, so to speak. It was one thing to achieve the aesthetic perfection of double amputation with two long robust stumps, and another entirely to rely on artificial limbs attached to them for the rest of your life.
On the third day, when some new kind of prosthetic routine was forming, Paul announced that he wanted to wear the remaining leg brace on his sound leg with his peg leg and would appreciate it if Theo could help him don the brace before he donned his own.
– Aren’t you disabled enough already?
– Of course not! The braces are what I’m used to wearing. I’m sorry the other one got smashed up but I couldn’t use it with a peg leg anyway, could I? I want to see how difficult it is to walk with a rigid brace and my peg leg. I might need a walking stick too, don’t you think?
– I should think so. Are you going to put your arm on?
– Yes, in a minute. Apparently I’m supposed to wear it every day now for four hours and practise using it.
– I think that’s good advice. It looks amazing but it must be really hard to get it to work.
– It’s not too bad. I keep forgetting to lock the elbow and when I go to open the hook, I move the arm instead. It’s annoying.
– Don’t worry. I dare say you’ll get used to it. It does look strange, though, doesn’t it? So black and shiny. Very alien. Wouldn’t you like an arm which looks natural?
– I’ve thought about that. The trouble is that they don’t actually do anything. They just look pretty.
– Well, I think you should look into getting one. It would be nice if you looked pretty.
– They make different sorts. There are some which look like they belong on a robot, all plastic and chrome, and others which match the other hand. They’re really expensive though.
– That’s the sort of thing you should get. Then you could go back to work and no‑one would notice your missing arm.
Theo had brought up the subject which had been gnawing at Paul’s mind. He had been pronounced fit enough to return to normal life but no‑one had mentioned his work. He had also imagined himself in some of his previous rôles, as a devious young hoodlum or hen‑pecked husband or insecure young police constable. None of them readily suggested themselves as suitable for a double amputee to play. But all that was for another time. He allowed Theo to do most of the work getting the rigid boot and heavy leg brace onto his leg and waggled his stump until Theo slid a liner onto it, followed by his peg leg. Paul distracted Theo when he was donning his leg braces by flailing the long arm stump in his face. Theo was initially indignant at being interrupted but seeing Paul’s expression, the two lovers fell on top of each other and heaved their steel‑encased lower bodies to a position where they could both manipulate each other’s genitals. The leg brace was too heavy to move but Paul’s pylon beat against the floor when Theo brought him to orgasm, releasing two month’s of frustration.
Paul contacted his agent, happy to announce that he had returned home equipped with new artificial limbs which he was learning to use. The agent reported that Winchester Theatre had agreed to hold the rôle of Starbuck for Paul, to which he could return as soon as he felt up to it with the proviso that the production manager wanted to have a little chat with him beforehand. Paul promised to contact him very soon. He was anxious to return to the stage and his agent, who held serious doubts about Paul’s eligibility for any rôle anywhere, made gratified noises and rang off with florid wishes for luck and success.
Theo took responsibility for arranging the homecoming party. Both men discovered that they had very few genuine friends, people who were genuinely concerned for Paul’s well‑being and who would appreciate an invitation. They scoured Paul’s social media contacts, his phone contacts and the Moby Dick cast. Four names suggested themselves, only three of whom were free on the night in question. Theo suggested inviting a couple of his own contacts, creatives who openly claimed to co‑operate but who surreptitiously plagiarised each other’s prompts. Two tentatively agreed to attend, curious to hear for the first time that Theo cohabited with a double amputee who used a peg leg. After mulling over the matter for several hours, they mutually agreed that five guests was the ideal number. Both of them were surprised by the realisation that modern social ties were at best tenuous, at worst, non‑existent. There was nothing to be done. They planned for the delivery of a variety of sushi accompanied by three bottles of sake and Absolut.
The party itself started cautiously. The guests knew of Paul’s injuries but his friends were surprised to find Theo greeting them wearing two long leg braces over a pair of tight jeans. Paul chose to wear a green velvet jacket with artfully ripped jeans which partially succeeded in disguising his artificial arm and peg leg. But his hook was always on display. He demonstrated his skill at using it but it looked awkward and inconvenient, not at all the nonchalant effect he was aiming for. His guests warily congratulated him and did their best to avoid mentioning the entire subject. After tasting the excellent sushi, three of them made semi‑credible excuses and took their leave. The remaining pair, both acquaintances of Theo, were relieved to see them go and visibly relaxed, partly with the encouragement of the first shots of vodka.
– I hope you don’t mind me asking, Paul, but how much of your arm did you lose?
– To just above my elbow. About here.
Paul drew a finger across his sleeve.
– Ah, I thought so. My father is an arm amputee too and has a variety of artificial arms but he never seems to get on with them. He usually doesn’t bother wearing one. He says it just slows him down and gets in the way.
– I’m sorry to hear that. I was warned about it in the hospital when I got this prosthesis. Apparently there’s a steep learning curve and then suddenly it gets a lot easier. I’ve been told to wear the arm every day and to keep practising.
– Yeah. I think my dad was a bit lazy with his. Or too impatient. He’s learned to get by one‑handed. It’s only when my parents go out together that my mother insists he wears a cosmetic hand.
– I’ve been thinking about that. If I go back to the theatre, it would be better if I had a hand instead of a hook and a proper artificial leg instead of my peg leg.
– Did you choose a peg leg?
– Not really. The prosthetist said I would learn to walk sooner on a peg. I think they wanted to discharge me as soon as possible, you see. And having only one hand, I can’t really use crutches or an ordinary wheelchair.
– It’s quite a problem, isn’t it? You really have been thrown into the deep end. I think you should get back to your prosthetist and tell them what you need to get back to work. They can hardly refuse you.
It was a casual conversation but inspired Paul to be more insistent about his prosthetic care. Theo had also mentioned a cosmetic arm, something which was mainly decorative. He had seen arm amputees on the street wearing a black glove on an oddly shaped hand and found it an interesting look.
The two guests thanked their hosts and left before midnight. It had been an odd occasion. There had been none of the camaraderie and friendly leg‑pulling which Paul had anticipated. He had not even been asked to demonstrate his peg leg.
– I don’t think we’ll do that again, Theo.
– No, neither do I. Do you want some sushi?
The next morning, they cleared the debris of the night before and took the last of the food to the park, either to eat or to feed to the swans. Theo was wearing trousers over his leg braces and the only sign of them were a few centimetres of mirrored steel at his ankles. The toes of his rigid carbon fibre boots pointed skywards and his sturdy walking stick rested between his legs. Paul compared his own appearance. His left trouser leg draped over his thin peg leg and the missing foot was conspicuous by its absence. Once again, his artificial arm was hidden from view but the hook was an unavoidable sign of his disability. He would always be marked as an amputee wherever he went. He had always imagined that he would be proud to present himself as a disabled man—he had no compunction about wearing Theo’s old leg braces and going out peacocking with a walking stick. But this was different. Now he had little choice in the matter.
Sitting together with Theo calmed his mind to some degree. Theo had come to terms with being obviously disabled years ago and rarely gave it a thought. But Paul was still self‑conscious, especially as he had not yet mastered either of his prostheses. His peg leg was trustworthy and enabled him to walk without a cane, which was why it was offered to him but it caused such an odd gait. He decided to talk with his prosthetist about having a standard artificial leg made, perhaps only the lower section which he could swap out himself when he wanted to. And it was time to talk to the producer in Winchester about a possible return.
Paul felt more confident on returning home and began to act on his decisions. First he contacted both his prosthetists with mixed results. He was advised to acclimatise himself to walking on his peg leg. The time for a conventional prosthetic would come much later when his stump had settled and shrunk towards its final shape and size. His upper limb prosthetist was delighted to hear that Paul wore his artificial arm every day and was patiently exploring its capabilities.
– I completely understand why you might want a cosmetic hand in your line of work, Paul. And indeed otherwise. I hope you are not distressed by the appearance of your hook.
– No, nothing like that. It’s something which can’t be helped. I know it looks shocking for some people but they can always look away. I would rather attend a meeting with the theatre producer wearing something not quite so conspicuous, though.
– Yes, of course. Why don’t you call in on Friday afternoon about three and we’ll take a look at some alternatives.
Paul was pleased to get an appointment. He hesitated to call Winchester Theatre, reasoning that it might be better to wait until he could rock up wearing his new fake hand so they could see for themselves how natural it looked, how his major amputation would not distract an audience. He would assure them that he would shortly have an artificial leg indistinguishable in appearance from the real thing and could take on any rôle again, including that of Starbuck. He had enjoyed playing Ahab’s sidekick. It was not a major rôle but had attracted some attention for which he was grateful. Then it struck him.
Ahab was played by an actor with one leg tied up standing stationary on a white wooden peg to represent the narhval’s tusk which Ahab used. Paul could use a genuine peg leg and walk around. He remembered reading how the crew trembled in fear below decks, listening to their despotic captain pacing above them, the ivory tusk beating a slow rhythm on the wooden deck. Maybe he was more suited to play Ahab! Of course he was! He would need a fake beard and a fake belly but he could imagine his peg leg being disguised with a long conical cylinder of wood painted to look like ivory. He would be perfect for the rôle! He forgot about wanting a standard issue artificial leg and began to construct a convincing explanation of why he should play Ahab. It would need to be good. The actor was a well‑known name and would not take lightly to being deposed.
In the meantime, Paul continued experimenting with his arm prosthesis. While Theo sat quietly working with his laptop, Paul went about the usual domestic chores with the sole intention of training his body to operate the arm so that its movement became instinctive. The mechanical elbow presented the greatest challenge. He was already accustomed to manipulating the hook. The challenge was quite simply getting it into the correct position and height where it would be of use to him. He could move his upper arm a little but it was restricted by the socket which partly enveloped his shoulder. Paul gradually realised that the arm responded to him swinging his upper body. If he twisted his shoulders so the arm swung forwards, sometimes he could freeze its motion by jerking his stump at a well‑timed moment instead of purposefully tensing his shoulder to raise the socket. Once or twice, everything fell perfectly into place. He twisted his shoulder in combination with his other movements and locked his forearm exactly where he needed it. Opening the hook was effortless and he was always proud of himself. Even Theo had noticed and was impressed, although he never passed comment about Paul’s prowess with his prostheses. At the back of his mind was something which Paul had admitted after a few drinks, long before the accident. He had professed an admiration for men who used bilateral prostheses—either two artificial legs or two hooks. Theo wondered if Paul was still considering the idea of bilateralism despite already being disabled.
His prosthetist looked forward to meeting Paul again after several weeks and seeing how well he had adapted to his prosthesis. He had a few samples of artificial hands ready for demonstration which could be readily connected to his existing socket. There were also purely cosmetic arms, some with elbows and digits which could be repositioned manually. They were intended mainly as sleeve fillers for new amputees to acclimatise them to the idea of wearing a prosthesis. Most of the false hands were for below elbow amputees. A cosmetic arm on an above elbow amputee would not be nearly so inconspicuous. The arm would remain rigid at a preordained angle and the immobile hand would immediately reveal itself to be artificial. But quite possibly, for an actor such as Paul Keller, a certain degree of extrovertism might not be unwelcome.
Paul arrived on Friday at the arranged time, punctual as ever, something ingrained into every actor’s mindset. His peg leg had begun to feel more comfortable and he appreciated the curious looks he noticed from passers-by. However, in the vicinity of St Mary’s Hospital, amputees were not an unusual sight. Dressed in his dark green velvet jacket and artfully ripped jeans, at first glance he looked much like any young dandy. He strode into the hospital and was shortly escorted to his appointment.
– How are you getting on with the arm?
– I’m not sure. Slow but sure, I suppose.
– You’re not getting frustrated with it, I hope?
– No, nothing like that. I know it’s a long learning process but I think I’m becoming more used to the movements I need to make to operate it.
– Yes. It all takes time. I’m glad to know that you’re prepared to master it. Too many patients simply give up after a few months when they might be close to mastery. So, to business. What can I do for you?
Paul explained how his body image as an actor played an important part in the selection of rôles he might be offered and if he could somehow disguise his missing arm, it would be one hurdle less to overcome.
– Completely understandable, of course. Let’s take a look at some options.
Paul was engrossed by the variety available. The prosthetist patiently explained their characteristics and Paul tried to imagine himself wearing and even using some of the items. One model in particular caught his attention. It looked fairly convincing at first glance, covered with a flesh‑coloured glove of a finely woven textile. It unzipped along the palm to make its removal easier. The wrist was a little broader than the end of Paul’s cylindrical forearm but the glove extended some distance, concealing the connection.
– I like this one most.
– It’s a good choice. For one thing, you can simply exchange a hook for the hand and you won’t need a new arm. The hand also articulates to some degree, although the grip is not as strong as with a hook.
Paul persuaded himself that the wood and metal hand hidden inside a long glove was exactly the sort of thing he had in mind. The prosthetist placed an order for an adult’s left hand prosthesis with estimated delivery in a couple of weeks. Paul had expected to be offered the demonstration model but the prosthetist refused, saying it was the wrong size, too small. Nonetheless, he was pleased with his choice and relieved to be one step closer to returning to work.
With that in mind, Paul revised his Starbuck rôle over the next week, practising his lines in his head, remembering the performances before his accident and imagining himself in his new configuration, limping and gesturing with his new wooden hand. He also read Ahab’s lines and committed them to memory. There were not many in this production. The playwrights had exaggerated Ahab as a ephemeral figure of dread, silent for the most part but whose appearance struck fear into his crew. Theo checked the script when Paul practised and was impressed by the peg legged figure striking poses before him.
His hand prosthesis arrived. It would have been simple to deliver it directly but there were papers to sign and an introductory course to its use before he could claim it as his own. Once again he paid a visit to St Mary’s prosthetics division.
– I assume you already know how to change one hook for another, don’t you? This hand also fits onto your socket in exactly the same way. The tension cable will need some adjustment.
It was a bigger operation than Paul had expected. The prosthetist asked him to remove his prosthesis and set about shortening the cable to compensate for the connection on the artificial hand.
– Unfortunately, you will have to adjust the cable yourself when you replace the hook. It’s not difficult but do pay attention to how I do it. I think you may find that you prefer to use either your hook or the new hand semi‑permanently.
Paul understood and watched his formal, old‑school prosthetist attach the new hand, still naked and pristine. The hand was sculpted of blond wood with a steel cover on the back of the hand. The fingers were steel springs with wooden fingertips and nails, capped with a thin rubbery surface to improve grip. It looked so odd—a marriage of artificiality and natural organic shapes. The prosthetist busied himself checking the cable’s tension and twisted the hand into a position which mimicked that of a relaxed hand. He held the prosthesis for Paul, who pushed his long stump into the socket, and completed his actions with gentle firmness. It was pleasant to have another’s assistance, although he was used to managing alone.
– Now this hand has only one kind of grip but thanks to the way the fingers are made, they tend to conform to whatever you are holding. It works differently from the hook. You apply tension to the cable to close the fingers and they will remain locked in place until you release them. The next time you apply tension, the fingers will spring open.
– Oh! I thought I would need to keep the cable taut all the time.
– No, no. That would very soon become very tiring, as well as being insecure. It may take a few days until you become used to the two‑stage operation. Would you like to try the hand before donning the glove? Let’s go over to the bench. You remember these exercises, don’t you? Try gripping the dowels and dropping them into the other holes.
Paul did remember. This time, the wooden fingertips concealed the item he was trying to pick up. He had no sensation of touch whatsoever. Sometimes he could feel his hook contact something in his stump but the fingers, being steel springs, transmitted no hint of touch. He craned his neck to see where the fingers were. His prosthetist knew the frustrations associated with trying to use an artificial hand which obscured objects. It was the major reason why his patients usually reverted to using a hook. He allowed Paul to test his new hand for a few minutes and stopped him before disillusionment set in.
– As you can see, it is a little more demanding than your hook but bearing in mind what you told me earlier about the reasons for wanting a hand, you might not find it so much of a detraction. Shall we don the cover and you can judge its appearance?
The glove was a tight fit but slid on smoothly. Other cosmeses were silicon and usually closely colour‑matched to the amputee’s skin. This textile glove was a generic beige, much lighter in tone than Paul’s right hand. Its colour emphasized its artificiality and on second look, its surface also looked odd—not flesh‑like in any way. The index and middle fingertips touched the thumb in a way that an adult man would never gesture with his resting hand.
– You may prefer to permanently wear a leather glove to protect the cover. I’m sure you are familiar with the concept. I am told that a single gloved hand suggests an air of mystery, although I confess that I have never understood the connection myself.
– I think it originated among soldiers from the war who wished to hide their battle scars—you know, burns and the like. I think it’s a good idea to help with the grip. I think the cosmetic cover may be slippery.
– You may well be right. I leave it to you. Your hand is size nine and I’m sure most gloves marked thus will fit quite well. Are you satisfied with the hand, Paul? Would you like me to replace your hook?
– Oh, no thank you. This is fine. Just what I wanted. Now I need to get myself down to Winchester to rejoin our troupe.
– I had forgotten that you are a thespian. What were you playing in at the time of your accident?
– The new production of Ahab.
The prosthetist looked at Paul with amusement on his face.
– I cannot imagine anyone more suitable to play the title rôle. I wish you luck, Paul. As always, get in touch if we can help with your prosthesis. Ahab!
Paul was more aware of his deviant hand than even his hook. He locked his elbow at a slight angle which he thought looked more natural but his arm was motionless when he walked. Theo spun his wheelchair round to view Paul on his return.
– Ah! You’ve got it already. That looks OK, doesn’t it? Is it what you expected?
– It’s difficult to say. I’m not sure. Do you think it looks fake?
Theo was in two minds about what to reply. Paul sounded like he needed some reassurance but the truth of the matter was simple. The hand did look fake after the briefest inspection.
– Not at first glance, maybe. But if you know what to look for, you can see that it’s an artificial hand. But it doesn’t look as shocking as a hook, does it? That always makes itself obvious and you don’t mind that, do you?
– No, I don’t mind it. I’m worried about how the hand would look to an audience.
– I’m sure it will be fine at that distance.
– I don’t want people to be distracted, you see?
– Yes, I understand. I’m sure it won’t be a problem, Paul. When do you intend going to Winchester to show them?
– As soon as I can use this hand for something. It works differently from the hook.
Paul stood by Theo’s wheelchair and allowed him to study the hand. Its fingers were pinched against the thumb in an indecipherable gesture. The coarse grain of the textile glove was apparent at close range, raising the question why would an adult man wear such an oddly coloured thing? There was a zip along the palm which disappeared up Paul’s jacket sleeve.
– What does it look like without the cover?
– You can take it off if you want. It’s wood and metal.
Theo found the zip’s fastener and opened it. Paul shifted his peg leg for better balance while Theo plucked the glove from the odd cylindrical fingers. The hand revealed itself in its unique glory. The wrist was a mismatch with the socket but the hand itself was pleasingly carved. The fingers and thumb looked like something seen on a marionette. The back of the hand was half covered by an incongruous steel plate.
– What’s this for?
– If you take it off, you can access the mechanism which alters the grip but I need to read the owner’s manual to find out how to do it. It’s online apparently.
– I see. You know, I prefer seeing the hand without the cover on. It looks fascinating. I’m looking forward to seeing you use it. What’s the grip like? Can you open it to shake hands?
Paul shrugged to activate the control cable. The fingers sprang open.
– Wow! That was fast! Is that the way it’s supposed to work?
– That’s the way it works. Come on. Shake!
Theo offered his left hand and Paul altered his position again in order to reposition his hand. He leaned forward carefully and allowed his wooden palm to touch Theo’s. He stretched his shoulder again and watched the spring wire fingers and thumb accommodate themselves around Theo’s hand. It was a convincing reproduction of a genuine handshake, much more pleasant for the recipient than unexpectedly gripping a cold steel hook. Theo was surprised and impressed.
– That’s quite firm but not uncomfortably so. It definitely feels odd, though.
Paul tensioned the cable and the fingers sprang open again. One more pull and they closed into their odd gesture.
– Are you going to keep it on or change it for your hook?
– I’m keeping it on. It’s too difficult to swap over. I have to change the length of the control cable, see? It’s not just a matter of removing one for the other.
– Oh, in that case would you like the cover back on?
– I think I’ll try to keep it clean. I’ll just wear the hand like this. You don’t mind, do you?
– Of course not. You know, you could wear a black rubber glove over it like the ones rubber fetishists wear.
– The long ones which come up to your shoulders?
– Them’s the ones. Shall we get some?
– Yeah!
Fifteen minutes later, half a dozen pairs of long rubber gloves were set for despatch and overnight delivery. Paul’s arm prosthesis would be hidden almost completely and his new hand protected from the elements.
Theo’s interest in the odd prosthesis inspired Paul to practise lifting and manipulating things for the rest of the day. His prosthetist had warned him that the grip was not as robust as that of a hook and Paul found it to be the case. He could lift a glass of water but not a full litre bottle. A knife fit between the spring‑loaded fingers but slipped when in use. It held a fork quite well. It held firmly when doing up buttons. Paul was relieved that he had made a sensible choice. He had originally wanted an artificial hand which matched his natural hand as much as possible. The wooden hand he had settled on was a compromise between appearance and function. It was obviously artificial without its textile glove but that also held its own aesthetic charm.
Paul called the producer at Winchester Theatre and gave a brief explanation of his recovery. Without needing to suggest it himself, the producer invited him to call in at the theatre as soon as possible because of reasons he would explain face to face. Paul suggested the following afternoon, after lunch. He was not yet ready to face the indignity of being invited out for a meal and embarrassing himself with the uncertain way he used his artificial hand. He spent much of his time composing his hopes and wishes into a concise presentation about why he could return to the production.
The producer himself was waiting to meet Paul at the arranged time. A sixty year old veteran of many successful productions, both in the provinces and in the capital, he had adopted the name Grayson Todd in his misspent youth and went by it still. His real name, John White, was not theatrical enough. He watched the acclaimed young Starbuck approach from the direction of the station, astonished to see someone actually walking on a peg leg for the first time in his life. Even before he opened the door to allow Paul access, he knew his prayers had been answered.
– Come in, dear boy. How wonderful to see you after so long.
– Yes, three months is a long time. I’m very happy you’ve given me this opportunity to talk with you.
– Think nothing of it. Come! Let’s go into my little office where we might speak confidentially. How are you, dear boy?
– I’m fine. Patched up and all set to carry on where I left off.
– Wonderful to hear. Here we are. Take a pew. Now the main thing I wanted to talk to you about is quite simple and I won’t take up your time trying to persuade you, as you assure me that you are already quite prepared to rejoin our production.
It was a far different opening than Paul had been expecting. His carefully prepared verbal application to rejoin the production as the cautiously flirtatious Starbuck which had garnered praise from weary correspondents and reviewers suddenly seemed superfluous. Grayson was doing his work for him.
– Do you mean that I could rejoin anyway? Despite my injuries?
– Well, deplorable as they may be, you may be the answer to my prayers. You see, Ahab has presented us with quite the conundrum. He tells me that having his leg strapped up has caused him to develop sciatica in his back.
– Oh! Poor man.
– Well, having suffered from sciatica myself, I know very well that if he actually suffered from it, there’s no way he would be strapping his leg up every night. He has also made a few other demands which I certainly won’t be going into here, suffice it to say that they seem to be caused mainly by Starbuck’s denial of Ahab’s afterwork advances.
– Oh dear.
– Oh dear indeed. And not to put too fine a point on it, it’s becoming quite obvious during the performance.
– Really? That’s unfortunate. Quite unprofessional, isn’t it?
– It is. I have a suggestion for you. You are familiar with the rôle of Ahab, are you not?
– Yes. I mean, Ahab and Starbuck are closely linked, aren’t they?
– Precisely. So how would you react if I cast you as Ahab while our erstwhile leading man takes a well‑earned rest to recover from his sciatica?
– Really? Me as Ahab? That would be wonderful. A great honour.
– It seems to me that you are uniquely suited to play Ahab. We shall have to do something about getting you a new peg leg, though.
– Yes, that’s true enough. My peg leg is nothing more than a steel pole with a rubber ferrule on the end.
– Let me invite one of the carpenters in to see if he has any ideas. You don’t mind, do you?
– No, go right ahead.
Todd made a call to the workshop over the intercom and asked the foreman to send someone to his office pronto.
– I’ve been worried about how my hand would look to an audience. That’s why I’ve waited until now before getting in touch.
Todd seemed unsure of what Paul was referring to until he paid closer attention to the artificial hand in its beige glove.
– Good lord! I didn’t notice. I didn’t realise you lost your hand too. I knew you’d lost your leg. I’m so sorry, Paul. May I see the hand?
Paul shrugged to unlock the elbow and raised the forearm. He swivelled in his seat to allow Todd to gently touch the exotic artificial hand.
– How extraordinary. I really didn’t notice.
It was all the confirmation Paul needed. The wooden hand was inconspicuous enough to have fooled Grayson Todd. Odd that he had not known the full extent of Paul’s injuries.
There was a knock at the door and a bearded carpenter in blue overalls entered.
– Afternoon, gents. Can I do something for you?
– Good afternoon. Yes, Paul Keller here is returning to the production as Ahab and he needs a new peg leg.
– Oh! That shouldn’t take long.
– The thing is, you see, I’m already wearing one but it’s the wrong sort. Let me show you.
The carpenter watched with increasing astonishment as Paul pushed himself up and tugged on his trouser leg to reveal a length of his pylon.
– Maybe you could make something which sort of clamps on over this.
– Bugger me! ’Scuse my French. How high up does that go?
– Only as far as my knee. It’s attached to my socket at the knee.
– I getcha. That would be high enough, wouldn’t it?
– I suppose so.
– It would. Ahab’s loose breeches will hide your knees anyway.
– Maybe if you can take the rubber bung off, you could slide a thick peg onto it, down the middle, like. And then the bung would stop it slipping off.
– What a good idea! That would work, wouldn’t it, Paul?
– I’m sure it would.
– Great! How soon do you need it?
– Oh, as soon as possible. The sooner you can make it, the sooner Paul can return to the stage.
– In that case, let me take a few measurements. Do you have some paper so I can sketch what I’m thinking of?
Todd took a sheet from his printer and the carpenter sketched an elegantly fluted, thick conical shape with two parallel dotted lines through its centre to represent the hole into which Paul would insert his pylon.
– Something like this?
– That’s rather beautiful. Yes, something like that.
The carpenter measured Paul’s peg leg and jotted the figures onto his drawing, taking into account the bulk of the mechanical knee joint and the ferrule.
– If I can get started now, it should be ready bar the paint in a couple of hours.
– Excellent! Thank you. Do go ahead. If anyone asks, tell them it’s a rush job for Grayson Todd.
– Will do. See you later.
– Well, that’s one problem sorted. Do sit down, Paul. Did I understand you correctly that you have been reading for Ahab’s rôle?
– Well, not specifically, but I do know the dialogue, what there is of it.
– Yes. His brooding silences speak more than words. Do you mind if I test you? In the middle of the first act, Ahab makes a speech and defies anyone to stand in his way. Can you demonstrate for me?
It was Ahab’s longest diatribe in the entire production. Paul had heard it many times and had paid attention to the rising anger and defiance. He started speaking and rose to his feet for emphasis. His gestures caused his artificial forearm to rise threateningly. He spread his legs and Todd imagined his figure with the new wooden peg leg. A fake beard would complete the illusion. Paul’s delivery was fluent and convincing. Todd waved at him to sit again.
– That was quite lovely. Now there remains only one problem.
– How to tell Ahab.
– Precisely. Leave it to me. You are ready to take over, I assume? If he goes off in a huff immediately, can you play Ahab from tomorrow night? One of the other understudies can take over tonight if necessary. I don’t want to keep you this afternoon.
– Yes, I’m free and ready to play Ahab. You can rely on me.
– I’m sure I can. Now, let me call for some tea.
Paul decided to wait long enough to trial his new peg leg. In the meantime, he recounted what he remembered about the railway accident and his recovery. What it was like to awaken to discover that he had lost two limbs. He described his determination to learn to use prosthetic limbs and his unusual decision to continue using a peg leg in the hope that the production might benefit.
– Of course, I would need an ordinary artificial leg if I were to play the rôle of a normal full‑bodied man. I don’t think an audience would find an obviously disabled ordinary character credible, you see. That’s why I wanted to wait until I had an artificial hand. I was using a steel hook until last week and it would have been too conspicuous on stage. Imagine Ahab with a peg leg and a hook, especially a modern one.
– That would look most extraordinary, I agree.
They continued their stimulating conversation until the intercom squawked and the carpenter reported that he had completed his handiwork.
– We’ll come down to the workshop.
The peg leg was as elegantly shaped as in the original sketch. It had been a simple job to turn a length of four‑by‑four into a shape into which Paul could push his pylon. Its inner top section has generously hollowed to avoid contact with the knee mechanism and it base was hollowed to allow for the ferrule to reattach and prevent the wooden peg from slipping off. The wood grain finish looked fine. It was almost a pity to paint it but Melville had specifically described Ahab’s peg leg as being carved from a narhval’s tusk. The new peg would be painted to resemble ivory.
Paul sat and asked the carpenter to twist his ferrule off. It was firmly attached. He slid the peg along the pylon and the wide open top covered Paul’s knee mechanism. He pushed the rubber bung back onto the pylon and stood back. Paul stood and took a few steps. His peg leg was now heavier which he found a pleasant sensation. Todd and the carpenter watched him closely. Paul turned to face them and widened his stance. It was the classic look of a defiant man with a peg leg.
– Oh! How splendid. Well done, both of you. Thank you so much, Thompson.
– If you take it off, I can paint it. Ivory white, that’s right, isn’t it?
– It is indeed.
– Great. It’ll dry overnight and be ready tomorrow.
Paul sat again while his wooden attachment was removed. He looked at the bare steel pylon as Thompson replaced the bung and thought how mediocre it seemed.
Grayson Todd cornered the hapless Ahab in his dressing room. He adopted his most insistent tone and announced that in view of the burgeoning problem with his health, the theatre’s insurers had advised the production team to allow Ahab a period of convalescence as soon as a suitable replacement could be found. He was delighted to say that such an actor had been found and that Ahab might relinquish his rôle at the end of tonight’s performance. Ahab was too slow‑witted to protest—he had a dreadful hangover—and after Todd’s gracious and hurried departure, he slowly realised that not only had he been sacked, it was also his own fault. His morose performance that evening, full of hatred and self‑pity, was the most convincing of his six month stint as Ahab.
Paul Keller’s return was so sudden that his appearance the next afternoon was met by mixed emotions by the cast, most of whom had worked alongside him before the accident. It was known that Paul had been seriously injured. That much had been reported in the press. Seeing Paul strut in with a huge grin on his face, purposefully exaggerating his swagger, came as a shock to everyone. Grayson Todd came downstairs to welcome him back in person and explained that Paul would be taking over the rôle of Ahab from that evening forward. Paul took the opportunity to emphasise that he had made a full recovery from his injuries, his amputations did not pain him, he was still the old Paul and he was happy to be with his old friends and colleagues again. He lifted his left arm to show his new artificial hand which most of the crew had not noticed. After ten minutes of hearty welcome, the cast returned to the business of transforming themselves into seamen of the early nineteenth century.
Paul was kitted out with a full grizzly beard and moustache, grey powder was sprinkled liberally into his hair and two costumiers quickly made adjustments to his seaman’s coat and breeches. A white sock and black leather boot was found for his leg and without bidding, Grayson Todd brought the wooden attachment which Paul advised his costumier how to slide onto his peg leg. He stood and appraised himself in the mirror. The sleeves of his coat were long enough to partially conceal his hands. He looked magnificent. He darkened his face, furrowing his exaggerated black theatrical eyebrows and looked like the personification of an Atlantic storm. He tried picking up a telescope with his prosthetic left hand which one scene demanded. Holding something in such a natural fashion, with his spring‑loaded fingers curling around it, further disguised his disability. To all intents and purposes, he was a normal member of the cast again, eager to project the grandiose command over his crew which his victory over his disabilities inspired.
Paul’s return was first reported by a writer for the local Winchester Gazette. The sharp‑eyed correspondent noticed that Ahab’s peg leg was the genuine article. Unlike his predecessor, the new Ahab was true to Melville’s idea of a captain who paced the deck, the sound of his ivory peg leg alerting the crew to his presence above them. Even the correspondent failed to realise that Ahab’s left hand was not natural. The following morning, he contacted Grayson Todd and asked about the new man playing Ahab.
– He seems to be a genuine amputee.
– Indeed he is. You remember the Alton railway accident, I assume. Our new Ahab is the acclaimed Paul Keller who originally played Starbuck to much gratifying acclaim.
– Oh really? Yes, I remember, although unfortunately I was not able to see that performance. So Paul Keller has been absent because he lost a leg, is that correct?
– It is.
– And now he’s returned to the production, playing Ahab with a genuine peg leg.
– That is correct.
– That seems… shall we say serendipitous?
– Exactly so. Unfortunately our former Ahab found hobbling around on a peg leg with his real leg tied up behind him too strenuous. He was not a young man, if you take my point. He is now recuperating from his exertions.
– And Paul Keller has taken the rôle as Ahab.
– Indeed he has. I’m assuming here that you have seen one of his performances. Might I ask why you thought of it?
– I thought it was masterful. Especially now I know who is playing the part of a much older man.
– You are very kind to say so. I agree completely.
– Might I ask if it would be possible to interview Mr Keller?
– Here at the Winchester? I have no objection. Shall I inform Mr Keller of your request and let you arrange an interview?
Paul Keller’s notoriety spread. The Winchester Gazette was quoted and requoted. TVSouth requested an interview on the sofa, a virtual version of which Paul agreed to. His amputations were hidden during the live interview but it was filled with still inserts from the previous week’s productions. Many viewers were disconcerted to be teased with blurbs about interviews with an amputee actor when the guy onscreen looked perfectly normal.
Theo attended the Friday evening performance. Paul knew he was present but could not pinpoint his friend and lover in the audience. Attendance had increased after the publicity about Paul’s return to the production. Theo was impressed by Paul’s dominating presence onstage and by the way he put his broken body to advantage. He knew well enough that Paul was concerned about the appearance of his wooden hand but there was nothing especially unusual about his gestures. His conspicuous ivory white peg leg stole most of the attention.
Thunderous applause broke out as the curtain fell. Ahab stood alone in his defiant stance as the curtain rose again, his peg leg to the front for support as he bowed his acknowledgment to the public, many of whom were now standing. Theo pushed himself erect with his walking sticks and joined in the tribute to his lover, who had whispered a secret as they lay together the previous evening. Paul had decided to forego his right leg in order to sport a pair of artificial legs on identical above knee stumps. He had already paid a retainer to a Slovak surgeon who would amputate after Moby Dick finished its run. Theo immediately revealed his own secret—his wait for health service amputations had been approved at long last and he was waited only for a bed at Roehampton. His stumps would still be paralysed but his mobility would be made much easier.
Starbuck and the rest of the cast waited proudly in the wings, applauding Ahab with genuine admiration. To their minds, Paul Keller had beaten his demons and was ready to face anything.
A H A B
