RECYCLING
A horrifying tale of amputation, concocted by strzeka (04/25)
Herbert Carr was oddly named for a child born in the millennium year but the older he became, the better he grew into the character it conjured in people’s imaginations. His mother had insisted her child be called after her great grandfather who had been a submariner in the Great War and permanently deafened as a result. He had been tall with a muscular build, wiry hair, a thick full beard with a permanent five o’clock shadow, and despite his war disability, there was a twinkle in his eye and his easy smile charmed the ladies. He married a clever young woman whose fine features carried down the generations.
Herbie promised to take after the old man who had died a quarter of a century earlier. He had the same kind of robust build even as a child and the same hair with a prominent whorl at the back of his head which always caused his hair to stick up. His parents instilled a love of books in their son, always reading him a story before bedtime, letting Herbie point at the illustrations and interrupt as much as he wanted to ask questions and explain what he imagined. He was intelligent and inquisitive, behaved himself at school and was praised by his teachers. He was popular without being thought a swot. He loved playing football, not so much because of the sport itself but because it was an opportunity to spend time with his friends, part of a team. He enjoyed feeling that he belonged, perhaps due to the inevitable loneliness many children without siblings fall victim to.
In a way, Herb had his love for the beautiful game to thank for possibly saving his life. One brilliantly sunny Saturday afternoon in mid‑May when it was still fairly cool and completely windless, Herb’s school team was playing a friendly against a neighbouring school. Approaching halftime, it was still nil-nil and the players from both teams were becoming more boisterous in their attempts to score in the next few minutes. Herb had momentary control of the ball and spun around to aim it towards a better positioned team member. One of his opponents, a neighbour whom Herb knew very well, tackled at too great a speed and Herb toppled sideways, dislocating his right knee. The pain was instantaneous and agonising and the game stopped for twenty minutes until an ambulance carried Herb off, still writhing in pain, doing his best not to embarrass himself in front of so many peers.
The medics had already decided that Herb’s leg was not fractured but he was driven around to the x‑ray section and left in the capable hands of the staff who shortly had the boy naked. Herb’s stubble, bald spot and hair‑covered body and limbs caused temporary confusion when Herb stated his date of birth. He was sixteen and already hirsute enough to make an adult envious. After a torturous two hour wait, Herb’s knee was x‑rayed and the results pored over by a couple of doctors.
– Well, this is clear enough. Except here.
The doctor pointed at the lower reaches of Herb’s thighbone.
– That’s nothing to do with us. Let’s get his knee fixed.
– I know but I think we should have another shot of his thigh. I want to know what that shadow is.
– OK. I’ll get him scheduled for another round.
So it was that six hours later, more senior doctors were examining the second series of x‑rays and their AI‑generated diagnosis. All were in agreement that the patient was in the earliest stages of bone cancer. The prognosis was not pleasant. There would either be several years of chemical and radiological treatment, hardly suitable for a schoolboy’s development, or the amputation of the affected limb. The latter was quicker to perform, quicker to recover from and most importantly, it would cost the health service a tiny percentage of the cost of oncological radiotherapy. The latest government health minister had made it abundantly clear that money was to be saved in every feasible contingency. The pronouncement was gibberish but its meaning was clear. The surgeons would persuade the unfortunate footballing fan that his best interests were served by the imminent amputation of his leg. Two surgeons argued for retaining at least some length of stump but the more senior doctors had been threatened enough by the loss of their pensions on dismissal for disobedience that Herb’s leg was history before the results of his x‑rays were even explained to him. A disarticulation was decreed and theatre time was reserved for the following day at nine. With luck, the procedure would be over in time for an early lunch. Herbert’s parents were alerted and summoned to sign the release for permission to amputate and the distraught parents were prescribed tranquillisers which they might purchase from any apothecary.
Herb’s leg was removed the following morning. The boy was fit and healthy to all intents and purposes and every indication during the procedure spoke of his healthy lungs and sturdy heart. There were no detectable cancerous cells in his bloodstream. Herb would be screened at three and later six monthly intervals over the next five years. He would lead a one‑legged man’s life on crutches. It was difficult to fit a practical prosthesis to the pelvic stump of a disarticulate amputee and those men to whom it was completed successfully often rejected the resultant gait and inconvenience, returning to the reliability of long crutches and elegance of an empty trouser leg tucked into their belt line.
Herbert was nonplussed by the change which had altered the progression of his life. In the mid‑teens, things seemed fairly straightforward, if not easy. School, college, exams, university, employment. Becoming disabled before life had even really started was more distressing for his parents and older relatives than for Herbie himself. He was visited and supported by his team mates and schoolfriends, many of whom were curious about the loss of a fine limb to cancer and what the resulting stump actually looked like. They were disappointed not to see it during visiting hours.
Medical staff agreed that a short course of rehabilitation was enough for the boy who showed aptitude in manipulating his long wooden crutches and had assured his caretakers that he understood how to take care of the residual limb. There was not really any stump to speak of. Herb liked the way a trouser leg folded into his waist looked like it might contain half a leg and favoured that while he was still under hospital care. He wanted to get out of rehab and home as soon as possible because he wanted to practise walking with only one crutch. The only time he had tried it in rehab, he had been sternly reprimanded by his ‘coach’ and warned not to try running before he could walk. They grinned at the corny gag and Herbie did not attempt the single crutch trick again.
He was discharged and collected by his father, who was unnervingly similar to his son in appearance. They could be brothers. Carr Senior was completely bald and sported a short beard. His neck and throat were covered in a dark blend of hair and whiskers and more hair curled out between the threads of his T‑shirt. Herbie knew he would also be balding at twenty and viewed his increasing pelt with wry satisfaction. Most of all, he disliked shaving. His neck was also sprouting ever more whiskers. It was difficult to keep his neck looking clean and tidy. He had been allowed to grow his beard for the weeks he had spent recovering in hospital and it was impressive for a sixteen year old, still sleek and shiny. His face was too immature to carry off masculine stubble as yet. The older Carr carried Herbie’s meagre possessions to his white van and held the door while the boy climbed carefully up into the passenger seat. The crutches had space on the floor of the cab.
– We had a letter come the other day from the school.
– Oh? What was that about?
– It was about whether they’ll let you carry on with your mates in the new school year or whether you’ll have to repeat the year ’cos you missed so much school.
– Well, I haven’t missed all that much because of the summer holidays and all that.
– That’s what the letter said. They reckon you can carry on as would be the case if it hadn’t been for… you know.
– My amputation.
– Yeah, your amputation. But if you’re struggling, you’ll have to repeat last year, see?
– Oh. I don’t wanna do that.
– No. Just so’s you know, Herb. As far as school’s concerned, everything is the same for the time being. Now what are we going to do at home?
– How do you mean?
– Well, about your room being upstairs and all that.
– What about it? Dad, I’ve just lost my leg, not my brain. I can hop upstairs and I have to go upstairs for a pee, don’t I?
– Yeah, that’s what I was trying to tell your mother. She was worried, still is I guess, about you on the stairs.
– I’ll be alright.
– I know you will, son. Be patient with your mum, Herbie. She’s right to worry about you so don’t let it bother you. But I have to ask—are you alright, mate? About what’s happened, I mean?
– About losing my leg, you mean? It’s alright. They found cancer, didn’t they? Right at the early stage. So it would have had to come off sooner or later, right? Better they caught it this way, I reckon.
– It doesn’t hurt you, does it, son? Your stump, I mean?
– I don’t have a stump, dad. It’s just smooth skin now.
Carr glanced down at the empty space disguised by the way Herb wore his jeans, trying to imagine what it looked like without a stump. He returned his senses to following traffic and the rest of the journey home was completed in silence.
It fell to Herbie to keep the household together. His parents tried to give the appearance that everything was as it had always been. That their gorgeous boy who took after his father was safe and sound and on the mend from the dreadful cancer which had cost the boy his leg. They tried to eliminate the word ‘leg’ from their vocabulary. In the weeks of summer holiday remaining to Herbie and his classmates, while his parents fretted over how to question him about his ‘thing’, Herb and his mates were kicking a ball around in the scrubland which the local council called a park. All of his teammates had seen Herbie’s amazing leglessness in person when they were naked for showers, and how Herbie’s amazing hairiness was already growing over the scar. Soon it would be as if Herbie had never had a leg there at all. It was amazing. And they had all tried out his crutches, holding one leg up, being defeated by poor balance and general lack of control. Herbie had superb control, thanks to his sportiness. He enjoyed being the centre of attention. His missing leg was an excellent excuse for the entire team not only to see what a stump looked like—there was none—and to admire Herbie’s generous cock and balls which looked like they might take over the space previously occupied by a thigh.
Carr Senior knew a man who knew someone who could get a good deal on electric scooters. Decent ones, not the cheap rubbish. The seller was sympathetic after learning about the recipient’s rotten luck and a brand‑new electric Vespa knock‑off was delivered to the Carr house in return for a refurbished electric kitchen stove in the last week of August. He and his dad spent the next twenty‑four hours kitting out the bike so Herb’s crutch fit on it securely, that the L plates were just so. Everything else could wait, including Herb’s provisional driving licence. His dad paid for the insurance and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, the one‑legged cripple was more mobile than most of his schoolmates.
His return to school was met with consternation from the teachers who could clearly see some commotion in the playground through the overlooking staff room windows. After peering for a couple of minutes, the reason became clear. Herbert Carr had returned leaning on crutches and the lad was missing a leg! And he had arrived on a brilliant silver scooter. If anyone else had turned up on one, they would have been relentlessly teased about it but for Herb it was different. Anyone could see why he might need his own transport. By the end of the first day, all the staff and most of the older kids knew that Herbie had lost his leg to cancer. There was another crowd of curious admirers outside the bike shed to ease his scooter through at the end of the day. Most of his schoolmates had never seen an amputee before and a few were overly excited by the idea of having only one leg. For them, the sixteen year old Herbert Carr became an imaginary ideal who always came to mind whenever they fantasised about losing a limb.
The next few years passed for Herbie as they might have, had he had his full complement of limbs. He sat for his exams, did well at the subjects he was interested in and less well in the others. His classmates thought nothing of their one‑legged mate with the single crutch. They often went out for a pint after school on Friday, led by the balding, heavily stubbled cripple who always got the pints in without anyone checking their IDs. Herb looked like he was twenty‑five or thirty. Who could tell? They had never been that old. Herb worked for his father, officially, with a proper taxed wage. He learned everything there was to know about repairing white goods and how to get a deal on almost anything portable, useful and convertible. Convertible meant that it could be used for barter. A gas‑powered barbecue. A low‑powered motorcycle. An electronic cash register. That sort of thing. Herb graduated from his electric scooter, which he rode for six years until the battery died, to a six‑fifty Kawasaki to which he added quadruple headlights, a hundred and twenty decibel horn and a fitting behind the seat to hold his crutch upright, high in the air. He made it a matter of honour never to ride his bike without his hundred percent leather outfit and his chrome helmet. In the name of traffic safety, Herb’s leather motorcycle trousers had lost the right leg and the gap was stitched closed. The young biker with his single crutch looked striking wherever he went. His stride was even and he was aware of how his crutch might inconvenience others. He wielded it carefully in crowds but that was not enough to prevent him from knocking against someone while crossing a busy road. Herb was able to catch his balance, but his inadvertent assailant tripped and fell in an embarrassing exhibition of helplessness.
Several people stopped to help. People lifted the lanky young man with sunglasses and a white cane while others tended to the cripple who had caused the mishap. Fortunately no‑one was injured and only their dignity was battered. Before the lights could change, the two disabled young men were left propping themselves up by their returning wits and the traffic lights pole.
– I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t see your crutch. I, well, I have no way of knowing. It was just an accident.
– Don’t worry about it, mate. I understand completely. I did see you coming but I find it difficult to dodge out of the way quickly, having only one leg.
– Oh! I hadn’t realised. I did rather suspect that it was a crutch I had tripped on. They’re rather more solid than walking sticks which is what I usually get tangled up in.
– Does it happen to you often?
– No, no. Not really. I exaggerate.
Herb liked the sound of the blind man. His voice was mellow and he had a nice accent, familiar but somehow distinguished. He was well‑dressed, fashionable in an American preppy sort of way. His hair was neat and his sideburns extended to mid‑ear.
– Look, are you in a hurry to get somewhere? I feel bad about tripping you up and I’d like to make it up to you somehow. Are you hungry? There’s a hamburger place right opposite. Or we could go for a pint, if you like.
The blind man was worldly enough to have learned not to refuse the kindness of strangers.
– That would be nice. I’m not in a mad rush and I’d love a drink.
– Great! There’s a pub on the next corner. Just follow me. Do you want to hold onto my shoulder or something?
– Thanks but no. I can hear your footsteps so I’ll follow those.
– Ah! That’s where the problem starts.
Herb laughed and made sure his drinking partner was facing the right way.
– Come on. Let’s get out of these peoples’ way.
The blind man sensed the direction his new companion had taken and distinguished the unusual cadence of a single boot striking the pavement. The man sounded fairly young. How might he have lost a leg at that age? Probably either a road accident or something horrible like cancer. Herb kept an eye on his companion and described the entrance to the corner pub.
– There are two steps up to the door and the steps are sort of curved around the corner.
– Oh. OK, I get you.
The ball at the tip of the blind man’s cane delineated the ancient architecture and the blind man followed Herb into the warm beery fug of a London local.
– Let’s sit near the window. There’s an empty chair two steps ahead on your left.
A man sitting at the adjacent table looked up when Herb spoke, checked out the situation and quickly withdrew his stretched out legs. Herb reached down and arranged his own seat so that he could lower himself onto it with room for his crutch and inwardly congratulated himself for guiding the blind man safely to a table. The pub was busy but a bartender had noticed the arrival of the odd pair and reasoned that they might appreciate some help ordering. He squeezed out from behind the bar and asked what the two invalids might like to drink.
– Two lagers, please.
The blind man introduced himself first.
– I don’t know your name. I’m Duke Lane and I’m a translator.
– Really? I thought AI did that these days?
– It does, for the most part. It’s OK for translating product manuals or medicine instructions and that sort of thing but when it comes to books or tv series, you still need a human to get it right.
– Well, that’s good to know. My name’s Herbert Carr but people call me Herbie. I work in my dad’s recycling business. Ha! Back in the olden days, they used to call us rag and bone men. Nowadays they come to us with their broken bits and pieces to see if we can fix ’em. And most often, we can.
– It’s all part of this new economy, isn’t it?
– I suppose it is. People have to use their wits these days to earn a wage. I suppose we’re lucky in that sense. Ah! Here’s our beer. Thanks, mate.
– Well, your very good health. Cheers. Thanks for inviting me along, Herb. May I call you Herb? I don’t get called on very often these days.
– You mean because of your blindness?
– Yeah, I suppose so. But it’s so pleasant to have someone to chat to over a beer. To have other people around and hear the sound of other people’s voices.
– I guess that’s important to you, isn’t it? It’s the way you see the world.
– It is. But tell me more about your business. It sounds interesting how the old recycling business has changed over the years. I’m guessing you have to be jacks‑of‑all‑trades.
– How do you mean?
– You have to know how to repair a whole variety of household stuff which might otherwise end up in landfill.
– Oh, sure. Most stuff is fairly easy to diagnose. I don’t think I could repair everything in a CD player but I know what to do if the door is just stuck. That sort of thing.
– That’s just the sort of thing that people used to buy a new machine for, isn’t it?
– True but people don’t have the cash these days to buy new stuff every time the old things get scratched up.
As part of the process of demonstrating how a blind man uses a smart phone, they exchanged phone numbers and so began an unusual mutual friendship between two young disabled men.
So it appeared. Duke Lane was not genuinely blind, however. He wore opaque contact lenses which deprived him of sight, sunglasses with glassy black lenses and carried a white cane to negotiate his route. But apart from mild myopia, there was nothing wrong with his eyes. He wanted to live the life of a sightless man and adopted the lifestyle when he arrived in the locality after leaving university. He had rented his current apartment as visually impaired tenant. When he removed his contacts, he placed a blindfold over his eyes.
He had discovered his predilection during bondage games with a partner. His face and jaw had been wrapped tightly in duct tape and he found the lack of sight oddly calming. He was able to concentrate on his other senses and actually enjoyed the silence requested by his companion. He regularly blinded himself temporarily at home after that and researched mobility aids for the visually impaired. He had a variety of white canes of various length and weight. When he planned on remaining inside for any greater length of time, he could wear one of his rubber or leather hoods, none of them equipped with eyeholes. His collection also included two 3D‑printed masks which allowed him to adopt the handsome but immobile features of an android.
Duke texted Herb a few times a month. Herb was pleased to be asked how he was doing by someone who seemed to be genuinely interested. They met up on average once a month, usually simply for drinks after working hours in less‑frequented pubs where their disabilities were less likely to cause disruption. Such considerations should no longer have been necessary but people are not quick to change old habits.
One early April evening, Duke’s phone buzzed with an incoming message. Duke already knew it was from Herbie. He had fallen down some concrete steps by the river and broken his leg. He was currently being plastered from his balls to his toes and invited Duke to meet up in the near future.
It was an extraordinary situation to find himself in. A one‑legged man wearing a long leg cast. The medic had automatically added a rubber heel to the base of the cast and ensured it would stay put with a few extra layers of plaster bandage. Herb’s foot was an impressive size with handsome curvature from the heel to his toes. They could not be in danger of touching the floor. It was the first time Herb had worn a cast and he was fascinated by its unexpected warmth and its reassuring solidity and weight. Herb had fractured both his shin‑ and thighbones. As a result of walking with a crutch, his bone density had diminished, making him more susceptible to fractures.
– Now you tell me!
– It’s usually only after a mishap like yours that we discover the condition. You’ll know in future, won’t you? It’s something to bear in mind, Mr Carr.
Herb was offered a new pair of long wooden crutches to compensate for the extra height provided by the built‑up heel. He was instructed to keep the weight off the leg as much as possible until his next appointment in two weeks, when his leg would be x‑rayed. If all was well, he would be allowed to walk on his walking cast. Until then, he was to use a wheelchair with the cast prominently displayed in a horizontal position. The wheelchair was old and worn but comfortable. It was fairly responsive to use but he would not be doing any wheelies in it. He was delivered to his apartment by ambulance at ten minutes to midnight and was too tired to move from the wheelchair to his bed. It would not be easy and he might need some help. The only person he could think of who would definitely be free to help him during the next couple of weeks was Duke, who could work on his translations and the like anywhere. This time, Herb sent a text inviting Duke to call in the following day. There was much to talk about but Duke was not a stupid man. He would understand the situation and arrive with everything he needed for a few days’ stay.
He arrived by taxi and allowed the driver to assist him into Herb’s building with a small suitcase. Herb was delighted to see his new friend and relieved to know that the following few days might be less trying than otherwise might have been the case.
– Make yourself at home, Duke. I’ll show you your bed a bit later. Do you want to unpack now?
– I’d prefer to leave it. I know where I packed everything. I will take my laptop out of it though. Is there a table and chair where I can set it up?
– There is. I cleared a space for you. We’ll get your machine set up and linked with my wifi in a moment but first, how about a cuppa?
– Yes please! Show me the kitchen.
Duke held his cane vertically in front of him to warn of any obstacles. Herb had already made an effort to clear the floor, which had no carpeting or mats anyway. Duke felt the layout of the kitchen and learned the positions of the white goods and kitchen cabinets. He would soon be able to brew tea himself for them both.
Herb explained that his leg was immobile thanks to a thick long leg cast and Duke examined it, starting at the heavily bandaged foot.
– I have to keep my weight off it for a couple of weeks until the doctors give me the say‑so. Then I’ll be able to walk on it with crutches.
– Almost back to normal, then.
– Sort of. I usually get by with only one crutch but of course that’s impossible now so I’ll have to use two. And as you can imagine, life is going to be a little difficult when it comes to sitting down for various purposes. That’s when I’d appreciate having someone standing by to catch me if I lose my balance.
– I’ll do my best for you, Herb. You can rely on me. I’m glad you trust me enough to let me help. I appreciate it.
It took a while for Duke to relax. It was the first time either of them had visited the other’s home. Duke was not only apprehensive about being able to provide enough support for his friend, he was also feeling dubious about revealing the truth about his lack of vision. Sooner or later Herb would notice the contact lenses, and questions about his night time blindfold were imminent. He had never been in such an intimate situation before where he might need to explain. But the first night went well enough. He had a convertible camp bed in a box room with an upright wooden chair but no other furniture. To his relief, he was easily able to assist Herb out of his wheelchair onto his bed without allowing the casted leg to drop or twist dangerously. He was also relieved by Herb’s ability to function on the toilet independently and clean himself afterwards.
Within a week, Duke was confident moving around the apartment and was genuinely useful to his crippled friend. Even without medical permission, Herb spent more time upright, leaning on his crutches with a familiar insouciance. He was inured to pain and began to enjoy the extreme rigidity of his solitary leg and the rock and roll of his rubber‑tipped foot. The leg was not as inconvenient as he had feared. In fact, Duke’s presence was no longer strictly necessary and Herb was not looking forward to the moment when he should declare himself independent again. Herb carefully swung his heavy cast between his pristine crutches and enjoyed the sensations of his dual disabilities. The void at his left hip felt clean and reassuring. There was nothing left of his leg and occasionally Herb could still experience the excitement of a fresh amputation and a new way of being. He enjoyed being one‑legged too much to wish that he had never lost his leg and he was beginning to enjoy being additionally crippled by the long leg cast.
Herb was examined at the hospital and granted permission to do what he had already been doing for several days. He gratefully returned the old wheelchair for the use of someone less fortunate and swung himself back to his apartment along bright autumn afternoon streets. Duke was not looking forward to learning that his services, such as they were, would no longer be necessary and that he could return to his own lonely apartment. Herb was also considering the same conundrum and came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was simply ignore it. He would say nothing about Duke’s prospective departure unless Duke brought the subject up first.
Herb announced to his father that he would be returning to work on the following Monday and described his predicament. The casted leg was a semi‑permanent condition for the next few months while his bones healed. Apparently there was something wrong with them. They were not dense enough or something. His father grunted his approval and welcomed the return of his assistant. Duke listened to the conversation and drew his own conclusions. His help was no longer necessary. Herb would manage fine on his own and Duke could return to his own home, which was better suited to a sightless life.
He mentioned it at breakfast the following morning. Herb was leaning on a tall footstool, sitting on his empty pelvis and resting on the cast. He looked into Duke’s sightless brown eyes, the opaque contact lenses designed to mimic his natural eyes.
– I understand, Duke. You don’t have to apologise for anything. It would be great if you could stay a bit longer but your flat is much better suited to your needs. Much more convenient for you than mine.
– It’s true, I suppose. Still, we were a pretty good team, weren’t we? It was good to have a man around who can see. Especially when we were shopping. Which reminds me. I need to get some things before I return.
– Duke, I just had an idea. Leave your things here with your suitcase and I’ll put them through the washer. That means we could go to the supermarket for what you need today and you won’t need to haul shopping and a suitcase.
– Good idea. I wouldn’t be able to manage both anyway. Give me half an hour and I’ll be ready to leave.
– Take your time, Duke. We’re in no hurry.
Later in the day, Herb contemplated his options. He already missed seeing Duke, quietly sitting at his desk fingering his devices to turn a foreign language into plain everyday English for subtitles or adverts, whatever it was as the case may be. Duke knew so much but never bragged about it. He was always willing to help Herb with physical things after running his hands over it all to look at what he needed help with. Many times Herb had watched Duke use the tip of his cane to locate his crutches, which he then brought to the invalided Herb. It was no different from a seeing man doing the same thing. At the back of his mind, a cynical thought struggled to be born. It would be wonderful to find a wife like Duke. Someone dedicated to helping him through life with no demands, no preconditions, no complaining. What were the chances for a one‑legged man to find a woman willing to dedicate her life to assisting him? Slim to none, he thought. He was a good‑looking bloke, he thought. Trim, no beer belly. Still had his hair and teeth. What more could a woman want? Two legs, for sure.
But one was enough, even though it was completely rigid. Smooth and warm. He had kept the cast clean of graffiti and grown used to the effect of the black rubber heel on the base of the cast which he had never seen. Unfortunately, said a doctor whom Herb had not met previously, the bones have not yet knitted sufficiently and therefore we will be applying a new cast this afternoon. If you would kindly wait. His leg had been casted already for seven months. Another three or four would make no difference.
But they did. During the extended period, the tipping point between viable injury and irreparable damage was crossed. Herb’s leg bones knitted but could bear only half the weight and impact demanded of them and the knee itself fused into a bony lump. Even without a cast, his leg could not bend at the knee. To all practical purposes it was a solid lump of bone except that it was painful to place weight on. After several weeks of futile medical experimentation, it was deemed optimal for Herb to be fitted with a weight‑bearing knee‑ankle‑foot‑orthosis, a metal leg brace which he could wear every day in place of the plaster cast but which would serve a similar function. To all intents and purposes, he would be crutching around again on two crutches with his severely damaged natural leg encased from top to bottom in a leather and steel leg brace. It looked horny and with the rigid custom boot he was issued, Herb returned to his job looking like an amputee polio victim. He begrudged the time it took to attach to his leg each morning and the time required to remove it each evening. The plaster cast had been far more convenient.
For some reason, the mere fact that his leg brace was removable disturbed Herbie. It was the first orthotic device he had used, a piece of apparatus designed to not to replace a limb like a prosthesis, but to take over a natural limb’s function. The purpose of Herb’s piece of kit was simply to bypass his knee, which could not tolerate compression. The brace comprised two steel struts from the top of his thigh, down past his knee to terminate and attach to a deceptively designed rigid boot. It was crafted of top quality black leather and contained Herb’s foot without allowing the sole of his foot to touch the inner surface of the boot. His foot was supported in mid‑air by a cushioned ring at the top of the brace which supported his entire leg. Any contact with the boot’s heel transferred through the steel struts to Herb’s pelvis bypassing his foot, ankle and knee. The boot was an impressive sight in itself. It was built up by seventeen centimetres to compensate for the suspended foot. The heel was reinforced by a semicircular metal cleat, a horseshoe, which emitted an emphatically metallic sound at every step. The front of the boot curved upwards, exposing yellow sole leather. Herb adopted three quarter length cargo pants with the left leg removed and the hole sewn closed. The short right trouser leg exposed the entire expanse of the conspicuously oversized boot. Herb, an experienced crutch user, confidently swung the heavy brace with each step and became inured to the attention the metallic sound of his gait attracted from strangers. He received compliments on his prowess for acclimatising himself so adeptly to his new reality from family and orthotic professionals. As his confidence grew, Herb became deliberately provocative in his way of dressing and frequently wore his brace over a pair of skinny jeans to show off the glittering chrome steel and his glossy leather boot, probably the largest footwear anyone who encountered him had ever seen.
And yet Herb pined for the simplicity and convenience of his long leg cast. He tried to explain his preference to Duke, who personally preferred the complicated leather and steel contraption of Herb’s leg with all its clips and leather cuffs and buckles which offered a tactile adventure to the sightless man. As Herb and Duke’s relationship matured over the years, they became more intimate with each other and revealed details about their disabilities kept secret until now. Duke fully approved of Herb’s future plans to redesign his method of mobility and Herb was first shocked by and then approving of Duke’s self‑imposed blindness. Duke was grateful to Herb for never criticising him. Duke paid little attention to his eyes or his eyesight. He had not realised that he had severe glaucoma in both eyes and his natural potential vision was deteriorating without him even noticing. Duke had lived the life of a blind man for fifteen years, always confident in the knowledge that he could stop at any time if necessary. His natural eyesight had suddenly contracted to a third of his former field of vision and he would be effectively completely blind in a dimly lit room. However, he had no idea that this was happening.
Herb’s leg brace needed refurbishment. He did not have a spare nor did he have a wheelchair from which his natural leg would extend uselessly. His orthotist understood the problem and for the last time, Herb’s leg was casted with a beautifully thick curved walking sole. It felt perfect, like a breath of fresh air after being imprisoned for so long. Herb made no effort to collect his leg brace. The orthotist sent several reminders that the work had been done. Herb paid the bill but left the brace uncollected in the orthotist’s store room. Three months later, he returned requesting a new thicker and heavier leg cast. However, it was not to be.
The old cast was removed to reveal severe discoloration around and below Herb’s locked knee. The cast had played a part in disguising the developing disease eating his healthy flesh.
– I’m afraid to say, Mr Carr, that I’m going to pass you forward to the oncology department at St. Luke’s. I recognise those symptoms, although the disease itself is rare. You lost your leg to cancer as a boy, I believe? I suspect that amputation may be the remedy here too, assuming the worst.
The prosthetist was unusually forthcoming about Herb’s prospects, and after his initial surprise, Herb began to imagine himself as a man without even the vestiges of legs. The situation would call for a variety of buckets or body socket, he supposed. Or he might be strapped into a wheelchair in order not to topple from it. The oncology department was no more reassuring. There was indeed a localised cancerous growth below and in the knee. A small group of specialists debated the wisdom of allowing the patient to keep part of his thigh in contrast with a safe and sure disarticulation from the pelvis, rendering the patient utterly legless. It was decided to leave the final decision to the patient on condition that he return for evaluation every three months for the next two years. That way he could retain a stump and any recurrence of the disease could be caught in time.
– So you see, Herb, it’s up to you. Would you prefer to have your right leg removed completely like your left leg or are you willing to take a chance and submit to the risk of a recurring bout with the disease but with a stump?
– How long a stump are we talking about? If it’s just a short thing, we might as well disarticulate but if it’s going to be a hefty piece of thigh, I’d rather prefer keeping it, even though it might only be for a year or two.
– Oh, the amputation would allow you a stump almost to your knee. To our best judgement, we are unanimous in agreeing that your knee must come off as it seems to be the worst affected. But the bone and flesh above your knee is free of any cancerous cells and with regularly check‑ups, you should be able to use the stump to control some kind of prosthetic limb.
– Or a stubby. That would be cool!
– Ahem. Indeed. Well, if you will sign these forms of consent, I’ll get the ball rolling.
The ball rolled along its familiar rut and resulted in another urgent but non‑traumatic amputation. The surgeon was sympathetic to his one‑legged patient’s future mobility and ensured that nerves were severed neatly and embedded more deeply in tissue that was strictly necessary. The femur was rounded and muscle mass gathered to enclose it, providing a firm muscular cushion for prosthetic use. Finally the stump, a little shorter than Herb had anticipated, was sutured to appear elegantly hemispherical from the front. When the hair regrew, it would be a fine example of a masculine stump. Practical and useful for the amputee and a fine example of surgical skill.
Herb discussed his options with the prosthetist. He was impatient to return to life as a double amputee with one stump and insisted it be casted to protect it from knocks and other threats while Herb was in his wheelchair. It was irregular but the prosthetist agreed and shortly Herb had a short white cast, nominally to merely protect the stump as agreed with he surgeon. Herb and the caster had changed the plans slightly and the cast extended up into Herb’s groin and extended slightly further than where his locked knee had formerly been. Thanks to the absence of flesh, the last twenty centimetres were perfectly cylindrical. The cast did not lie flat on the seat of the wheelchair. The tip was suspended. It looked immediately phallic and pitiable at the same time.
Duke was delighted at Herb’s return, after a shorter absence that expected. He was amused by the voice of his friend emanating from hip level. Herb invited him to run his hands over his stump cast. The cast felt familiar to Duke but its absence of length was shocking. As Herb had wanted, his long cast had been discarded in favour of a short version, easier to wear, more emphatic in appearance.
– Are you going to be able to walk on that?
– That is my intention, of course. Why do you think I made them give me a cast?
– You’ll have to shorten your crutches.
– I know. Why don’t you fetch them for me? And bring the toolbox.
Duke chuckled at being so quickly returned to his subordinate role as general assistant for his legless companion, his dedicated manfriend who acted as eyes when his blindness was insufficient. Herbie’s plastered stump was an enticing sensation and he hoped to run his fingers over the truncated flesh later in the evening.
The crutches needed no more alteration than shortening the lowest strut holding the rubber ferrule. Duke put his weight on the crutches as Herb sawed. Herb dared not attempt walking on his fresh stump yet. It would be a couple of months before he regained enough strength to swing his truncated leg between the short crutches. He closed his eyes and imagined how he would appear to others. The plaster cast on his thigh hinted at a fracture. What kind of tip would be best? A hemispherical rounded tip would look fine when he was seated in his wheelchair. A broad flat base would allow him to balance much more easily. He would have a word with his orthotist to persuade him to experiment. Few clients were ever willing to try anything new or unusual. Herb had seen old photographs of veterans returned from half forgotten wars negotiating their way along streets on two traditional wooden peg legs or even on only one, supported by elegantly flared axillary crutches. As long as he kept his stump, his half thigh, Herb could also experience mobility on a peg leg. First of all, something short to practise with, something which would not be alarmingly extrovert or inconvenient before he progressed to a full‑length pylon, tall and rigid. He could be two metres tall if he wanted and if suitable crutches could be found. He nodded his head and opened his eyes, content to have so many options available to him.
Duke’s vision deteriorated to such an extent that he had no night vision and could distinguish detail for only two or three degrees each side of his central vision. He was officially blind, although he made no attempt to have himself diagnosed as such. There was no advantage to the designation any longer. Herb watched his darting eyes and the look on his face when bright light caused him pain. Duke purchased a variety of opaque contact lenses and within a month or two, both men decided that the best design for Duke was a tinted white lens with tiny capillary veins crossing its surface. The lenses matched the whites of Duke’s eyes almost exactly and his eyes became mere white globes. The contacts blocked all vision except for the vaguest impression of light. Duke felt he had achieved his life’s main goal by the age of thirty‑eight—functional blindness. He was grateful for Herb’s understanding and appreciation of his desire and his need for the disability he had fetishised since he was a child. Herb had discovered his own fetish, if such it was, only as an adult after losing his long leg cast. The stumps he had tried and tested were amusing detours on the way to functional leglessness.
Herb took over the family business and ran it from home. He made regular visits to HQ for personal reports from his foreman and accountant. They became comfortable seeing the new boss, whom they had known previously, legless in a wheelchair. Herb owned two electric vehicles, both large enough to hold his wheelchair, but usually drove wearing a peg leg of some description. He had insisted that his employees keep abreast of technical developments and frequently subsidised visits to exhibitions and the like. His generosity paid off. His staff were loyal and the recycling company’s productivity was high. With a reliable income, Herb was able to spend time with Duke and they travelled widely throughout the Yorkshire Moors and the West Country, staying in small family‑run bed and breakfast establishments with a history behind them. They were an odd couple. A blind man with a cane who seemed to be the equal of the other man who balanced on a pair of wooden crutches and an old‑fashioned peg leg, familiar to anyone who had seen stories of pirates and the like. Herb owned several long peg legs, from the most utilitarian aluminium strut to a collection of gloriously ornate wooden peg legs, all of them rigid from top to tip, which the man somehow swung along between his crutches. It had taken him years to become accustomed to walking on a solitary rigid wooden peg leg which rendered him a metre ninety tall. On return visits to enjoyable locations, they were welcomed as old friends, both men being sufficiently extraordinary to make a lasting impression on their hosts.
The couple’s routine at meals was nothing less than extraordinary. All of Herb’s jackets had epaulets which Duke gripped while Herb lowered himself onto a seat. He usually dislodged his peg leg and directed Duke to place it to one side with his crutches. Duke pushed his friend closer to their table and sat opposing him, calmly awaiting Herb’s low‑voiced description of their surroundings and an update on which guests had paid them most attention. On most such occasions, Herb ensured that his stump was not obviously on display but he was not ashamed of it nor of displaying it deliberately or otherwise. He drew the line at never exposing his naked stump in public. He was not such an extreme exhibitionist and he knew very well how phallic the stump could appear. Herb was intensely proud of being left with such a severe disability which commanded attention from casual onlookers. Whether he was legless in a wheelchair or bravely making his way on a short tapered leather stubby or swinging a single magnificent long wooden peg leg, women looked from the aberrant leg to the trim muscular figure topped with a fine masculine face, handsomely stubbled, with a humourous twinkle in his eyes. It was the face of a confident man aware of his advantageous attributes.
Duke was fond of the hairy cylinder of meat below Herb’s hips and Herb enjoyed feeling Duke’s fingers exploring his naked body and stump when they found the time and inclination to spend an intimate moment with each other. Herb described Duke’s beard—how it was gaining more grey and how it suited him. Duke no longer used nocturnal blindfolds nor daily contact lenses unless Herb wanted to see a particular design. Glaucoma had destroyed his vision except for some light perception and two irregular spots of vision which indicated if there was a light source below him. His eyes appeared normal—handsome brown eyes dark enough to appear exceptional, attractive to the opposite sex. The illogical movements of his eyes were the most disturbing aspect of his blindness, except for when he wore his white contacts, and he sported fashionable black sunglasses in public. Alerted by the regular tap of his cane, the public had enough warning to make room for Duke as he navigated his way.
The two invalids grew to know each other over the years, as couples often do. Neither of the men were homosexual and neither regarded the occasional mutual sexual gameplay as indicative of it. They compared themselves to other male couples like Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson, or the flippant pairing of Bertie Wooster and his manservant Jeeves. Duke took umbrage at the comparison with Jeeves.
– I may be your legs, my friend, but at least Jeeves was paid for his troubles.
– Don’t complain and don’t you think it’s about time for an aperitif?
–Ah! Are you finished for today?
– I’m finished for the rest of the week. I thought we might spend a long weekend around Castle Howard, unless you have something else planned?
– Of course not. That sounds wonderful. Are we taking the big car?
– I thought so. I like to have you sitting beside me rather than behind me. I like being able to glance at your handsome face when you ask things.
– And I like being able to place my hand on your stump.
– Ah yes. That was the other reason.
It was towards the end of the impromptu journey that Duke admitted that he had been suffering from pain in his useless eyes and that he would appreciate it if Herb would help him make an appointment with an ophthalmologist. Herb was immediately concerned by his friend’s situation, bearing in mind his own brushes with cancer. He need not have worried. The pain was a natural result of the ultimate deterioration of Duke’s eyeballs due to glaucoma. For patients who could afford it, the best solution was enucleation, the surgical removal of eyes from their sockets. Herb thought it sounded horrific and expressed his shock and sympathy. Duke himself regarded the process as the culmination of what he had voluntarily started during his university years. He would never have light perception again. His only concern was for Herb, who would always be subject to the disturbing sight of his eyeless condition. Duke was assured that his eye sockets would be ideal for fitting with whatever design of eye his seeing partner preferred in accordance with the shape of socket available to him. In advance of Herb’s preferences, Duke requested that his first pair of glass eyes bear irises of the most extreme pale blue with black and grey streaks for definition. The prostheses were beautiful in and of themselves. Duke learned to place the glass eyes into his empty sockets himself but never without Herb’s presence and gentle guidance.
RECYCLING
