TALK OF THE DEVIL
A disturbing narrative by strzeka (08/25)
Thinking back, it was hardly surprising to bump into Mason quite out of the blue like that. We had both landed jobs at prestigious advertising agencies even before we left college so it was almost inevitable that we would run into each other at some conference or award exhibition or even on a trip to Cannes if we struck it lucky. But it never happened. Years passed and as my own situation progressed from precarious to surrealistic, however one wanted to think of it, Mason inevitably faded into the background, mingling comfortably with the hundreds of former colleagues and associates and, it must be admitted, lovers. We had shared an unforgettable fortnight as young students touring Bavaria, Switzerland and Austria by rail, overnighting in youth hostels, eating inexpensive but delicious meals on wonky metal tables outside bistros and trattoria, continually surprised by how very different daily life was for our continental neighbours. It was the summer we lost our virginity and the start of my transformation into the man I am today.
But running into Mason outside Hammersmith tube was quite a shock. As a student, he had boasted the most glorious crown of long dark hair which framed his beardless face and brown eyes. The Mason I encountered after a gap of fourteen years was gaunt, bald but with a convincing goatee and matching moustache. He was dressed entirely in black except for a pair of anachronous red leather platform boots which boosted his height by four inches. He saw me and immediately halted. It was this reaction which I noticed and caused me to stop.
– My God! Mason? Wow! You look… great.
He did not.
– Aah! Daniels. Jesus Christ, man! You went and done it!
I lifted my hooks in front of his face so he could affirm their reality. I jiggled my forearm stumps and allowed my hooks to fall to my side.
– Did you ever doubt I was joking? But what about yourself? Quite a change. I have to say the bald look does not suit you very well, Mason. Perhaps with a heavier beard. How are you, anyway? What are you doing these days?
I assumed that I need not describe how I was doing. If Mason was still in advertising, he would know my name regardless of the time we had spent together in the Alps. It was gaining my elite position as one of the industry’s leading creatives which allowed me to shed my hands. I no longer needed to fumble with coloured marker pens and the like. I had teams of creatives to do that sort of thing for me. And it was so much more elegant and memorable to present artwork to clients with the tip of a chrome‑plated hook. Possessing two of them was an unbeatable attraction of which I took advantage at every opportunity. Mason seemed not to have heard about the disabled prize‑winning creative director, namely myself. I was curious to learn how our paths had diverged so completely. He said he worked as an assistant curator at some municipal museum somewhere. I got the impression that he was embarrassed by our encounter. He seemed furtive, turning his eyes away from my face but apparently unable to allow my hooks out of his sight. They did look spectacular contrasted with the deep velvety black of my jacket. I altered my position several times, wondering if he would pick up on the unnatural rigidity of my right leg prosthesis as I heaved it but he made no sign of recognition. As Mason droned on about a rented apartment, I decided to tease him a little further.
– Well, it certainly sounds like you lead a comfortable life. No partner yet? Don’t worry. It’s bound to happen sooner or later. Listen! I have to make a run for it but I’d love to keep in touch. Let me have your phone number and maybe we can find time for a proper get‑together.
He handed me a business card which had been in his pocket long enough to have worn its edges. The Waltham Abbey Museum of Anthropology. Hmm. Not what one might expect. Why was Mason wasting his undeniable talents? I was envious of his drawing and technical skill at one time. He looked me in the eye for half a second, nodded wordlessly and was gone from view. I leaned onto my natural leg, lifted my leg stump and swung my wooden leg into action, feeling invigorated now with the shameful pleasure of schadenfreude.
I forgot about Mason while I worked on the Dairy Choco account. They had been making noises about our treatment being stale which I thought was a bit rich considering the product had done nothing but shrink in size and become more expensive since 1934 but we battled on, avoiding the ethnic pitfalls associated with milky whiteness and chocolatey brown and concentrated on smoothness and creaminess. The photographic team coaxed the maximum sensuousness out of a twenty litre can of emulsion paint the colour of Dairy Choco and we confidently submitted the new campaign for the approval of the client in one of London’s most opulent theatres. To cut a long story short, we won the contract for the next two years and I limped away from that particular torture with a bonus hovering around a million and the determination to remove my remaining limb. And as if by magic, Mason came to mind.
I knew I had his calling card somewhere. I was simply unable to remember where I had left it. I had to go through the aggravating process of peering into each and every pocket in all the outer clothes I remembered wearing over the past month. I almost began to wish I could actually feel something with my hooks but put the ridiculous idea from my mind. Much of the pleasure of having stumps in place of hands is the simple unavoidable reality of not being able to feel. Anyway, the chewed up business card fell out of my black velvet jacket. I called Mason to invite him for a tête‑à‑tête the following weekend. I explained that I would not be free again for several weeks and he reluctantly agreed to call in for supper and drinks. He might protest about the awkward journey but I knew he would find it impossible to refuse spending an entire evening staring at my hooks and I intended to make his evening as entertaining as possible.
To that end, I called Jasper and invited him to spent the evening and act as the maître d’ if the need arose. I explained I had run into an old schoolfriend who shared our obsession and would find our body mods more than interesting. Jasper asked about what to wear and I suggested he bring as wide a selection of adaptations as possible. We chuckled with each other over the phone. It had been such a long time since we last had reason to indulge ourselves with a willing admirer.
If I remembered correctly, Mason was never a big drinker but to play safe, I bought two fresh bottles of vodka, and one each of gin and rum. I had juice and mixers on hand, as usual. I set out suitable glasses including my adapted set for use with hooks and checked once again that we had enough ice. By Saturday noon, the canapés had been delivered and needed only removal from their containers. A job for Jasper’s long‑fingered hand, I thought. I left it for him to do.
Mason arrived first, five minutes ahead of time, looking especially wary—furtive, I thought. He was wearing camo army fatigues over a thin jacket mismatched with nondescript black trousers. Neither of us had been especially interested in dressing up when we were young but I suspected that Mason simply did not own an evening suit. I was wearing loose flowing beige lounge trousers with an off‑white long‑sleeved top. My hooks glinted as I took Mason’s fatigues to my bedroom.
– I hope you don’t mind, Mason, but I’ve invited one of my colleagues who you might like to meet. I know you dislike being thrown into situations like this but rest assured that he has very much in common with our way of thinking and I’m sure you’ll get on. But before he arrives, let’s have a drink. I looked up your museum, by the way. It looks quite interesting. How did you end up working there, if it’s not too personal a question?
– Because it’s not what you’d expect me to do, is that it? Don’t worry. I did actually apply for it. I worked at Simplon Media after college, if you remember. I was there as a trainee art director, which lasted the entire first year instead of three months. That raised the first red card. Then I was moved from print to video, offered another year to learn the ropes and moved aside while newer intakes took positions I thought I deserved. That was when I realised that it’s not what you can do in this business, it’s who you know. A lower middle‑class guy like me from Cricklewood has no chance of rising to the lofty roles held back for the Chelsea and Hornsey set.
– That bad, is it?
– Well, you must have noticed it yourself.
– I can’t say I have, Mason. It sounds very much like you simply didn’t fit in at Simplon’s. They’re an elite Swiss company, after all.
– Anyway, I left as soon as I sussed what they were up to but it was difficult to find a suitable job. I ended up applying for just about anything and ended up in Waltham Abbey. I’m not bitter. You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m not unhappy there.
– But it’s not what you would have chosen for yourself.
– No. Er, so how about you?
– I’m sorry, Mason. I know you’re busting to ask about my hooks. Let’s wait until my second guest arrives before we talk about me. Help yourself to another drink, Mason. In fact, feel free to help yourself all evening. You may find that I become more disabled as the evening progresses and it would be churlish to rely on our other guest for hospitality.
– Who is he, Daniels? Why won’t you tell me?
– He’s a twin. Quite well known in the medical profession as a victim of in utero cannibalism. His twin brother more or less devoured and absorbed his brother’s entire right leg.
– Oh wow! So he has only one leg?
– He has. He can tell you about that himself. I believe I hear the lift doors closing so that might be him now.
As if performing on cue, Jasper rang the doorbell and I went to the hall to tap in the doorcode. He stepped inside and I spotted his peg immediately. He had spent time placing identical gloves onto his hands. I hugged him with both arms and we kissed briefly.
– Thanks for coming, my friend. Mason is here, mellowing. Don’t be alarmed by him, Jasper. He has a dreadful inferiority complex. Whatever you do, don’t play down to him.
– Are we walking on tenterhooks all evening?
– Don’t worry. I’m trying to get him drunk. Come and meet him.
Mason was peering in the direction of our muffled voices and stood awkwardly when Jasper Hanson strode towards him with his natural hand raised and gloved in thin black leather identical to the passive prosthesis he wore on his left.
– I’m Jasper Hanson. Very pleased to meet you. I’m always pleased to meet one of Aiken’s friends. He has so few.
General laughter. Mason joined in. It was strange to hear myself referred to as Aiken. No‑one called me that.
Jasper spent a few moments adjusting his peg leg and moved to sit where he would face us both. He wanted the hip joint to bend and the knee to remain rigid. It did so and the resulting impression surprised if not shocked Mason, who had apparently not realised that the new arrival was also an amputee like his host. Mason seemingly had not yet noticed the rigid left hand.
With much physical theatricality, I produced a drink for Jasper and carried it resting on my hook over to the sofa. The two men had not spoken in my absence and I would have been embarrassed for them except for my lack of sympathy for Mason. He did not engender sympathy. In truth, his reluctance to associate and mingle with his peers resulted in considerable awkwardness in informal gatherings. I sat and tried boosting Mason’s mood by trying to sound impressed as I explained to Jasper that Mason was in charge of a museum.
– How fascinating! Which one?
– It’s only in Waltham Forest.
– But what does it specialise in? It must have some kind of theme.
Mason’s eyes brightened when he noticed that Jasper was leaning closer towards him, seemingly genuinely interested in what he might learn. Jasper had excellent social skills and could coax blood from a stone. He asked several pertinent questions and stated that he would be interested in visiting the museum before long. Mason was pleasantly attracted to the tall handsome stranger and hoped that the conversation might soon turn to amputation. He was fascinated by Jasper’s peg leg and had many questions about the social aspects of not only being disabled but also being so nonchalant about displaying it.
Jasper changed the subject and asked if Mason had noticed that Jasper’s left hand was in fact a cosmetic hand, a perfect mirror image of his right hand. The black leather gloves, actually a pair of San Francisco Police Department’s paper‑thin regulation uniform gloves, looked both sinister and elegant in the present circumstances. Mason stared at Jasper’s gloved prosthesis with his mouth open.
– I thought that you were born with only a single leg. I didn’t realise that you have only one arm too.
– Yes. Well, this is something that I rarely mention but Daniels assures me that you can be relied upon for discretion. You see, my twin Casper has always felt guilty for possessing two legs and we made a pledge when we were fifteen that we would both become bilateral amputees, two amputations each, by the time we reach twenty‑five. Our parents heard about it and forbade us completely from anything of the sort but we were adamant and for the sake of Casper’s mental health, I went ahead first with my voluntary hand amputation, making me a double amputee, I suppose. Casper is delayed by his interminable studies which I think are completely useless to him and to mankind in general, but I know that his passion for a pair of stumps is more urgent than ever. And having met Daniels, I rather think I know what he’s going to do.
– That’s amazing.
– Yes, it is. Daniels tells me that you and he used to fantasise at school about amputations and used to seek out leg amputees around old peoples’ homes.
Mason looked at my amused expression. It was true. We did. Sometimes we caught sight of an old man limping along, swinging an old wooden leg inside his baggy trousers, or there might be an old guy on crutches and an empty trouser leg pinned up out of the way. We would point at the old buggers and snigger at them all the while wishing we could have their stumps. I thrust my right stump forward in Jasper’s general direction to encourage Mason to speak.
– Yeah, we used to walk home together instead of taking the bus and we’d always stop to see if there were any old blokes around. We knew there were amputees in there, ’cos we’d seen them before. I used to get a hard‑on when I saw some old guy heaving himself along with two walking sticks. I know how pathetic it looks, having two sticks, but I used to look closely at the way the trousers swung in case there was a hint of a wooden leg. I’m pretty sure there was a guy there with a big long beard, do you remember, who had two wooden legs?
– I remember. I don’t think they were wooden though. They were probably the old composite type.
– Exoskeletal.
– Yeah, that’s the type. They look like natural legs but they’re completely stiff. Actually, the arm I’m wearing is pretty much the same kind of thing.
– Can I look at it later on, Jasper?
– No need to wait, Mason. You can look at it now.
Jasper removed his jacket and pulled up his left sleeve slightly. The prosthesis was held onto his stump by an elastic strap just above his elbow. Jasper tugged at it and the perfectly formed artificial arm detached in his hand. He reached across and allowed Mason to take it. Both amputees watched Mason explore the artificial limb with his hands and eyes. It was the first time Mason had handled a prosthesis and he was surprised by its lightness and unforgiving rigidity. Despite its black leather glove, the hand was a handsome example of a strong male hand.
– Can you use this to do things with, Jasper?
– No. It’s just for show. I like wearing it because I enjoy seeing a hand even though I can’t feel a hand. And it stops my sleeve from flapping about.
–It’s beautiful. Do you have other hands as well?
– Not hands but I have various different hooks. None as swish as Daniels’ though. Mine are just steel as they come out the box. Daniels goes one step further and has his chrome‑plated so they look even more spectacular.
– And they do!
– I agree. Have you thought about having a pair gold‑plated?
– No. I don’t think they would look convincing and there’s no point going to that expense otherwise.
Mason handed Jasper’s prosthesis back to him.
– Tell me more about yourself, Mason. From what I understand, you’ve always had an interest in amputation. Do you have any plans to acquire your own?
– It’s true, I suppose. Not so much these days. I don’t have the inclination these days to seek out amputees and there are very few I see in the museum. Every so often I see someone legless in a wheelchair but that’s not the sort of thing I’m interested in.
– You’re more interested in the artificial limbs themselves, are you? Quite understandable. They’re what keep amputation interesting. When you get tired of one set of limbs, have a new design made.
– Do you have other legs besides that peg leg?
– Good heavens, yes! Cupboards full of them. Don’t forget I’ve been one‑legged my entire life. I like these hefty pegs most because they make me feel more disabled than I really am. I can walk perfectly well with ordinary prosthetic legs but there’s no fun in that. It’s a lot more rewarding to master a primitive limb like a peg leg. People respect that. They can see for themselves that I’m disabled and they can also see what I have to use to get around on.
– Do you ever wear shorts with your artificial leg?
– Only in situations where I might wear shorts anyway. I’m not one of these extravert types who always wear cut‑off jeans regardless of the season, although of course, it is a lot of fun to see a bilateral leg amp rocking along in a pair of shorts.
– And before you ask, Mason, I very rarely wear T‑shirts in public. I prefer to sport my hooks in such a way that they are merely visible at the end of my jacket or pullover sleeves.
– Why don’t you show your arms off, Daniels?
– I think it’s a matter of feeling that my arms are an intimate part of myself. I wear them for sixteen hours out of every twenty‑four. They really are a part of me. I know better than anyone how eye‑catching the hooks are. After all, I go to extra expense to make them so. I’m not so keen on exposing my sockets. Actually, I was always shy about exposing my own arms when I had them. They were rather skinny and pale and never saw any sunshine.
– You make it sound as if your black sockets are an improvement.
– Ha! I actually think they are. Now, let’s have another drink. Jasper, would you mind helping?
– I can help!
– No no, Mason. Sit there. We’ve got this.
Mason stayed where he was and watched Jasper’s peg leg rigidify before he leant on it and strutted into the kitchen behind me. We both lowered our voices, although it would have made little difference to the outcome.
– Do you think he’s a viable case? Is his interest a permanent thing or has he merely gone through a phase in his misspent youth?
– Oh no. It was never a phase with either of us. He’s as keen on amputation now as he ever was. He’s simply learned to restrain himself and behave better. We ought to try and break down his resistance. He always was such an independent thinker. I suppose it was due to growing up with such useless parents. Take this over to him.
– What is it?
– A double double vodka.
– Ha! Make my next one the same.
Mason rarely indulged and was seemingly unaware that his drink was so much stiffer than usual. He quaffed a mouthful as if to gain some Dutch courage before broaching the subject which had preyed on his mind for the past twenty years.
– Do I understand you correctly that you arranged to have your amputations?
– Who are you talking to? Let me answer. Seven years ago, I met Jasper and his brother for the first time and immediately recognised them because I had seen photos of them and I was interested in Jasper’s non‑existent stump. And Jasper’s arm was bound up in such a way that it looked so much like another amputation that I actually briefly introduced myself and asked his about it.
– I remember. Casper was with me because I was still feeling a little shy about my new stump and of course, having someone else with me who had both hands was useful. You were stunned when I told you it was an elective procedure.
– I was not only stunned, I was also tremendously envious and I longed to know how it was possible to get an amputation on demand.
– And half an hour later, you not only knew, you also had your first amp arranged and booked.
– Yeah, my leg.
– Your leg? Daniels, are you wearing an artificial leg as well as your hooks?
– Yup. My first amp. It’s a left below knee and I wear a pink exoskeletal on it because somehow I walk almost normally on it. All the other sorts leave me with a limp and I’m not keen to have a limp. I’m a hooks man. But naturally enough, I get a lot of pleasure from the leg stump.
– I didn’t know you are a triple amputee. So did you have your hands off in the same way?
– Elective, you mean? Yeah. I had to have an interview first. By that time I was walking quite normally with my first or second pros and the interviewer was impressed when I said that I had no interest in playing the role of a disabled man. I had a good job which required my brain, not my hands, and that I had every intention of returning to work as soon as my artificial arms were ready in order to continue where I left off. I also may have mentioned that I had sufficient personal funds to finance personal assistance if necessary. Not everything is plain sailing with a pair of bilateral hooks, Mason. I know that’s what’s going through your head.
– It is. How does one sign up for an elective amputation?
– Only one? Didn’t you always want both legs off so you could have wooden legs?
– Yeah. I still do.
– I don’t know where you could get a wooden set of legs these days, although I suppose some artisan somewhere could rustle up a pair for you. You want a pair with leather thigh corsets and wooden lower legs, right?
– Yeah, the old‑fashioned type.
– I’ll put the word out and see if anyone knows someone. Assuming you’re accepted as a prospective patient, you realise that you’ll have only one amputation during any given year? They won’t perform another one before the old one has healed and you’re kitted out with a fake limb.
Mason paid more attention to my legs and feet for the remainder of the evening. Although my prosthetic blends in well, it has its quirks if you know what to look for. Mason assuredly knew. I’m a little ashamed to admit it now but Jasper and I conspired to ensure that Mason would receive every possible modification his twisted little heart desired, starting with one of his legs.
Jasper’s surgeon was a family member through marriage, a skilful and respected professional whose face was familiar from bylines in medical journals and from video interviews. He had always believed that amputations should be as easily available as any other surgical procedure to wannabe amputees who assured him and his collaborators that they intended to continue active daily life as amputees rather than throw themselves into feigned despair and act out the life of a pitiable and suffering invalid. He had already produced all three of my stumps and I was grateful for the man’s expertise. The job was not complete before the paperwork was done and his happy newly limbless patients were furnished with all necessary certificates and proofs which entitled them to the national health service’s prosthetics. Whatever their situation, they would never be left wanting for basic artificial limbs.
His tongue loosened by more beverages, Mason revealed that he wanted short stumps below his knees. He wanted to be able to wear both the aforementioned basic artificial legs for gentlemen with the requisite leather thigh corsets to hold his lower legs to his minimal stumps and also to sport a pair of stubbies which would cover his thighs in their entirety and allow him to stump around with rigid half legs.
– If I had stubbies, I’d use them everywhere for everything.
– There aren’t many men who have the guts to wear stubbies in public. Do you really believe you have the guts to join them, Mason? Imagine yourself working at the museum, meeting the public kitted out with two rigid half legs.
– Ah! It would be fantastic. I can’t imagine anything I’d rather have.
– That’s as may be, Mason. How about your hands? Wouldn’t you also like a smart pair of hooks too? I know they fascinate you.
– Maybe later. Maybe just one arm. You know how I enjoy drawing. It would be good to continue with that.
– With a hook on the other arm. Very well, Mason. I believe I can persuade our surgeon to accept you for treatment before long. Don’t worry about the interview. You’ll still be invited for a chat but you can regard it more as an opportunity to ask about the options for your stumps and subsequent artificial replacements.
– That’s wonderful. When will this be, do you think?
– Within the year for sure, Mason. Let’s try to get you your first stump for Christmas.
– So soon?
– No time like the present, Mason. Would you like another drink?
Mason fretted about what he had agreed to in an insane moment of rashness. He had admitted being infatuated with the idea of amputation and was suddenly faced with the opportunity to achieve two stumps of his own. Maybe if he learned to use the health service issue prostheses, no‑one would notice. He would be able to continue at Waltham Forest as if nothing had happened. He trembled with anticipation when he imagined himself legless, sitting in a wheelchair or on a sofa, stumps waggling in a determined display of chutzpah which he had never had.
The surgeon approved of Mason’s application and assured him that he would be legless within the year. First the left leg would be removed leaving a short rounded stump below the knee, just enough to be of some use in controlling an artificial leg. After the stump had healed completely and Mason’s gait was satisfactory, his other leg would be removed in an identical fashion, allowing Mason to experience the pleasure of leglessness with one solitary artificial leg. Many men achieved their personal nirvanas at this stage and confronted their fates on a prosthesis with crutches. Mason’s future stumps would allow him to adopt the long rigid stubbies he fantasised with thick bases to disguise his stumps, trapped in a kneeling position.
Casper completed his studies and was a qualified paleo‑archaeologist. He was fond of the open air and preferred to visit destinations with a long history, where the remnants of an archaeological site might allow some unexpected additional discovery. He was enamoured of the idea of using two prosthetic hooks for such a task. It was well within the secret agreement he had forged with Jasper. Several subsequent meetings with his brother’s triple amputee friend who wore only glittering chrome hooks had encouraged him in favour of a similar body image, although his own hooks would be scratched and worn by scrabbling through dirt and detritus at his historical digs. More than once, their visits to the medical facilities coincided although they had no idea of the other’s presence. As Jasper had joked, Mason did have a stump for Christmas and, more surprisingly, so did his twin. Casper wore a shrinker bandage on his left stump which was almost identical to his brother’s. Jasper was satisfied with his standard issue hook, the world’s most commonly used such item.
With the pernicious and chronic exception of Mason, our small clique of amputees developed a more intimate relationship. I found it easy to befriend Casper, as he looked and sounded identical to his brother Jasper, whom I had known for years. There was an automatic solidarity between us, all of whom wielded at least one hook. Jasper was adamant that his amputations were over. He had lost a hand and gained a stump with a wide selection of artificial hands, functional and otherwise. Casper had recently toyed with the idea of a leg amputation but it did not hold the same attraction for him as an arm stump. The missing leg would be more of an annoyance than something to be genuinely cherished. His sole remaining natural hand began to seem extraneous to requirements, especially after spending an hour or two in my company. I turned disability into an art form. I used my flamboyant hooks elegantly, like a gourmand handling fine cutlery. Mason remained an enigma for the others.
His surgeon, however, found Mason to be the perfect patient. He was not only amenable to daring surgical suggestions, he also showed enthusiasm for irregular prosthetic solutions. He had revealed his long‑held desires to experience a new life of disability on two artificial legs and his determination to become self‑sufficient with a pair of artificial arms, fitted with hooks or hands or gryphers. A small team of prosthetists and surgical staff discussed Mason’s options and a schedule of operations gradually took shape which would eventually culminate in Mason walking out of the rehab unit on two cylindrical carbon fibre stubbies, swinging basic custom hooks. Needless to say, medical staff were sworn to silence and Mason himself remained silent about his future transformation. He rarely contacted his amputee friends, contenting himself with his mundane schedule of commutes between work and home. His weekends were dedicated to designing adaptive furniture and personal effects to simplify life for a man without limbs. As a loner, Mason realised the importance of maintaining his independence by mastering his prosthetic fittings.
Casper adapted supremely well to his handsome stumps. He was not so insistent on wearing his prostheses as myself, never publicly seen without my hooks. Casper’s stumps were a little longer than half his natural forearms. He was perfectly content to reveal them in public. His surgeon had created handsome rounded tips quite phallic in appearance. Similarly, he was comfortable wearing his pair of prosthetic arms terminating in farmer’s hooks while working in the field. He found it difficult to shuck his sockets in order to momentarily use his naked stumps like many arm amputees could. It was the only slight disadvantage to his configuration which he had discovered so far.
Jasper was extremely proud of his single left below‑elbow amputation which allowed him to experience to some degree what daily life was like for his best friend and latterly lover. He had made only one major change to his regular habits after receiving his left hook. He had found donning his prosthetic leg with a hook and hand too awkward and had therefore adopted his peg leg as his go‑to everyday prosthesis. He was as secure and comfortable on his peg as on his leg and soon became accustomed to operating the peg’s locking mechanisms with his hook. I took inspiration from Jasper and had a peg leg attachment designed and fitted to my below‑knee socket. The pair of us looked spectacularly conspicuous strutting beside each other, favouring our natural legs with an identical lurching limp which never failed to attract public attention. Naturally enough, even seated and stationary, I was instantly recognisable as a bilateral amputee thanks to my gorgeous hooks. As time passed and Jasper became more competent with his own hook, he began to weigh up the pros and cons of gaining a third stump. He would become a triple amputee like his lover, me, and a bilateral hook user like his brother. Without mentioning his intentions beforehand to anyone, he contacted the family surgeon and enquired about the possibility and advisability of gaining a second arm stump in order to regain the physical balance and equilibrium which body symmetry provided. The surgeon advised against an above‑elbow amputation but, remembering what had been discussed with Mason, suggested a different solution which would barely leave him with both elbows and allow him to wear restrictive prostheses which ignored his elbow. Jasper thanked him for his suggestions and allowed the tantalising idea to mature.
Mason lost his left leg near his knee. His stump was barely long enough to deserve a socket. His prosthesis would be suspended from a leather thigh corset. Such limbs had not been made for over forty years and several prosthetists collaborated on its design and manufacture. Before being fitted with his first artificial limb, Mason used a pair of long wooden crutches. He allowed his empty trouser leg to dangle. It swung as he walked and looked pathetic. It was the first time in his life that Mason allowed anything about his personal appearance to be untidy or less than perfect. It was as if his first amputation had also cut away some of the fastidiousness which had trapped his imagination. Similarly, he allowed his goatee beard to grow to an unprecedented length although he still shaved his scalp three times a week. Balancing on axillary crutches while shaving his head was unwieldy. Everything in his bathroom would soon need to be lowered with additional ledges and railings. He took delivery of his first prosthesis and ejaculated onto his bed within five minutes of bringing it home. He had never owned anything which simultaneously fulfilled so many of his fantasies. It titillated his stump. The socket and pylon looked supremely artificial and the rubber foot was a perfect mismatch. The leather thigh corset was cool and intimate and he could adjust how tightly it gripped his flesh. The steel knee joint swung freely but only in one direction. It would be responsible for the unmistakable rigid heel‑strike of an artificial leg. Mason lay on his duvet and rubbed the different surface materials of his prosthetic leg against his genitals until the limb became sticky.
He was ecstatic to achieve one of his lifelong goals by the age of thirty. The artificial leg creaked when in motion thanks to its leather thigh socket. Outwardly, it was indistinguishable from the natural leg it was paired with. Mason had no interest in peacocking to advertise his amputee status. He had never taken other people’s opinions into account and he was certainly not about to start now, especially not concerning the most intimate and private matter of self‑modification. Mason practised walking with his artificial limb until he was satisfied with his progress. He notified his surgeon that he felt ready for the next phase.
Jasper had become supremely adept with his hook. Despite knowing that a more advanced wrist connector was available to him, allowing the hook extra ranges of motion forward and back, he taught himself to use the basic hook as it had been supplied on his training socket. With expert advice available from his handless lover and his handless brother on all matters prosthetic, Jasper found himself preferring to present himself as a one‑armed man. He had a long black leather socket decorated with chrome steel straps made for his natural hand. It disguised his right hand and made it useless. Jasper was compelled to use only his left prosthesis for everything. He found the additional disablement erotically exciting.
I was delighted that Jasper was so amenable to the idea of bilateral upper limb amputation. We discussed it often at great length and in great detail. Eventually, three years after his initial amputation, the surgeon removed Jasper’s right forearm almost in its entirety. Impatient with Mason’s tardiness, the surgeon persuaded Jasper about the benefits of a below‑elbow stump so short that he had a choice of using both below‑elbow or above‑elbow prostheses. The latter were much more physically demanding of the residual limb. Jasper was intrigued. In either case, his short stump would entail production of an artificial arm which extended to his shoulder. To all intents and purposes, he would always appear to have a completely artificial limb on his right, from his shoulder to whatever terminal device he might choose. His new stump would double as both a short below‑elbow jobbie and as a long above‑elbow stump when fitted with a socket of a suitable length. Jasper was excited to realise that he would be the most severely disabled of the gang of three bilaterals. The other two both had forearm stumps of generous and useful length. Jasper’s right stump promised to be next to useless for any dexterity with his hook.
The rehab department was also interested in Jasper’s stump. It would be the first time they had the opportunity to ignore a short below‑elbow stump and treat the entire residual limb as a single unjointed entity. They would create a long socket to hide the stump and attach a hinged lower section which might resemble a forearm or might be a slender aluminium tube leading to a connector with a hook attachment. Another idea which the team wished Jasper to test was basically a conventional socket and hook as for any below‑elbow amputee. But the socket would be short, approximately the size and shape of a coffee mug. It would bear a standard hook and the team hoped Jasper would be able to enlighten them on the advantages or otherwise of fitting shortened prosthetics to an irregular residual limb.
Two months after receiving the all‑clear from his surgeon, I arranged a cocktail evening at ourhome for friends and relatives in order to introduce them to my newly reconformed boyfriend and live‑in lover. Casper, now a proficient hook user himself, was initially disturbed by the extreme brevity of his brother’s latest stump but was reassured that nothing untoward had happened. It had all been planned and approved and the unwieldy whole‑arm prosthesis brought, in fact, a great deal of pleasure and was almost as practical as his left prosthesis on his much longer stump. Jasper made no mention of it but yearned for body symmetry and was considering a re‑amputation of his left stump in order to wear two of the deviant arm prostheses. He was anxious to transform his body image from that of a man with arms, albeit artificial, to that of a man with steel hooks at elbow length. The sensation of armlessness, the lack of weight and repositioning of balance were all such powerful incentives that he hoped to re‑amputate before summer in order to flaunt his fresh stumps in the late summer sun on a foreign boulevard, accompanied by his lover with the glittering hooks.
His guests were intrigued by Jasper’s decision to replace his hand with the unwieldy alien prosthesis which hung unused by his side for much of the evening. At no point did Jasper make any attempt to remove it, although his attempts to use it were few and far from practical. He used his few centimetres of stump to move the forearm but the muscle power available to him was too slight for anything requiring physical effort. The visitors ascribed his difficulties to the novelty of the situation but Casper and Daniels understood. Both of them knew Jasper well enough to realise that he was dissatisfied with his conventional prosthesis and would shortly be fitted with something outlandish. But neither of them expected Jasper’s solution.
Mason’s second amputation took place in accordance with the schedule drawn up with his surgeon. The leg amputation had been a complete medical success. There had been no untoward difficulties with the incision or with the stump itself. It contained a good amount of extraneous muscle tissue which provided some cushioning. Mason was impatient to re‑conform his right leg in order to gain stubby legs. He had discovered several video clips of bilateral users of stubbies and imagined himself in a similar position. He was sure that such a degree of leglessness was exactly what he wanted. In accordance with his wishes, his right leg was amputated to resemble the left. He was fitted with a matching prosthesis which enveloped his right thigh. Now nothing of his natural legs was visible when he admired his appearance in front of a full‑length mirror. His prosthetic lower legs looked spindly and weak although they were the complete opposite. Mason wished to see himself standing considerably shorter on bulkier simpler sockets. After eight months, he was fitted with his first pair of stubbies which extended fifteen centimetres beyond the tips of his stumps. He learned to heave his stumps in half circles to force the inert sockets into action and felt himself fulfilled. He was severely disabled and his body image was shocking, even distressing. Young children cried when they saw him. Passengers seated on tube trains turned their heads when confronted with the flat bases of his stubbies facing them across the carriage. In a quiet space like the Waltham Abbey museum, his stubbies beat out a hollow rhythm as he pushed forward. He wanted artificial arms to match his new configuration.
In the meantime, Jasper had acted on his compulsion to regain body symmetry. His longer arm stump was re‑amputated to match his newer healed short stump. His arms were reduced to little more than the halfway point. He still possessed two elbows, both protected by hemispheres of muscle tissue which he could flex purposelessly. They played no useful role in operating the glistening set of artificial arms whose manufacture he had overseen. The entirety of Jasper’s arm stumps disappeared into the slightly over‑long sockets. They were fitted with mechanical elbows operated by shoulder movement in tandem with his hooks. Jasper was faced with the lifelong necessity of learning to operate the unintuitive, unnatural devices for everything. He felt himself completely disabled without his jet black prostheses and loved the continual surprise of simply looking at himself without his hands. His rounded stumps were about to come into their own. He had an appointment with rehab. With much extraneous movement, he dressed himself smartly and made his way to the local railway station.
It had been many months since the voluntary amputees had last met. I heard rumours that my old friend Mason had undergone treatment of some kind but there were no specifics. There really should be another cocktail evening when new stumps could be admired in addition to prowess with handsome new prosthetic limbs. I allowed Jasper time to accustom himself to his newest hooks before arranging anything. Jasper would want to be proficient not only with his long black elbow‑lockable arms but also with the deviant new pair.
Rehab understood exactly what he requested. His short round stumps were to be fitted with short cup‑shaped sockets which covered his elbows entirely. His stumps would be fixed at about seventy‑five degrees and two standard hooks would attach directly to the short sockets. His arm length below the elbow would be fifteen centimetres. He would need to have the sleeves of any shirts or jackets shortened if he wanted to wear something more formal than a T‑shirt. To make the new sockets appear more like medical devices, they were to be printed in high gloss white nylon. Jasper hoped they would present him with a different way of being disabled. His stumps would be fitted with professionally produced prostheses which were non‑flexible, immobile and exceedingly short. His hooks would seldom reach and grab objects with any efficiency. Their appearance halfway along his altered outerwear would be arresting, to say the least.
I found Jasper’s altered appearance hugely impressive. He returned from his final fitting with the short prossies in his rucksack and set to shucking his jacket and T‑shirt in order to remove his long prostheses. I watched Jasper’s machinations with his useless half arms. Without any useful length of forearm stump, his movements were exaggerated and Jasper often resorted to using his mouth in conjunction with the pincer actions of his half arms. Sometime I took pity after thirty seconds of watching him attempting to open his rucksack. I used my own ever present glittering hooks to open the bag and reached in to hook out the new white harness with what looked like some kind of kitchen equipment attached.
The new hooks were easy to don. Jasper had insisted from the start that although he would be disabled by the loss of one and and then the other, his prosthetic equipment must be designed in such a way that he could access them alone in his disabled situation. With his stumps newly modified, the design of the socket openings had presented a challenge to the rehab team, overcome by the intelligent counterbalancing of the hooks. Jasper was capable of slipping the harness over his shoulders and carefully pushing his fleshy stumps into their rigid sockets. The short prosthetic arms were in place and the hooks could be engaged with the same shoulder movement as required by his long prostheses. Jasper stood motionless before Daniels, his deformed artificial arms demanding attention.
– Are they what you wanted? You can’t really move them much, can you?
– No, they don’t move. The sockets are like protective shields to prevent any injury if I fall.
– Is it difficult to open the hooks?
– There’s difficult and difficult, isn’t there? I can’t use my stumps to operate the hooks like I used to or like you can.
– So you’re pretty much as crippled as you would be without any arms.
– Is that what you’d like to see? Stumps at my shoulders?
– It’s nothing to do with me, Jasper. You must have the stumps and the artificial limbs you feel you need.
It was possibly the most inaccurate statement ever. Jasper’s limblessness had everything to do with Daniels, as did Mason’s increasingly difficult circumstances. Daniels not only provided the ultimate in disabled elegance and elitism, he also insinuated with every encounter the superiority of the amputee lifestyle. Few men left Daniels’ company after more than an hour or two without a confused sense of envy. Daniels was amused by the continual attention his hooks earned him while his artificial leg remained unremarked although it was as deserving of admiration as his arm stumps.
Jasper began to alternate wearing his long prostheses with the short pair. The former were for weekdays and for use with his finer, formal clothes. At my request, he wore the short hooks at weekends at home and when we went out to a casual event where manual dexterity was secondary at best. Jasper had an old leather jacket altered to accommodate his elbow length arms. He looked especially crippled when wearing it.
Despite his increased disability and the inconvenience of daily life, Jasper had a deep reserve of determination to master his demanding prostheses so that his hook use was on par with that of his lover. I always waited for Jasper to complete some action, never offering help or passing comment. Gradually Jasper discovered personal tricks useful for operating his forearms and his hooks, twisting his body to the demands of various mechanisms. The short arms were easier to operate, having no elbow movement available, but they were of lesser utility. They made Jasper more disabled although he enjoyed the sensation of being severely restricted even while wearing prostheses.
We agreed that it would be an appropriate time to invite Mason and Casper for drinks, preferably starting at a rendezvous in town. I especially wanted to see our guests’ preparedness in dealing with everyday life in public with their prostheses rather than a mere private display at their home and seized the opportunity to visit an exhibition of new works by disabled artists in a minor gallery on the top floor of a shopping mall. Jasper and Mason would make their own way there and gain some exposure to fine art created by fellow cripples.
I was devious enough to wait unseen in an adjacent shop until both men arrived. I allowed them five minutes to see the exhibits before my curiosity and Jasper’s impatience compelled us to join them. Mason looked like a suburban art teacher in a pair of black denim jeans and a green corduroy jacket. Casper was dressed like an extra direct from On The Waterfront and to our consternation, he wore only his right hook. His left sleeve was empty.
Our own appearance was somewhat more refined. I chose to wear my grey three piece with a light blue bow tie. Jasper wore brown leather trousers with a natural white polo neck woollen jumper whose sleeves almost hid his inert black prosthetic arms. His arms no longer swung as he walked, lending him somewhat of a robotic impression.
We toured the exhibition once more so as not to seem completely uncultured. The meagre information about each artist alongside their works did not include details about their particular disabilities. It was a major omission. How was one to judge a work if one had no idea about the struggle involved to produce it? I became aware of some unexpected sounds issuing from Mason’s undercarriage and wished to lose no more time before returning home where the four of us could be more comfortable.
Casper was astonished by how utterly disabling his brother’s most recent amputations had been. The four of us stripped half naked after arriving at our apartment and settling with drinks. Jasper proudly demonstrated his long prostheses, marching back and forth in a provocative manner in front of our legless guests. He insisted that he was perfectly capable of carrying out everyday actions in a domestic setting. He could tend to things like personal hygiene, dressing, simple food prep and feeding himself. He could use computers and communications devices. He mentioned owning a second pair of hooks but invited Mason to speak.
Mason’s legs were not the basic health service issue we had been expecting. He had sought out a man who specialised in the extreme niche hobby of recreating copies of wooden legs as worn by amputees in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries before the great war forced production of artificial limbs which required little skill and less taste. Mason refused to tell us exactly how much he had paid for his limbs but they were magnificent examples of the genre. The lower wooden legs were shapely facsimiles of muscular male legs polished to perfection. Toeless feet melded into the ankles, compelling the wearer to be always conscious of his balance on uneven surfaces. Mason’s rollicking gait was a result of this chronic necessity to take each individual step as a new risk. His natural knees still existed behind leather knee cuffs and his thighs were encased entirely in mid‑brown leather and secured by laces along rows of twenty eyelets. We all admired Mason, not only for his prowess in controlling his heavy unresponsive artificial legs with such aplomb but also for having such excellent characteristic taste in crippling himself in his fastidious style.
– Am I correct in believing that you also use stubbies, Mason?
– Yes. I wear stubbies during the week. I work in stubbies.
– Why? I don’t understand why you own such beautiful wooden legs but prefer to waddle around in stubbies.
– It’s simply a matter of practicality, Jasper. These legs are exhausting to use. They are like museum pieces, only destined for outings on rare occasions such as tonight. Otherwise, I am more comfortable on stubbies. I don’t know whether I should mention further amputations this evening when we are still recovering to one degree or another from our previous ones but I feel overly conspicuous with my natural arms.
– There’s no reason why you should. We have no expectations of you adapting to our body image, none at all.
And yet the psychological pressure on Mason that evening in the company of three acquaintances wearing a total of five hooks was the last straw which tipped him over the last point of resistance. It was Jasper who did it. Jasper and his tiny deviant elbow hooks. Casper was also curious to see how his brother’s stumps compared to his own and was visibly shocked by their brevity. Mere globes of flesh replaced perfectly functioning forearms. Casper said nothing to criticise his brother’s daring choices but was obviously horrified by the exertion required to operate his long arm hooks. The second pair of hooks was, if possible, even more radical. The sockets held his stumps rigid and the hooks could only be operated by shrugging. Eating and drinking were especially difficult as the hooks’ orientation was non‑adjustable. Jasper admitted that he was still searching for a practical application for such short deviant hooks.
Mason was more than fascinated. He was already impressed by Jasper’s long prostheses and noted the extra difficulties involved due to the absence of functional elbows. He was also prepared to submit to such inconvenience if the sensations of additional disability were significant enough to be as near permanent as possible. He wanted the reassurance of knowing his lack of hands would be more than an issue of functionality. He desired some degree of salience, a performance‑based regime of essential movement to operate a steel hook. He was adept at walking on short legs and welcomed the horrified attention it engendered. A similarly deviant set of short hooks on a pair of half arms would look especially arresting. Mason’s reticent outlook on life had changed completely after his second amputation. He felt he had achieved the physical characteristics he had always imagine having. He had always been something of a loner. Now he was noticeably more strident and extrovert.
We settled into our newly shaped lifestyles. Casper found deep satisfaction in his artificial arms and wore them all day. Occasionally he allowed his stumps freedom and used them in tandem to do the simple tasks he knew he could manage. His stumps regrew the light brown curly hair and their even regular shapes made for handsome appendages. Casper was proud of his skill. Jasper, on the other hand, struggled continually. He never complained, not in my hearing. But try as he might, Jasper never mastered his long prostheses with mechanical elbows to such a degree that their use appeared effortless. He bent and twisted his torso and exaggerated the movements required to lock and unlock the elbows. His usual way of wearing the arms was simply to lock the elbows at forty‑five degrees and allow the arms to hang from the shoulder. They were little more than sleeve fillers. However, he was content to be stared at or watched as he went through the convolutions with his hooks. I believe he preferred wearing the short half‑arm set which emphasised his lack of hands and forearms. They were almost insectile in appearance. The hooks were inconvenient to use for personal use like eating but he made an effort and after many months discovered ways to benefit from their rigid simplicity.
Mason spent considerable time arranging his life so that he too would be in a similar position to Caspar. He pictured himself standing on stubbies wielding short hooks socketed onto his half‑arms. He made financial arrangements to pay for his upcoming amputations, domestic arrangements to ensure that it was possible for a handless man to function, social arrangements for cleaners and personal assistants to attend on a regular basis for the four months which he estimated would be necessary for his recovery before he was fitted with prosthetic arms. First and foremost, he discussed his desires with the surgeon. Mason assured him that the time was right for him to advance to the final phase of his transformation.
– Are you certain you wish to lose both arms concurrently? Would it not be wiser to amputate first one and acclimatise yourself to prosthetic use?
– You know how I despise irregularity and non‑symmetry. I have spoken of it with you before regarding my leg stumps.
– Indeed. I remember well. Well, fine. There is no need for you to repeat yourself. You assure me that you have already arranged post‑operative care and I see no reason to delay.
Three weeks later and after many years, Mason finally lost most of his forearms. Regardless of how often and how thoroughly he had imagined his new situation, it was surprising and shocking for him not to see his hands. He could sense the brevity of his nearly useless stumps and fell into depression. He had not been required yet to do anything except recover in bed but he already felt utterly disabled and was unsure whether he would ever forgive himself for such senseless maiming. He knew his prosthetic limbs with their spiteful hooks would not compensate more than about five percent of the functionality he had deliberately denied himself. Mason spent his time in hospital working through the first phases of depression and recovery from it. His stumps healed and were usually hidden unused inside his jacket. Six weeks after entering the hospital, he was discharged in the company of his newly appointed personal trainer who was excited to gain experience with a disabled man as handsome as Mason. He had already learned a trick or two about dressing him in his two wooden legs, the likes of which he had never seen before. The man had also lost his hands and lower arms, which necessitated his temporary employment. He would be with the invalid for five hours every other day for the next couple of months, at least, and was looking forward to seeing more of how a limbless man coped with life.
His name was Detlev Schumann. His parents were Austrian and had remained in the country. Detlev seemed to follow the example of another well‑known Austrian emigrant. He was not overly tall but developed his body to be strong and lithe. Other men admired him with the natural pleasure in seeing physical beauty. Detlev himself was proud of his immaculate appearance. In tandem with the pleasure he derived from his own physique, he found great pleasure in the deviant limbs of male invalids. Paralysed legs twitching uncontrollably or gnarly stumps of a double amputee wearing sports shorts were a compulsion and viewing disabled young men was the only way he could express his sexuality. Working for a quadruple amputee was, therefore, one of the most exciting prospects his otherwise mundane and repetitive career had so far offered him. Unable to help himself, he became infatuated with Mason and fought back his impulse to sexually assault the disabled man with his almost useless stumps. Unlike Mason, who was turned on by his prosthetic limbs, Detlev was turned on by the four short stumps, too short to be useful. If he was ever in a situation where he had to choose between such short stumps below the knee and elbows, he would flat out refuse. Long stumps above the joints would be far more practical and less trouble. And to his way of thinking, always conscious of his physical appearance, long upper arm stumps from the elbow were handsome arm stumps, masculine and pitiable. He could wish for nothing more. As a result, he found Mason’s deviant stumps quite fascinating.
Mason himself discovered a renewed enthusiasm for experimental prostheses through the knowledge that Detlev would either assist or rescue the hapless amputee. The amateur artisan prosthetist who had crafted his superbly finished pair of wooden legs was delighted to collaborate on another set of legs which Mason assured him would be practical items and therefore deserving of similar manufacturing skill and attention. Mason, or more accurately, Detlev had sketched a pair of peg legs of a length midway between his stubbies and his full‑length wooden legs. The existence of Mason’s negligible below‑knee stumps made fitting peg legs the old‑fashioned way possible. Detlev was concerned that his employer might be placing himself in physical danger by minimising the surface area on which Mason would step and urged him to consider using at least one crutch or walking stick. However, Mason was completely incapable of doing any such thing. He could, however, fit his arm stump into a hollow strut which might extend as far as the tips of his peg legs and in this way, he would have the support from a matching peg arm. It would be as slender as his peg legs and it would appear from a distance that he was walking on three pegs, which to all intents and purposes, he was.
Detlev watched Mason’s attempt to use his short hooks and waited patiently for an inevitable request for assistance. Knowing how open Mason was to unlikely suggestions, Detlev suggested that since the operable hooks were so impractical, would it not be fun to experience life with a variety of static hooks, extensions and other attachments which might be specialised but functional for some narrowly defined purpose. Mason’s hooks screwed into his short sockets and could easily be replaced by anything with the same standard attachment. A Mexican toolmaker ran a side line of simple hooks and other designs and was persuaded to export to Europe. Mason soon had a respectable collection of hooks of various sizes and lengths, stump extenders terminating in small steel spheres or in balls and rings to be used together for lifting sheet material.
Mason was reliant on Detlev for adjustments to his prostheses and the time came when his assistant’s agreed contract terminated. Instead, they came to a mutually beneficial agreement which would see Detlev arrive at six in the evening on Saturday and depart around four on Sunday afternoon. Detlev’s duties were far fewer than when he had received a fee for his efforts. He prepared Mason’s work prostheses and checked their function and condition. The two men experimented with Mason’s collection of prosthetic devices. It was largely due to Detlev’s patience coupled with Mason’s determination that Mason learned to walk on his wooden peg legs without further assistance to balance. Detlev loved to see Mason teetering on his pegs, wearing two large inert steel hooks on his tiny arm stumps. Detlev lifted Mason onto a high chair and shaved the amputee’s head and trimmed his beard. Best of all was the sexual release both men found in the other. Detlev found the greatest satisfaction when Mason allowed him to fit his lover with the long black carbon prosthetic limbs which made Mason look almost like a beetle, its shell glistening in the light. Mason lay immobile while Detlev explored his semi‑prosthetic body. Later Detlev would help Mason’s limbless trunk balance on his own while his erect penis urgently sought release inside Detlev or between his hairy thighs.
Jasper and I led a similar lifestyle. Jasper persuaded me to leave my prostheses off at weekends and to use my naked stumps more. Although I say so myself, I have superbly masculine stumps replete with a fine pelt of curly black hair. It was a pity to hide them. Jasper frequently wore only one of his above‑elbow prostheses and learned to appreciate the increased sense of disability. I had assured him that I approved of Jasper’s inferior control of his prosthetic arms, which helped him come to terms with his disability. He not only accepted it, to a large degree he also enjoyed it. His stumps were also handsomely masculine appendages which I enjoy feeling on my body.
Casper adapted to his new lifestyle like a duck to water. It was as if he had been awaiting the day when he could settle into the routine of relying on artificial arms for everything, acknowledging the attention he attracted as a handsome man with two hooks permanently on display. He liked the way his stumps looked and felt. Unlike his twin, he preferred to wear both hooks. He occasionally savoured the sensations of missing both hands but always donned his prostheses before long.
Mason was the odd man out, as he had always been. He was a hard man to read. Even when we were at school together, I was never entirely sure what he thought about any given topic. He preferred his own company and had always been a loner. I was grateful to him for understanding my obsessive thoughts about amputation and was pleased that he shared them too. But I had never been entirely sure about his sincerity. Now however, there was no doubt at all. He had converted himself into a new man entirely reliant on artificial limbs, all of which were extraordinary examples of the genre. He took to wearing his nineteenth century style wooden legs and his restrictive above‑elbow style prosthetic arms for weekdays. This is how he presented himself at the museum in Waltham Abbey. He perfected his balance and skill on his wooden legs and many members of the public who met him did not realise the man was disabled by more than being a double arm amputee.
But Mason came into his own at the weekends, supported fully by Detlev who was never far away. I do not know if their tryst was physical. I doubt it. As I say, Mason is difficult to read. But I have seen a video of Mason which Detlev sent to Jasper in which he is wearing his mid‑length peg legs and two large immovable brass hooks on his elbow sockets. He looks exactly like the caricature of a cartoon pirate but instead of wielding a hook while stumbling along on a peg leg, Mason spreads his arm stumps weighed down with his useless hooks while stepping forward elegantly on his rubber‑tipped peg legs. Detlev watched him wordlessly, having learned how Mason dislikes compliments about his appearance which he has always, ironically, regarded as exaggerations.
TALK OF THE DEVIL
