by Danny Tyran
Johnny asked, “Anyone else want to change their rating?”
After ensuring that everyone’s response was in the negative, Johnny claimed that their annotations were now irrevocable.
“Do you want to make any comments regarding your test, Max?”
I pondered what to say; then I approached the lectern and asked Johnny if I was allowed to express my honest thoughts. He responded by saying that my freedom was temporarily restored and I could speak in all conscience.
Taking a deep breath, I started, “I want to thank everyone for their participation. I know you tested me as you thought you ought, and I hold no grudge against anyone.”
“Not even against me, Max?” Louis asked.
“Not after the mark you just gave me, sir”, I replied with my most mocking smile. My answer triggered more laughs. Some exclaimed, “Ooooh!” Others applauded.
“I can still change it,” Louis added.
“No. Not anymore, Louis,” Johnny reminded him. “Have you anything else to say, Max?”
“Yes, Sir. I just want to say something about the fake armed assault.” I paused for a moment, thinking about how best to phrase my comment. I wanted to be understood without hurting anyone’s feelings. I took another deep breath and continued, “In my state of mind, brought about by Gabrielle’s death and how she died, I couldn’t control my reactions. My reaction was impulsive. I threw a hard metal bar which hit Mr. Wilson on the chest, but could have just as easily struck him on the head and killed him. With all due respect, I must tell you that I don’t believe in the value of this part of my test and I consider it to have been unnecessarily cruel and dangerous. That’s all I have to say.”
The audience remained silent for a moment, then a few people started to applaud me again. When the ripple of applause ceased, Johnny added his own remarks. “I’m glad you had the courage to say that, Max. Several people, including James and I, have been trying for years to prohibit this kind of test. But there is always someone with enough power and influence to convince the majority to accept this type of staged event, which is very dangerous, as you just pointed out. I hope that increasing numbers of us will align ourselves with our new slave’s point of view.”
After giving an encouraging smile to me, Johnny turned to face the audience. “Now he will offer a piece of himself to his master and trainer.”
When explaining the symbolism of the gift, my master had asked me if I wanted to follow tradition or offer another part of myself. I had responded that I wanted to give him the same body part as his previous slaves had. He formalized that choice by asking me the same question again today. I gave the same answer.
My master invited me to sit between his legs. Sitting was hell. My back, buttocks and thighs hurt much more once seated. A table was placed between his armchair and Don’s. On a pure white tablecloth were displayed all the necessary surgical instruments: scalpel, amputation knife, bone shears, bandage scissors, needles and needle holder, pliers, surgical sutures, sterile wound dressings, disinfectant and an appliance which I didn’t know what it was for. The doctor had moved to the rear of the table to allow everyone to see the operation. My master laid his hand on my forehead and pressed my head against his shoulder, telling me to relax. His skin was warm and caressing. It comforted me. I put my hand on the table, where the doctor asked me. Don took my wrist firmly in his hands, keeping mine flat on the table, and he smiled at me. I swallowed my too abundant saliva. Once again, my master ordered me to relax. I tried to obey, but I had to look away. If I looked at the doctor while he cut off my finger, I would not be able to do it.
Jerry had just finished a quick round of the premises and settled up at the back, just behind Jean’s chair. Samuel was also present, seated at the right hand of our former bodyguard. Johnny went to sit on his left. He said something in a low voice and Jean shook his head in vehement negations. What was happening? Why was Jean here tonight? And why were they surrounding him this way? And what could Johnny have said to him to cause such a strong reaction of denial?
I even heard Jean uttering what I could only describe as a mewing sound. Johnny harshly ordered him to shut up. Jean rose to his feet. I felt the scalpel blade cut into my flesh. After everything I had experienced, the sensation was almost pleasant. Don placed my hand palm up to allow the doctor to cut the other side. I didn’t watch the operation. All my attention was focussed on Jean. He sat down again, but he was crying, his head bent, his face buried in his hands. Johnny rested a hand on his back and was stroking it in slow circular motions. But Jean continued to shake his head, denying whatever Johnny was saying to him.
By this time, the doctor had reached the point where he positioned the last joint of my left little finger between the blades of his shears. Jean’s eyes and mine met at the exact moment when the doctor closed his shears. I heard a “clack!” and felt faint, sure I was turning pale.
My master ordered, “Look Max.”
I reluctantly pulled my gaze away from Jean and stared at my hand. The last and smallest part of my left little finger lay on the table, detached from my hand. My truncated finger was bleeding heavily, soaking the tablecloth in red. My head was spinning.
“The doctor will cauterize the wound now and sew the end of your finger to close it.”
Cauterize? Doesn’t that mean burning the wound? The doctor took his electrical appliance and began working on my stump. I looked away, trying to find Jean. But he was no longer in the living room. Neither were Johnny and Jerry. Only Samuel was still there. Looking as pale as I surely was, he stood guard at the back of the room. I gazed around, trying to see where they could have taken Jean, without success. A particularly acute pain reminded me of what the doctor was doing to me. I tensed. My master forced me to put my head back against his shoulder and gently stroked my cheek. I kissed him.
“Where... is... Jean?” I whispered, gasping at the same time from the pain.
“Johnny and Jerry are taking care of him.”
“But what... is going on?”
“They are questioning Jean about something important.”
The doctor had stretched the skin to close around the end of what was left of my little finger and began to sew. It hurt a lot, but one thing haunted me more than my own pain, it was Jean’s. My master’s answers were too vague to satisfy my curiosity.
Then I heard a scream that sounded as if it had come from the basement. I tried to get up but was prevented from doing so because Don was gripping my left hand tightly, and my master’s arm was clutched firmly around my chest.
“Master?”
“Lean against me, Max. You have no reason to worry.”
“Why is Jean screaming?”
“Max. Enough!”
I tried to imagine what could be happening. What questions were they asking him? Did it have something to do with Gabrielle’s death? I looked at Louis. He was grinning at me from ear to ear. The operation seemed to amuse him, a lot. Louis and Jean were much alike, both physically and psychologically. But that didn’t mean much. If he had wanted, Jean would have had hundreds of opportunities to do us harm while he was working for us. None of this made any sense. But there could be no other reason for his interrogation.
My truncated finger was now wrapped in a bandage. The operation was complete. I felt nauseous. With any luck, I wouldn’t have to stand up for too long and might be able to rest a little. My master removed the chain I wore around my neck and placed it on the table. Don gave him a new pearl finger. It was black.
Johnny re-entered the room and strode toward the lectern. He started off by explaining the meaning of the different colors of mother-of-pearl fingers given by my master to his slaves after their sacrificial offering. “Some of you already know the meaning of these three colors, but I ask for your patience while I explain to the newcomers too. First, no mother-of-pearl finger is given and no offering of a part of themselves is required from novices who failed the test. A pink finger, like Don is wearing and currently displayin
g for you, is for slaves who don’t continue in the market after their first contract of sale. With the money from his sale, Don opened a small inn in the north of Montréal Island. A white finger, like the one Max was wearing around his neck, indicates that the slave, although he wants to continue in the market, isn’t willing to leave his master and trainer. They are slaves who are so committed to their master, that they are unable to leave him in order to lead a productive life elsewhere. From James’ point of view, this is a weakness. He believes that a slave worthy of the name must be willing to give up everything, even his loved ones if that is his master’s will. As for the black finger, it indicates a slave who has reached the full expression of his slave’s nature. It signifies a slave who is ready to make any sacrifice, even to leave those he loves the most to satisfy his master’s will or risk his life for him if necessary. James believes that Max has reached this degree of renunciation and deserves a black finger. I also believe it to be true. That is why James is offering it to him today.”
I was deeply moved to learn that my master thought I was one of the best. Then my master placed a gold chain with a black mother-of-pearl finger hanging from it around my neck. I could also wear it in place of the last part of my cut finger when it completely healed.
My master asked me to kneel down on the floor for a moment. He stood up and addressed the audience while stroking my hair and pressing my head against his belly. His caresses and manly smell woke my sex. I don’t know how I managed to find the strength to get aroused.
“Since our first meeting, Max has showed an exceptional talent for slavery. When he came to live with me, my countless requirements and my harshness led him to believe that he didn’t have the necessary skills to properly fulfill his new role. But he was wrong. Many of the things I had to explain to others, he understood or did them instinctively. He is generous, always concerned about the welfare of those around him, even at the expense of his own material and spiritual comfort. More than once, he demonstrated these qualities when Gabrielle lived with us. Max treated her like a sister and helped her to become as good a slave as she could be. And after his sister’s death, he was more worried about my sorrow than his; forgetting his own pain to help me overcome mine. Even today, while the doctor was cutting off his finger, he was whispering questions to me about Jean’s fate. I’m sure that, whoever his future master is, he’ll be more than satisfied. As for myself, I am. I am proud of him and I consider that I was lucky to have him as a pupil.”
My master sat down again while more applause rang out. I thanked him for everything he had done for me and solemnly kissed his feet. That won even more applause. When my master helped me to my feet, I thought for a moment I wouldn’t be able to stand. Thank goodness Johnny said the ceremony was over.
I dreaded the thought that some of these guests would be staying overnight and I’d have to take care of them until they left in the morning. But there had been more than one reason my master invited his former slave. Don was also going to help me take care of everything and everyone.
The doctor ordered me to accompany him to the bathroom. I didn’t have a clue what he wanted, but I followed him on shaky legs. Once there, he extracted a syringe from his pocket and a vial filled with a clear liquid. He injected the contents into my arm. “This is as good as a whiplash, but this time straight into the bloodstream,” he explained with a teasing smile. “And it’ll help you keep going until bedtime. I would like to have been able to inject it into you before the end of your trial, but then I’d have violated the slave market’s rules.”
He told me that he had left all the necessary ointments to take care of my interior and exterior wounds. He also said I could relieve my bladder if I needed to. Then he left me alone. Despite the medication he had inserted into my urethra when we were in the basement, my urine burned. I then made my way back to the guests. I didn’t know what the doctor had injected, but my legs were no longer shaking. I couldn’t have challenged anybody to a race, but I thought I could at least be able to hold it together until bedtime.
Johnny disappeared back into the basement. I wanted to know what they were doing to Jean and why. I know I should have stayed with the guests, but I couldn’t help it. I opened the door to the basement and went down as silent as a mouse, listening to what was being said and hearing the noise.
There was no one in the main room, but the sound of voices and cries was coming from the lockup. I approached closer to the room, but didn’t enter.
I heard Jean yelling, “I could have tried to kill them while I was working here and I didn’t.”
“It was your duty to protect them every night. How would you have explained their death? What would you have done with your weapon? It would have been difficult to ensure you didn’t leave any traces if you had committed murder. And if you simply fled the scene afterward, wouldn’t you have become even more suspect in the eyes of the police?”
“I didn’t want to kill anybody. They forced me to do it! They hurt me, threatening to torture me to death and to prolong my agony as long as possible until I agreed to commit the murder. I surrendered.”
“You could have come to see James, told him everything and asked him to help you. He would have done it, you know that.”
“They told me that if I denounced them, they’d catch me one day and make me pay dearly. I knew they had the ability to find me and I didn’t have any means to get away from them, not forever anyway. I was so scared, I panicked.”
“Scared enough to try to kill James and take the life of a kid? Bastard!”
I entered the lockup and only had eyes for Jean, who was fixed to the wall like a nasty insect pinned to an entomologist’s display board. I approached him.
“Max. What are you doing in here?” Johnny asked. “Jerry, take him back to the living room and guard the door of the basement.”
“I didn’t want to, Max,” Jean pleaded.
“You did it. You killed Gabrielle! You deserve everything they are threatening you with and worse.” I turned to Jerry and the other guards. “You should hand him over to those who hired him for this murder and reveal that he betrayed them.”
Tears swam in my eyes and my head was full of murderous thoughts. Jerry tried to lead me out of the lockout, but I resisted, struggling with all my might. The doctor’s injection and my hatred more than restored my strength; Jerry had trouble preventing me from hurting Jean.
“Enough, Max,” I heard my master say. “Your presence here won’t change anything in regard to Jean’s fate. You should go back to take care of our guests.”
“What are you going to do with him?”
“He’ll pay. Believe me, he will pay. Helena and Louis too. We’ll bring Louis here tonight. As for Helena, she has already fled. We don’t know where, but we’ll find out.”
“What will you do with me?” Jean asked.
My master didn’t answer him. Once again, he told me to return to our guests and act as if I knew nothing about it. He assured me that this issue would be addressed and settled soon.
When I reached the kitchen, Don told me to concentrate on looking after the visitors, taking care of their needs and looking after their pleasure. He would do the rest: food preparation, table set-up, house clean-up and restoration after the majority had departed, as well as other domestic tasks.
My fingers still felt very sore. Many testers had targeted my feet and thus, the more I walked, the more they hurt. I hoped I could serve everybody while still minimizing my movements and the use of my hands.
Despite my efforts to think only of our guests, my mind kept drifting down to the basement and to the memory of Gaby. Every time I saw Louis, my stomach clenched. I imagined myself inflicting more suffering on him than I had gone through today. But in the end, I decided to trust my master to do what was right.
While I chatted with everybody and offered them drinks, a blow-job or my own body, I heard of different variations of the test.
In the past, the number of particip
ants could vary from three to forty people and the time allowed for each test ranged from three minutes to one hour which meant that the whole event could last at least one and up to five hours. Sometimes the organizers allowed the participants to use only one instrument; the maximum number was three, including a whip. Lotteries for their sharing were uncommon because of the fear that the most brutal testers might win the cruelest implements. In some testing situations, the trainer had the right to intervene at crucial moments of the event, but most of the time, it was strictly forbidden. More often than not, a doctor was present. Only a few trainers demanded a “carnal” gift of their pupils. The majority of trainers gave the new slave several days off immediately after the trial, but some didn’t.
Despite these extremes, a certain standard had been established over the years: the average number of participants was now fifteen, including the doctor, and the duration of each test varied with the number of participants. For example when their number was higher, they had less time to test the novice, so with fifteen participants, the deadline was typically seven or eight minutes but if there were twenty participants, the period fell to five minutes. As for the whole event, it usually lasted thirty minutes to two hours. Most testers were allowed only one instrument preset by the trainer. Some removed the highest and lowest marks of the slave before working out the final score. In my case, using that scoring system, it would have removed Helena’s rating, so my result would have been higher, even without the highest mark.
If all the marks were kept, the test had a fairly large number of participants, lasted a long time and met rigorous standards of performance, such as, for example, the inability of the trainer to intervene in the conduct of the tests, then the trainer’s and his new slave’s reputation were enhanced in the eyes of the whole community. This was even truer if the participants themselves had good reputations and they commented favorably on the novice’s performance in the register of testimonies made available for this purpose. An acceptable criticism given by a renowned master was better than a lavish praise made by a newcomer or someone with a questionable reputation.