The Unique Experience

THE UNIQUE EXPERIENCE: PART XI

I must have slept for hours and hours. When I regained consciousness, the first thing I remember is that I opened my eyes and got out of bed. I knew I had to hurry to be in time for the regatta. I only put on my short and sneakers, then rushed shirtless to the hotel room door and into the hallway. I threw a quick look back at my temporary home to make sure that I could find my way back: yes indeed, my room number was 46. I shouldn't forget that! But why did it look from the outside like a jail cell and why did the door have those heavy bars? I hadn't noticed them before.

Once outside my hotel room I had the option to go left or right. No, to the right my route was barred by a guy with a big apron and a hammer in his left hand, stretching his right one in a menacing way forward to catch me with some circular piece of heavy metal that at first looked like a collar. No, not a collar, it was a glowing piece of metal. It was a branding iron! So, fearfully I fled down the hallway to the right. Behind me I heard some bong-bong-bong, as if he was hammering on some pieces of iron on an anvil. He was coming nearer! I threw a glance over my shoulder and saw that indeed he was following me, keeping the red-glowing branding iron like a drawn sword in his hand.

To escape him, I started to run. The hallway was endless, and I was hindered in my movements by something when running, although I couldn't recognize what it was. After the first hallway came an even more endless second one, a third one, a fourth one, a fifth, and than stairs going up and down. Thank God, there at last was the exit of this huge hotel! But why was the doorkeeper dressed in such a strange way? He looked like a Roman soldier! But no time left to attend that when every second counted. Breathlessly I reached the bus station around the corner, to catch the right bus. Just in time. Line 46 was ready to leave in three seconds.

I don't remember in detail the route it took, but at the end the bus (that, to my surprise was completely empty except for the driver and me) finally reached the harbor. It was very sunny, cloudless, a southern atmosphere. Was this still Europe or already Arabia? Where in this long street was the reception hall? And what was that huge gloomy brick building over there for? Somehow I felt that I knew it already, that I had had seen it once before. Was this Number 46? Was this the place to be? In front of it, next to a closed door there again stood a guy in a strange Roman-looking dress. He beckoned me that I should come nearer and enter.

When I walked a few steps in his direction, I suddenly recognized him: it was the guy with the apron. NO! NO! I cried, as I saw him again stretching his right hand in my direction, holding the branding iron. So I quickly turned my heels, and again started to run. O God, I had left the bus much too early, the house numbering just began here. Number 2, Number 4, Number 6 ... I counted the numbers, the warehouses were damned widely spread. I must have run for fifteen minutes at least, till I reached my destination: house Number 46.

Good luck, the row inside was short, it was almost my turn. A strangely dressed man with a beard, looking like an Arab, was sitting behind a desk. But what were that hammer and that circular piece of thick iron on his desk for? And what were those two identical guys in front of me negotiating about endlessly? Quick, quick, quick! There were just a few minutes left before the regatta started! By the way, what do they have strange haircuts, a kind of Mohawk and for the rest their skulls shaved smooth? Instinctively I reached to my own head. Hey, did I have the same haircut? Now I recognized the couple, it was the Belgian Twins. Always making trouble. I'm in luck, their problem is apparently solved now, now it's my turn.

"I'm here for rowing-boat number 46", I uttered.

"We know, but you're nearly too late, boy. You will be punished for that".

I didn't understand why he spoke these last words, but was in too much of a hurry to ask.

So I got my number and the man suddenly attached it to my collar. Hey, did I wear a collar? What a strange habit, why weren't the regatta participants' numbers printed on their shirts? O yes, I had forgotten mine, so this was of course the only logical solution. However, the band of steel on the desk was suddenly gone.

In the same moment I heard somebody coming closer to me from behind, and a sound that seemed the hissing of some hot iron. Startled, I turned around. There was the guy with the apron and the branding iron again! NO! NO! I cried for the second time. No time to think it over, as the regatta could start any moment!- I ran fearfully to an open door on the left that opened out to the waterside. Rowing-boats stretched in both directions, hundreds and hundreds, as far as one could see. But why were they so big? They looked more like ancient galleys!

Suddenly there was another man next to me, directing me quickly to my own boat for myself behind the house. When I stepped in, I saw the Belgian Twins stepping into theirs next to mine. Hey, they had a boat for two rowers, they were rowing together! That wasn't fair! How could I have a chance to win the regatta now? I protested to the man who accompanied me, but he just pushed me forwards: "Silence, slaves are not allowed to speak unless ordered".

From the corner of my eye I saw that the Belgian Twins immediately started to row. I had no second to lose, if I would have a chance to win! So I stumbled into rowing-boat number 46 and quickly took my seat behind the sculls. The man followed me. Hey, why's that? The man didn't say anything, but seized my hands and attached the cuffs around my wrists - I now recognized that I was wearing a pair - to the oars by a short chain. I looked down and saw that my boxer shorts had been exchanged for a loin-cloth.

I protested: "Hey, what are you doing?" but he again said: "Silence, slaves are not allowed to speak unless ordered".

I tried to free myself from the attached chains, but in vain. Meanwhile, without warning the man put a huge cage with thick bars over the rowing-boat and thus also over me. Where the hell did it come from? With my hands bound to the sculls, I couldn't resist. What nightmare had I gotten into? I pulled and pulled, totally panic-stricken. Suddenly my hands were free, but before I could try to get out of the cage, the man behind me shook the cage back and forth, holding the bars in his hands. This banging made a lot of noise.

"Get up, slave", I heard him shouting, "Get up!"

Suddenly I was awake. It took me a few seconds to realize that I had been dreaming, and where the noise came from. Because the noise was really there. Outside the barred door of my dungeon, in the corridor, I saw one of yesterday's guards banging against the bars with his boots:

"Get up, slave! Get up!" he shouted, "Get up immediately!"

My real nightmare was to be continued. In a flash I realized where I was - not in room 46 of a hotel, but in a dungeon of that number, not as a free rower to participate in a regatta, but destined to become a chained galley slave. And the threat of the branding iron that had persecuted me in my dreams had already become reality - I was branded property now. I suddenly felt the weight of my collar and shackles again.

And remembering my anger from yesterday, I also realized now that, when ordered to do something, I had better react quickly. So, although still partly asleep, I got up more or less immediately and rushed to the gate. Not attending my chains in my hurry, although there clanking should have warned me, I stumbled over them as I got my left foot entangled in the links of the left one, and as I caught my ankle in it, within a second fell on my face on the floor just in front of the barred door.

Above me, beyond the bars, I heard the guard laugh sarcastically.

"Well slave, you soon will get used to wearing those chains."

When I looked up at him from my low position, the straw still in my face, he continued: "Get up now, number 46. Here is your first food ration for today".

I saw him offering me an iron bowl filled with hunks of bare bread, and as I indeed was hungry, I took the bowl. Now I saw behind him in the corridor the food cart from yesterday, from which he took a second bowl, this one filled with fresh water. Without hesitation I took it too.

"Return your other bowl, 46", the guard barked.

Although it wasn't empty yet, I did as I was ordered, fearing that quickly drinking up the rest without his express permission would earn me perhaps a new chewing out. After the guard put it on the food cart and continued his tour through the corridor to the left, I sat down to drink and eat, my chains again clunking.

Now fully awake, I recognized that my black neighbor across the corridor, slave 47, who had been apparently already awake before me and thus had been served his food first, also was sitting down just in front of his barred dungeon door to have his breakfast, as at that spot one could benefit the most from the ceiling lights in the corridor to see what one was eating (although this, as in the case of my evening meal yesterday, in fact wasn't really preferable).

Well, although the bread was dry, it did not really taste bad - at least much better than the disgusting slave chow from last time. And at least, as some pieces were rather hard and shriveled - the bread clearly wasn't freshly baked this morning - and thus made it a challenge to bite into and get it into my stomach, plunging them in the water was very helpful to soften my food.

After finishing breakfast, this time, remembering my treatment after dinner last evening, I didn't crawl back to the dark end of my dungeon as I would have done otherwise, but waited with my empty food bowl as a good boy till the guard returned, not willing to be shouted at again needlessly. You see how easy my behavior already, after just only one night spent in slavery, had conditioned itself to my captors' requirements.

Well, as I had nothing else to do other than wait for them, in fact this waiting behind bars during those minutes wasn't the biggest sacrifice that I could think of. With only a lot of straw, a shit hole in the ground, one (now empty) bowl for food and one bowl for drinking, I had no real alternatives to spend my time more in a more useful or challenging way at hand. Beyond that, this time it didn't take very long before the guards returned to take my emptied breakfast bowl back, leaving me the one with my water. The whole took place in complete silence. As I offered him my bowl promptly through the bars when he appeared in sight, the guard apparently didn't feel any need to say a word, and I didn't feel that either.

After having done my duty, I rested in place, as there wasn't much reason for the moment to leave it. Hours of boredom lay in front of me again. I stared at my body and my chains, and became aware of the fact that at least in one important aspect this first night of sleep had been useful: the aching pain of my flesh already had become less. The skin of its shaven parts had nearly recovered from its barbaric treatment with the sheep razor, the piercing of my penis had started to heel, and even the disgusting black brand on my chest burnt less than before I had gone to bed.

But although the physical pain lessened gradually, the psychical pain of being branded for life was still there, and I had to cope with that too. However, for the moment - and in regard of the near future - there was something more important. I was collared and chained and I would stay collared and chained, destined to drag the full weight of my heavy irons with me for the rest of my life.

So, after having awakened from my first night in my dungeon, again conscious of this fact, sitting in the straw, I started one of the big struggles that a galley slave has to fight and always has to fight completely on his own: the struggle to adapt to being - and soon working - in heavy chains all the time, as their ponderous and never diminishing weight presents you with much trouble. They're always there, when you sit, lie down, stand, walk, when you eat, drink, shit - only when you succeed in going to sleep you might forget that they are there. It takes you quite a lot of days to adapt, for some slaves it even takes months to do so, also at the galley in the beginning I would see several fellow-sufferers, who still suffered extra at the oars by not having get used enough already in their cell to wearing heavy chains all the time.

So, there I sat down in the straw, waiting for things to come, whereas for the moment there weren't very many things to come. The only things that were to come were the few, very few things that I could arrange myself: the way I sat or lay down. That above all meant that I just sometimes changed the exact position of my feet or hands a little, to prevent them from becoming stiff, nearly each movement accompanied by some rattling of my chains. After half an hour or so I crawled to the back of my dungeon, but that didn't make life more interesting.

My God! That slavery could be so boring .... Once this had lasted for several days I would be mentally ready for the oars, I feared, and may really long for them: nothing, even toiling under the threat of the bullwhip, seemed worse to me than being locked up like this, without anything to entertain me and without any end in sight. Anything seemed better than just this, doing nothing hour after hour, without the slightest diversion to change my mindset.

Well, to be honest: there was some unexpected diversion to come in the next days, especially for me, but of a kind I wouldn't like ....

Not much happened that morning. Apparently no new slaves were to arrive. So it was quiet the whole time, apart from the guards walking periodically through the corridors, I suppose to ensure that nothing wrong was happening, at least nothing wrong in their eyes. As for my nearest neighbors, I sometimes could hear the muted sound of their rattling chains.

Had slave 48 calmed down after having slept? Or did he perhaps not sleep at all, as he was panic-stricken after being thrown yesterday in his dungeon? I didn't know if he was fine this morning or when he got his breakfast served, as I was still sleeping at that time. When I got mine, I had concentrated on eating that, and had not given one damned thought to my fellow slave, who might have suffered extra in his gloomy dungeon because of claustrophobia. When we had returned our bread bowls to the guards, it all was done in silence and, as far as I remembered, they also hadn't uttered any word when passing by cell 48.

Slave 47, my neighbor across the way, sometimes showed up behind the bars of his cell, gazing into the corridor, but mostly hid himself in the darkness of the back part of his dungeon, lying in the straw. How long had he already been kept in chains in his tiny place? All other four cells I could see (41, 43, 45 and 49) were (as I said) empty, also 49 I now was quite sure, as nobody behind those bars returned a bowl after breakfast; and slave 45 presumably would stay unseen all the time, as 45 had been the intractable guy locked up in the other, totally dark part of the corridor.

As said, during the morning nothing happened; and at some point - it was the only support for my sense of time that the morning was making place for the afternoon - we were offered our lunch or whatever you want to call it: the same bowls with dry bread and fresh water as we had had before. After having returned the cutlery, it was time to shit and piss for a second time, now it already was a little bit more easy to perform this without hygienic mishaps, I started to get accustomed to crap while being chained.

After lunch the same nothing-to-do seemed ahead, but after an hour or two (?) I heard sounds in the corridor, approaching - as usually - from the right in the far distance. Based on a lot of rattling chains, it appeared a new series of shackled slaves had arrived. How many, I couldn't decipher for the moment, but it certainly was more than two. When the convoy halted - at least for a while all chains were silent and I heard a guard barking something I couldn't understand literally but which content I could imagine - and then continued moving, presumably with one slave less, I couldn't recognize much difference. After a while followed a second halt and a second bark of one of the guards, still out of my sight, and then again the convoy moved forward, and still I could not recognize much difference.

They came very near now, and, as I already had moved to the bars of my dungeon in case if, after some seconds the members of the convoy came in sight. There were still three chained slaves, so there must been five at the start - a real slave caravan. This time they were accompanied by no less than three guards (maybe it had been even one more at the beginning, who then after delivering the first two to their cell had turned his heels?) - they apparently didn't take any risks. Although, to be honest: it wasn't clear to me, what risk there in fact existed, once all slaves were securely chained. But I would soon learn there indeed somehow was - and in that case a risk, caused by inattention, the slavers themselves apparently hadn't foreseen, as it had very radical consequences for the responsible guard.

But this time - as will have been the case most of the time - all went in good order, at least from the viewpoint of our captors. The three residuary slaves silently passed my cell in a line, with one guard at the front, one at the other side, one at the back. All looked quite similar - it was the first time I had seen three slaves together - with their shackled hands, fettered right ankles, heavy chains, coarse loin-cloths, freshly branded left chests, ugly Mohawk haircuts and huge collars, their slave tags dangling underneath them. In two cases I could clearly read the number; the first guy was slave G 4, the last one slave G 37; the tag of the slave in the middle was swinging so nervously, the ciphers reflecting the tempered light of the corridor vault in a such inconvenient way that I wasn't able to make anything out of it. But I suppose that, regarding the sequence in which the Belgian Twins and I had been marched to our cells, his number would be in between.

Slave 37 was rather small, slave 4 very tall; the guy in the middle was of average height. All three were white, presumably gathered together from somewhere in Europe or the States, but in their shaven state it was difficult to decide and to say more than that they were indeed white. When turned into a slave, only the color of your skin perhaps still betrays where you're from; nearly all other distinctive characteristics that can tell others about your origin, a slave has lost.

All three slaves had their heads slightly bowed when they shuffled through the corridor - I suppose because of the ponderous weight of their new collars they still weren't used to, and because they had to concentrate on walking in chains, and therefore better look to the ground. Their faces were expressionless, they gazed out for themselves; maybe they still were in shock, because of the infernal torture of the branding iron had inflicted on them just a couple of hours (or perhaps in one case even just minutes) ago. They in any case didn't notice the fact that I was standing directly behind the bars of my dungeon when they passed by. The same for the guards.

I could hear them stopping at their next destination, the cell for G-37, just out of my sight; and I could hear the guard order the slave to move inside his cell, and then after a few seconds the gate being shut and locked. Then the company, now reduced to two slaves, moved on, whereas I saw one of the guards returning and heard him walking through the corridor to the right in the direction of the stairs. Meanwhile the noise the small slave caravan made became less and less, and after two stops all was over. The last victim delivered in his dungeon, also the last two guards returned to leave the corridor. Just a few seconds, and silence reigned again.

The rest of the afternoon nothing happened, apart from a new slave brought in, but he had a very high number, so I can't tell you more about that. Not much later it was time for dinner, served and consumed the same way as yesterday. The kind of the food, the quality and the quantity were the same too. As I had learned my lesson, I behaved already as a well-trained slave, and this, at least for the time being, earned me no shouting by an angry guard this time.

I already told you, that it is in the own interest of a new slave to get conditioned in regard of submissive slavish behavior as soon as possible, to prevent provoking unnecessary outbursts from his guards. Therefore, by behaving and conforming to the imposed rules in this house, I did what was expected from me by waiting behind the bars for the return of the guards who served the food and offering them my empty bowl as quickly as possible. That didn't result in any kind word from the waiter, to be clear about that, but it at least also didn't result in any unkind one.

After the eating followed the shitting. Again I had problems with digesting the slave chow, and again my bowels started to cramp. To crap in a decent way above the hole in the corner of my dungeon proved itself to be as complicated as yesterday, and this time, as I didn't paid enough attention to the laws of gravity, I even lost my balance, falling in the straw just when the shit came out of my ass. As it was still not very substantial, a big mess alongside of the hole was the result. With the help of some straw I managed to clean it up at least a bit, but the result wasn't that one could eat from the ground. The bad smell wasn't gone immediately either.

I must, after having removed the last remnants of my stool, have sat in my dungeon straw for at least an hour when another new slave was brought in. As I was occupied with my thoughts, I only became aware of it when the slave and his guards were already close by. Before I could move to the front of my cell, he already had passed by. Or better: two guards dragged him along, as he apparently resisted walking for himself; each of them kept him at a shackled wrist, whereas his unwilling body and feet were lagging behind, dragging on the ground. One couldn't say that he was really resisting: he just behaved totally passive, the guards had to pull the full weight of his body and his chains through the corridor. It was just for a few seconds, that I could see him, but that was enough for that impression. The only other thing I could recognize so quickly, was that this new, rather huge oarsman was black, like my neighbor across the corridor, slave G-47.

Slave G-47 I would learn to know better soon. When the guards after delivering their last victim at his cell somewhere to the left - and rather far to the left, regarding the time it took - returned, they didn't just walk without interruption to the far right end of the corridor. Their footsteps halted just beyond my cell, apparently at the desk in the middle, where the chief guard - as I supposed him to be - was sitting. Soon one of our regular supervision guards also turned up. They must have been four men there at least. But perhaps the other supervision guard was there at the desk too.

Soon a conversation started - in fact the first one I witnessed downstairs. I couldn't understand everything they said, as not all of them spoke equally loud. So, although I have good ears, I wasn't able to understand every word they said to each other. First the chief guard apparently asked something, much too soft for me to hear, whereupon I heard one of the others answer.

"Yes, this was the last one for tonight".

Apparently the chief then again asked something.

"No, the next two are to arrive by plane tomorrow at noon. And two hours later a whole group of new slaves will land at the airport".

Again a question followed that I couldn't understand.

"Not less than eight! A whole rowing team from Canada. They reacted very enthusiastically to the advertisement. The organization never has had contact with guys who were so eager to join. Real rowing fanatics".

I heard some of the others laughing, whereupon I silently crawled a few feet in the direction of the barred door to overhear more. I was careful enough to keep a bit of distance away from the bars so that I wasn't noticed by one of the guards outside, as I didn't want to draw the attention of any guard more than strictly necessary. To be clear: all guards were standing out of my sight at this moment.

But I was very curious to listen to their conversation, as there at least finally was something happening after hours of complete boredom. One couldn't say that the guards were very prudent - well, why should they? All slaves who might catch something of their conversation were securely chained and dungeoned: no danger was to be expected from their side. With the new knowledge about future plans they perhaps would receive by overhearing the group of guards, no one of them - all safely separated from each other - could start very much.

Meanwhile the guard that I had heard before continued:

"O, you mean the first two? Two big niggers from the States".

I must confess, although I had gone through a lot during he last 24 hours, I still was a bit shocked by the casual way he used this heavily loaded abusive term to express his contempt.

After a short pause: "Well, if I'm right, they are professional wrestlers. They were looking for a new challenge, as their sports careers had become a bit monotonous".

Laughter again. One of the other guards, softer, just intelligible: "Well, they will get what they want. Hee hee hee."

I also heard some others chortling softly.

The first guard: "They have become very intimate friends during the years, one of them told us. Doing everything together. They apparently are used to fighting with each other in the wrestling arena. Got a lot of money for that."

The second guard: "Well, they can continue to fight each other at the galley. The one who rows worse than the other can earn a nice price paid in lashes".

Suppressed chortling again.

I shivered, disgusted because of their barbaric sadism. But I was curious enough to want to continue to follow their discussion, and therefore moved even closer to the bars. It would have been better had I not done so.

The second guard now: "But I presume they will not be together on board?"

The first thereupon: "No, they will sit apart, each on the outer end of the same row across the gangway. So they can very nicely see when the other's back is torn into pieces by the bullwhip."

Laughter again on the outside, and disgust again from my inside. Into what satanic hands were we fallen? In their sadism they were just playing with us. I shivered again, thinking about the cruel future that was ahead for us all.

There was some short talking, I couldn't understand, I suppose between the third guard and the chief, who both did speak more softly.

"No, no, we will manage that", I than heard the first guard saying, "Although of course it's quite a lot".

Was he speaking now about the Canadians? Yes, he apparently was.

"They all should already be well-trained guys, and will become trained even better soon". Now he laughed himself.

After some other unintelligible questions he continued: "Yes, they clearly will give us a lot of work tomorrow, to separate them without problems, and then get them through the whole procedure in a decent way".

Some reactions followed, but I couldn't make out the words.

"It was quite a puzzle for Afshan to spread them throughout the galley. All very tall, you see".

After a pause: "But we succeeded in compensating for that with a sequence of small but very wiry Indians".

Some murmuring followed.

"Oh, we will send three cars to collect them at the airport. So they will arrive here in small groups with an hour in between".

There followed some words I couldn't understand, apparently the guy had turned aside.

Then: "The second and third ones will be driven about to get some sightseeing in Djeddah meanwhile before delivered here, to get a new perspective on the town. For sightseeing there otherwise is not much time left".

He laughed again, apparently very content with himself.

"Well, we will get them all decently chained and branded one after another".

There was a lot of talking now, I couldn't decipher.

"No, not till yet", I then heard the first guard saying clearly.

After some reaction, he continued:

"Yes, it is as boring for us here downstairs as it is for the slaves. But they at least are not expected to do anything now".

Some new murmur followed.

Then the second guard: "Well, not a bad idea. Let's have some fun tonight."

The first one: "What do you think about that, Chief?"

Then there again followed incomprehensible flashes of conversation that I couldn't make sense of. Were they talking about a bench? Or had I misunderstood the word used more than one time?

Apparently now the chief spoke some sentences.

Somebody said: "Great". I think it was the third guard.

The first guard: "Do it here?

The second: "Why not?"

Some deliberation followed.

"How many?", I heard the first guard asking.

"Well, two slaves should suffice", I now just could distinguish the voice of the chief guard. "Everybody just has to wait for his turn".

What the hell were they hinting at? What were they planning? What was going on?

Some murmur again.

"O yes". That was the chief again. Had he turned his face, that I could hear him now more clearly? "They're welcome. Sure that Mehmed and Ali will like this too". I heard him chuckle.

Again some murmur, I could hear several guards talking together.

"Which faggots do we take?", I heard the first guard asking now.

Did I hear one of the other saying a number? The number of a slave? Had it been forty-and-something? Or thirty-and-something? Some of them pronounced words strangely, so that it wasn't always easy to reconstruct exactly what they were saying.

And, why the hell were they talking English to each other, and not Arabic? I mean: that they talked English to us Europeans or Americans or whoever was understandable, as we wouldn't understand Arabic. But why when they were talking among themselves? Or weren't all guards Arabs, or not understanding Arabic? Or perhaps even nearly all? Did they come as much from all over the world as their victims did? The character of this whole unique experience became more puzzling, the longer I participated in it.

"We will see later, let's first install the ..." I couldn't understand the last word the chief said.

Some agitated talking followed.

"At least that nigger, I would suggest".

That was the first guard again.

"O yeah", I heard somebody agreeing, "Sure!"

Were they hinting at my neighbor across the corridor? Or at the big black guy just delivered by dragging him to his cell? Or were there even other blacks already enslaved downstairs? Was slave 47 meant with the forty-something of just a few seconds ago? Had it been the number of the slave that would be the victim of whatever they were planning?

Now the chief and the second guard were discussing something.

"O yeah, black-and-white, that wouldn't be bad". There the guy who had said 'sure' was again.

Black-and-white? What did he mean by that? To my regret I wasn't able to understand the words that were spoken by the others in between, although I tried my best, meanwhile pressing my ears against the bars of my cell. In fact only the first guard was speaking rather loudly, but now for a couple of minutes he didn't say anything anymore.

"Just get the stuff over here", after a while I heard the chief ordering his guards.

I heard some footsteps fading away. I could hear the chief now speaking softly to the remaining guy, but could not decipher his words. A few minutes later the guys that were sent away apparently returned, walking much more slowly than when they had left. Were they carrying some heavy piece of something with them, that it took them more time? Suddenly there were two short 'booms', as a heavy piece of furniture hit the floor. I heard the noise of pushing it forward, apparently in my direction. What the hell had they brought with them? What instrument of torture were they bringing with them? What kind of cruelty were they planning to inflict on - apparently two - slaves for their pleasure?

Now one of the guards, walking backwards and pulling some wooden structure, came into sight, and I receded automatically a little, but his companion, who was pushing it forward, saw that I had watched them. For the moment he said nothing, just being busy with installing the heavy piece of furniture in front of cell 47, and after that he walked back through the corridor to the right, out of my sight.

So it indeed was the black guy in there, slave 47, which they had had in mind, when talking contemptuous about 'the nigger'. Forty-something had been him. Was he aware of that? Had he heard he guards talking in the corridor about what they planned to do (and what DID they planned to do? It was totally unclear to me). As far as I could see, it was silent in cell 47, so perhaps the poor guy didn't realize yet that he was one of the elected victims for whatever-was-going-to-happen.

What kind of furniture the guards had left in between our cells, and what it was designed for, I couldn't discover. I had never seen such a piece before. The central part of the construction looked a little like the vaulting horse we used at gym at school, four sloping legs carrying together a big plank, as a kind of seat. The plank was rectangular, as the legs were placed in pairs. To each leg at half-height smaller rectangular planks were attached, their direction parallel to this seat. Crossbeams on separate legs supported those extra four planks. All the planks and the seat were covered with what looked like black leather. Wide leather straps hung down from the four planks, clearly intended to fix a person to the construction. But in what position, and for what purpose?

I was soon to learn.

While I was wondering what it all was meant for, the two guards returned with a second piece of furniture, identical with the first one. It was placed parallel to the other, so I had a good view on it.

Then both porters moved close to the chief guard's desk, where some talking started. In the meanwhile I heard some soft voices from newcomers approaching. Other guards from upstairs who wanted to participate?

"Well, then, get the nigger out of his cell now", I then heard the chief saying.

Both guards who had delivered the furniture now showed up in my vision again and walked to the bars of cell 47. One of them had a key in his hand, and opened the lock of the barred door. I heard some muffled clanking chains inside.

"Get up, 47", the guard barked.

Some more rattling followed. Apparently slave 47 had laid down on the floor? Perhaps he had slept the entire time?

"Come here, slave", the guard barked again. "And quickly!"

Thanks to his chains I heard that the slave went in the direction of the bars, but then there seemed to be some hesitation from his side. Did 47 see the furniture outside now? And, moreover, did he perhaps - contrary to me - also understand what it was destined for???

Anyway, the slave didn't move further forward now, and the guard got angry now.

"Come here, slave", he repeated, "Immediately!"

G-47 apparently refused to do so.

Thereupon the guard for the third time barked the same order, even angrier, and losing his patience he added to his three standard words this time "And do it NOW!"

No movement, as far as I could see.

Than I heard the chief, hidden from my sight by the side wall of my cell, from the right intervene: "Oh, just get him out with force".

Thereupon both guards entered the cell and laid hands on slave 47. The guy tried to resist vehemently, but being chained he wasn't a big party for both his way layers. With seizing and pulling they in the end succeeded in getting him out of his cell, and in maneuvering him in the direction of the furniture of torture, where both guards got the assistance of a third one. I saw the haggard look of the black slave when his torso was forced over the center of the vaulting horse with his belly down. His refractory hands were moved to the planks to the left and right of the front couple of legs of the vaulting horse, his feet lifted to the planks to the left and right of the back couple. It took the guards some ingenuity to get the chains that connected his manacles to his anklet out of the way, but they clearly were experienced in doing that. Whereas one of the guards kept his hands at their planks, and a second his feet, the third started to fasten the leather straps to his limbs.

While they tried to do so, the slave squirmed and struggled, completely panic-stricken, roaring like an injured wild animal, but in vain. It was one chained slave against three free men: he had no chance. So, after some wrestling with his captors, he had to give up, still growling, as his hands and feet now were secured, with tight straps in an irremovable way being attached to the vaulting horse. He couldn't move his legs and arms now, only his head, and the guards also put an end to that, by picking up some thick rope that was attached to the crossbeam on the foreside, and got it stuck to the slave tag attached to his collar. They pulled the rope rather tight, forcing the slave to bow his head a bit downwards. All being done, the poor guy, lying on his chest and having his limbs stretched, was fixed to his spot completely.

Frozen of horror I had watched all this happening from behind the bars of my cell. One of the guards now walked to the chief, and said: "Slave 47 is ready for use".

Ready for use? What did he mean?

"Well, than we need a second slave", the chief reacted. "A white one. Suggestions?"

There was some rumbling, then I heard one guard saying: "Well, let's take that faggot over there. He was looking the whole time at what we were doing. Apparently he is very eager to participate". It was the guard who had seen that I had watched him. His last sarcastic words earned some laughter.

"Presumably he has eavesdropped on our earlier conversation", he added.

He indeed had me in view! Panic struck me. What were they going to do with me, after they had strapped me to that terrifying piece of furniture outside?

"That's indeed a good reason", I heard another guard dropping in. "That should teach this slave a good lesson".

Some muttering again, then the chief: "Well, get slave-46 out. Makes a nice pair, as they are also to become direct neighbors on the oars. Then they can start to share their suffering already now. Makes them good fellows for life".

Some of the guards laughed, but I was even more frozen with horror, when I listened to that reckless interchange of ideas. I didn't have very much time to recover from my mortal fright, as two guards already approached the grated door of my dungeon. Just a short turn with the big key one of them carried in his hand, and the lock was open. With a lot of creaking the door turned open too.

"Out of here, slave 46", one guard shouted.

"You already know what to do!"

I trembled all over my body now. "Please Sir, please!"

"Out of here!!!"

"Please Sir, have mercy, Sir, I didn't intend..."

"Whatever you intended is of no relevance, slave. Relevant is what you do! Get out of here, immediately!"

I felt on my knees now, weeping out of fear.

The guard ignored me.

"Help me to get the slave out", he said to his colleague.

Not able to resist, I was dragged by both guards by my shackled hands out of my cell, my chains rattling and my feet dragging behind me over the floor. I soon felt the cold stone of the corridor that replaced the warm straw of my cell, underneath my bare soles and heels. In front of me the empty vaulting horse was waiting, next to the one that held already my black neighbor across the way.

Black-and-white - now I understood. What kind of horror was at hand this time?