Between Master and Slave (Manxman, Mature)

Starving for Freedom

Strangely, I am very calm as I drive to the parlor. When I imagined it in my head before, I was going to march right in there and tell them what I thought. I was going to accuse them of murder as I would cry over the casket of my Frank. MY Frank, because they have no right to be in his presence, because they abandoned him for so many years just to show up and pull the plug. Because it was what was convenient and quick. Because they couldn't even give him a chance to recover by himself. Full of righteousness I was going to kick them out all out, they murdered him, they have no right of being there.

Yet here I am, drained of all emotions toward the murderers, calm, sober. I look down at what I'm wearing. I'm not even wearing the black suit that I prepared yesterday, but a pair of dark jeans, a white shirt and a dark brown leather jacket, that match my monk strap shoes. Frank loved to see me in this outfit and today is all about him.

My hand trembles as I reach for the handle of the chapel where the ceremony is held. I slowly pull the door and find myself at the end of the aisle with chairs on both sides. Across, facing me is a picture of a younger Frank, before he met me, a polite smile on his face that clearly does not reach his eyes. How inappropriate, I think, to use this image of him as a last memory. He, who was always full of life and jovial.

From the corner of my eye I see a figure standing up. I look in that direction to notice all our employees, sitting huddled together at the back of the room, timidly invading a space that is not meant for them. How ridiculous that the ones that knew him best and shared the most with him are segregated to this low level. The figure that stood up and is briskly approaching is our secretary, Nancy. When she reaches me she hugs me tightly. Instinctively I hug her back. Since she is shorter then me, I can see the room from above her shoulder. Some of our clients are also there, clearly out of respect. They also seem to have much more prominent places then us, his friends and real family.

"What are you doing here? How dare you show up your face? Go away, you have no business here." An angry lady shouts at me from the front row. "Somebody kick him out, that rabid dog."
Two big ushers dressed in black tuxes approach us. Nancy releases me, turning around, placing herself between me and the approaching men. Even with her small stature, she stares them down like a cat to a mouse and puffing her chest she adds in a clear menacing voice.

"You two goons stay away!" They actually stop in their track. "How dare you speak to him like that, witch! You have no rights. We have known Frank for the last 10 years, we have shared his life. Where were you? I ask. Who gave you the right?"
Everybody in the room stares at us. I look at the sad face with the fake smile that stares back at me from the makeshift podium. This is not right. This should not be the last memory Frank has of this world as he is about to be buried.
"It's ok, I say. I am leaving." And I turn back toward the entrance as I exit. Nancy follows me. She actually walks slowly backward as a retreating soldier still facing the menacing foe.

The knock on my door brings me back from my macabre thoughts. Without waiting for a response Albert walks in with a tray of food. The enticing aroma is not enough to make me hungry however; too may thoughts cloud my mind. He places the tray on my table as he says
"Eat"
"Albert, how is Francesco?"

He just stares at me, then replies
"Francesco is not yours anymore. Now eat." And he turns around to leave.
"I thought we went over this already. He was never mine." I respond irritated. "To me he is only a boy that needs protection. He is not a thing, no matter how much you will try to make me believe that, or how much you brainwashed him."
I expect the door to open and close on my face as he has reached it by the time I finished my tirade, but he doesn't move and turns around.

"You expect me to believe that you are different. You are a master, you don't care about the slave. I have seen how you treated him in Bangkok."
"Yes, I do care about him." I retort. I have to think fast. How can I prove to him that I really do care about Francesco? If I loose him now, I will never get his attention back. I remember the conversation I had with Francesco in Penang. It is not much but, "and I can prove it. I even asked him about his training. He told me how during that time you did everything to remove his identity. If you don't believe me, just ask him. He can confirm that what I say is true."
He just stares at me, I stare right back.

Then he carries in a low voice.
"And what is that supposed to mean? That you were curious about how we made you such a perfect slave. How we conditioned him so that he would degrade himself so easily for your enjoyment? So that you could save face in front of the other masters. If you really cared about HIM. Did you ever asked him about who he really is? About the time before his training? Do you even know his name? The one he was born with? Surely, you have known him for over six months now, you had plenty of time to ask."

I am baffled, every single word spoken by Albert is true. I never did ask about him and when I did I only asked about what made him become Francesco. But before that, there was boy, he must have been going to school, he must have had dreams to become something in his life, was he even 18? He looks about the right age. But, how old is he? Was I so enthralled with my fantasy, like Mr Stensky so eloquently pointed, that all I cared about was myself and my fantasy? Here I am trying to judge the organization and every other master, yet behaved exactly like one of them. As if reading my mind Albert continues.
"So you see, Mr Romano you are only interested in your own fantasy much like any other master out there."
He turns and he is about to leave again his big hand on the door nob already.

"I ...", I manage to say, "it's true. All you said is true." He does not turn around but his hand on door stops. I carry on, "I was blinded by my own power over the boy that I ...", I take a deep breath, "But you know what? All that, it does not matter. You are right about one thing, before Francesco there was a boy. He probably had dreams and aspirations. He deserves a chance. He...deserves a life. He..." I am not sure what else I can add to that, I am out of words and drained.
In silence I expect Albert to just leave now, but instead he turns around and just stares at me, I feel like he is sizing me.

The slightest hope lift my spirit and I carry on.
"Do you know what Mr. Stensky wants to do?"
"You will become his manservant" the giant simply replies,  "and he will be sold to Mr Turnstall."
"You have seen what he did to his slave, Pussy." I pause for the image to sink in. "Please don't let that happen to Francesco. I don't care if I become Mr. Stenski's manservant or if I get shipped to Turnstall. Francesco has suffered enough, he deserve a better future." By the end I sound like someone desperately imploring.

With a hard stare he continues.
"Once a slave, always a slave. Even if Francesco escapes, Master Stenski can quickly catch him back or even just terminate him. There is no escape for him; nor any of us."
"Not if he cannot find him." I reply right back with renewed vigor, "Even with the strong transmitter he has, he has to be within 20m from Francesco for it to work."
"You mean the special shiny t-shirt he was wearing?"
"Yes, all you need really is a roll of shiny aluminum foil wrapped snugly around his body and the signal is lost." I add full of hope.

The giant's expression changes. His eyes grow wide. He wets his lips like a starved man that sees a buffet table after months of starvation. Of course, he himself  is a slave, the first slave in fact. He must be used to idea, but the hunger for freedom must still be present.
"It is... Is it... possible?" Then after a long pause, "Is it... that simple?"
"Yes, around 4 or 5 layers around your upper body and the signal should disappear. The shirt was made of silver threads so more effective, but it will work with aluminum foil as well."
"And then you disappear." He adds almost in dreamy tones.

Realizing what he must be thinking, I add,
"It cannot be permanent, only a brief time. The longer you wear it, the bigger the chances of getting sick, even getting cancer, and eventually die."
He is taken back by the news, as I carry on.
"But, as long as Francesco is able to get free and contact the Italian police, they'll take him somewhere safe."

But my last words are clearly lost to him as he carries on with his own line of thought.
"But in the meantime you would be free, and die free."
"Yes," is all I can respond defeated, he is in his own world of possibilities right now and I would just waste my breath. However, in one last desperate attempt.
"Albert," I call, he looks at me. When I have enough of his attention I add, "please, help Francesco escape. It's all I beg of you."
He turns around and leaves without stopping this time.