Date: Mon, 7 May 2012 06:06:06 -0700 (PDT) From: Aihu Fist Subject: SHACKLED LOVE IN BRAZIL 3 by Aihu Fist SHACKELED LOVE IN BRAZIL by AIHU FIST part three The stables. When gringo woke up he found himself alone in bed; the boys had vanished. Dad called him over to the dining room me to get his café da manha (breakfast) -Eat all you can, boy, dad said. Yes, gringo still looked like his boy looks, even with his twenty-one years, but he was thin like a matchstick and his face was that kind of baby face you'd like to ask if his mother knew where he was. Dad surprised him half naked in bed and urged him to take a quick shower, but after he had coffee. He tossed a towel at him and said that Rubinho was waiting for him at the Banco do Brasil, which was just around the corner. -What for? Gringo asked him, all alerted. He didn't know if Rubinho had really meant what he had told him yesterday. -A surprise for you, Rubinho told me, dad said. Gringo nodded and said: Ok, I will hurry up, it must be important. Indeed around the corner stood Rubinho, waiting the ATM. -You got your credit card? He snapped. -Yes, is this a joke Rubinho? -What are you thinking of, gringo? You can choose: either you insert the card and draw one-hundred dollars in Cruzeiros Novos, or I go screaming to the cops and tell them you are a pervert who fondled me in my sleep. Gringo was speechless, he felt like he had just slapped me in the face, and thumped him in his stomach. -Only hundred dollars and that is only the beginning of it. -What do you think I am Rubinho, a millionaire? -No, but someone who can make it all the way to Brazil from England, roaming for months, surely, has enough reserves, and if you cannot pay, you can always call your folks and say you have been robbed. -Smartass, I said. I bit my lip, got my credit card out, pinned my code in and took out a wad of local currency. -Give it to me; it's for my dad, so he can buy us food. Turn round cause we're going home. So, I did. No questions were asked and dad pretended no to know anything about this 'game. Maybe he didn't maybe he did. He got the benefit of the doubt from me. Perhaps Rubinho just hoodwinked me. I didn't see Ronaldinho for a few days and hadn't had sex with Rubinho either. It seemed the money had quenched his thirst for some action in that respect. However, three days later Rubinho barged in at night in our bedroom and said: -Ronaldinho has been staying over at a mutual friend's, but he'll be back tonight, don't worry about him. -OK, that would be very nice, I really missed you guys, gringo said, trying to be cheerful. At night he had long conversations with dad and mum about the Negro community, about samba schools that created job opportunity. Olodum, a percussion band consisting of twenty-two drummers, had been training some hundred youngsters from the age of six, in the art of drumming, which kept them away from the streets. Rubinho often went to stay with them and dad had him finally enrolled in their school, but alas, he had been expelled. Rubinho's father was told his son had talent, but he had been violent and rude to the teachers, and his peers, and that couldn't be tolerated, they added. So, in his young life he had ended up in the streets, and reform schools. Yes, Adolph and Ana admitted, he was a young delinquent, but he remained their son after all, and they were not going to abandon him. He needed all the love he could get. Gringo took an interest in Isaura and it grew on him. The slavery misery had been a terrible ordeal, so much was clear from the TV series. How those people had suffered at the hand of cruel Portuguese masters. They were used for each and anything, and not in the least for sex. Any master could have illicit sex with slave girls or boys, and their wives knew it but turned a blind eye to it. Even priests had sex with black slaves. It was encouraged to populate Brazil as fast as possible, as during that time, Portugal's army was stationed mostly in Sri-Lanka, India, Melaka in Malaysia, and in other colonies in Africa. They had literally not enough men to occupy the territory of this vast colony. So, promiscuity from all classes and races was actually encouraged without too many words. Indians, Negroes, and whites did it with each other, indiscriminately, minors and adults. Gringo drifted off into thoughts, while watching the series, and imagined he was a master with a farm of little Negro slaves with whom he could mate or have young blacks mate with white boys, he had kidnapped. He also imagined he could breed boys by forcing black boys on white trash girls, and thus he would start a human farm of easy meat, he would never run out. He got achingly hard, just musing about it. It was 6 pm and dad got up. "Tomorrow, I will show you something which will interest you, dad said. He looked at his wife, and she gave him a strong nod. -Just follow him, she told me. The house was bigger than gringo had presumed. Dad led him across the patio to what looked like stables. -You have horses, dad? Gringo asked (he was allowed to call him dad, and Ana mum). -No, dad said drily. This is not for horses. -Really? The stables were dark and dad picked up a petrol lamp, held it up high and lighted the place. It was huge and long, with a low ceiling, and everywhere straw on the floor. The stable was at least twenty meters long and ten meters wide. He beckoned me. He had gone in and I had remained in the doorway. -Don't be shy; come over here, you got to see this. Gringo ventured in hesitantly, sloshing through the straw. When he got face to face with an adobe wall, which seemed to have been whitewashed recently, he noticed heavy chains with cuffs at the end on them, hanging from the wall. He realized there were at least a dozen of them on the wall. -What animals were kept here? He asked incredulously. -Africans, like us; dad said and held the lamp closer to his face. -You mean this was, err, a? -Slave quarter? Yes, positively correct. The sun was down yet, half of the barn burned in an orange glow which warmed the place up a bit. -Let's go to that corner, there in the sunlight you can see better for yourself. You can see tags with numbers by the chains; each one had a number, not a name you see. -Horrible, gringo said aghast. -You will only know how horrible if you got chained on the wall yourself. Why don't you try once? -I don't know, dad, I feel so ashamed of being white, right now, gringo mumbled. -Don't worry, this is a lifetime experience, no white man has ever tried this, except for the actors from Isaura. It's unique and I can take a picture of you in them with your camera. -You mean, they filmed the novella here? Wow, that's so cool, gringo piped. The minute he said it he regretted it and felt stupid and offensive. -Yes, sure, it is real cool, I believe, dad echoed. Of course they had no clothes on, so you should feel the real metal on your skin. -Oh, I see, oh, I will take off my shirt, no big deal, gringo smiled. Gosh, when my family sees this, and when I tell them that Brazilian famous actors were shot in these shackles... -And take off your trousers too?Don't worry boy, you can keep your undies on, although we also have a few vintage loincloths from real slaves, dad said. Gringo tore his shirt off his chest in a split second, stepped out of the trousers and pinned himself to the wall. -Are you ready, Johnny? -Yep, dad. Go ahead. Gringo held up his forearms and dad clanked the cuffs around the wrists and his feet. He was still free to a certain extent, to move and waggle, until he got a metal collar around the neck. When that was done it felt like the real thing. -How does it feel, son? -Cool dad, but a bit scary. It is so heavy and it scrapes my skin when I move a little. How could they ever escape, dad? -They couldn't, ever. They were broken, pacified, domesticated like horses, through whippings beatings, humiliation, rape and other types of abuse. They had to break their will power like you break a bronco's. Only then, we Africans were sent to the plantations like free men, no chains, but always supervised by other slaves, and white guardians, who oversaw the entire plantation, and activity of a slave. -Wow, that's brutal. They had been talking for quite a while and the last beam of sunlight was on its retreat. -So, now you understand what it is to be a Negro and how we suffered the abuse by white masters. -Ouch, gringo said, when he wanted to nod. My neck hurts. Dad, I need to go to the loo, I think I had enough of this; could you remove it now, please? -I don't think so, son. If you really want to understand what it meant to be a black slave, you will have to endure this experience. I'll see you tomorrow. I will leave you to your British privacy to relieve yourself. He picked up my shirt and trousers and added insult to injury: -I don't think you will need this anymore; it's a very hot country, white boy. Goodnight son, have sweet dreams. -Daaad, c'mon stop this, it ain't funny anymore, gringo screamed. But dad turned his back on him and walked out with his torch in hand. The slave collar cut into gringo's skin, and the shackles caused similar burning sensations, and made a clinking clanking noise. However, he could sit up, and walk away from the wall, for a meter, or so. He looked up and above his head he read his number. It was 666, the number of the beast. How ironic. How evil! He sank to his knees got his cock out of his knickers and pissed on the straw, as big a bow as he could so he wouldn't have to sleep in his own stink. It was terribly late when he heard footsteps nearing the door. The petrol lamp was the first thing he saw, it lit up the entire stable. It was Rubinho holding it up. Next to him, stood mum and dad, and Ronaldo with dropping jaw. -Is he ours now? Ronaldinho asked Rubinho. -No doubt about it, Rubinho retorted. Isn't he dad, mum? Comments to: aihufist@yahoo.com