Date: Sun, 10 Aug 2003 15:36:27 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Kazakh's Story - Chapters 4 & 5

There are the 4th and 5th chapters of The Kazakh's
Story, a novel about slavery and gay sex in modern
times.

Key words: authority, control, loyalty, slavery,
punishment, re-training, and submission.

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all
rights to it and its characters are copyright, and
private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction
by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or
if this material is unlawful for you to read where your
live, please leave this webpage now.

Contact points: eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Kazakh's Story

Chapter 4 -- Night

The Master brought me around to the right side of
the bed again, and to told me again `Sit. Sleep'. He
then half wrapped the quilt round me and tucked in
its edges. I closed my eyes, counted backwards from
three, and saw the fleecy clouds of my Kazakhstan
race over the most beautiful steppes in southern
Siberia.

The next thing I felt was a toe in the side of my
hip as Ahmed woke me and I sprang up with a morning
woodie of seven inches of pure erection. The sun was
streaming though the bedroom window and a digital
clock beside the Master's bed was showing 7.30.

The Master was rising. He saw me at display and my
erection, and with a wave of his good hand signalled
the direction of the bathroom, where I pissed like a
Czar, shat and was out of the shower within two
minutes flat, making way for the Master and his two
body slaves.
As I finished first and was already dry in the warm
air of the day, I came into the bedroom and saw the
Master's clothes had been laundered during the night.
I laid them out as I used do for my old Major and
stood at rest until he came out. He saw the laid out
clothes and I think he was going to say something
about the clothes but did not.

A trolley of regular food came in and my stomach
rumbled in sympathy, but the other two slave and I
were given two slave biscuits each. Then the Master
did an extraordinary thing, he poured water into
three glasses. Glasses I ask you of pure lead cut
crystal! And gave us each a glass to drink. My head
was light with the thought and the touch of the glass
on my lips and I drank it like a Crimean white wine,
sip by sip. The head of household who was standing by
did not seem to be at all pleased with the Master
giving glasses to the slaves or in handing them water
to drink. That made my sips all the more pleasurable.

The Master was ready to leave and I had his
overnight case packed with his few things -- the body
slaves had already put them in and I had just to snap
shut the clasps. For some reason the Master, seemed
to think I needed clothes and a small shirt and a
pair of khaki pants were given to me to put on. It
was the first time in months that I had clothes on me
and they felt uncomfortable against my skin.

As we went out Overseer Guss had words with the
Master, and I knew from their body language that it
was about me. A file was handed over and some papers,
which the Master kept in his hand thought I was
nearby if he had wanted to dispose of them.

In the courtyard, it was clear from the head of
household that I was to travel in the boot of the
very large black limousine there for my Master. My
Master must be a very important man to own such a
car.

The Master said something and then he was beckoning
me to get into the back of the limousine, not the
boot, and I sat as indicated on the floor. Not
knowing the protocol for travelling in the back of
car, I put my arms behind my neck as if at display.

The Master pressed a button and spoke to the driver
and then another button and all the windows went
dark. I could see the courtyard outside, but it was
like looking through two pairs of sunglasses, it was
that dark.

The file was obviously about me. He would read a
bit and then look at me. Read another bit, and look
again. It also gave me the opportunity to study my
new Master more closely.

He could not yet be forty and his colour was fair.
He was not Arab but definitely European. I had
decided last night he was not Arab when I saw that he
was not cut, and yes, I do not think he is American.
I do not know why.


The air conditioning in the car is on, but it is
still hot and I am uncomfortable in these tight
clothes. But I do not say or do anything. As if
reading my mind, with a wave of his fingers, he tells
me to take off my shirt and pants.

Ah, that is a relief. I feel much cooler and the
air conditioning is cool, but there is a breeze on my
balls and I know what is about to happen as I learned
with one or two of my recruits who had very inventive
minds and powerful lungs for blowing. I would soon be
getting a hard hard cock.

The Master with a flick of his fingers had me
shuffle forward a bit. His foot was between my legs
and the tip of his shoe just barely touched my balls
which had not yet been drained this morning. That
alone was sufficient to bring my little corporal --
well not so little - to full attention. Again, the
tip of his shoe touched me and I trembled with the
reaction in my balls. Although I do not shoot
quickly, when I start a machinegun is nothing on my
rapid fire.

The Master put down the file he was reading and
started to undress himself in the car. He had given
me no instruction, so I stayed put. He was making
slow progress as he was only able really to use one
hand, but soon his clothes were a pile on the floor
and seat. He was leaking a lot and then he moistened
his finger in his wetness brought it to his lips and
then put his finger in my mouth. It must have been
the air-conditioning in the car, but my balls were
ready to explode, the finger in my mouth made me
tremble all over and I sucked it as gently as I
could.

The Master pulled out his finger from my mouth and
taking my arms from behind my head one at a time with
his good arm, he pulled my head down towards his
erect member which I took as I had done so many times
to my favourite conscript Sergeiy Ivanovich on our
patrol outposts.

For the first time, I noticed that my Master's eyes
were not grey or steel as I had first thought, but
blue. My own eyes did not leave his face. I have to
be able to judge his reactions.

I could feel his build-up immediately. I knew that
he had not come with me last night, perhaps with the
other two slaves, perhaps not, but if he had, then
his powers of recovery must be awesome, because no
sooner had I sucked him up and down four times, than
he came in my mouth so hard that it was like as if a
hose had opened and his cum was going directly down
my throat.

I would say that his squirts came out four or five
times in all. He immediately had me stop sucking him.
Maybe he is like me and cannot abide being sucked
after coming. If this is what my new Master wants all
the time, I am going to be able to please him very
well.

Then for the second time in one morning he
surprised me. With his fingers spinning in a circle,
he indicated that he wanted me to turn round. A hand
-- his only good one, went down between my buttocks
and pressed my balls up and up, so that I was
effectively on my feet and on the back of my knuckles
bent down in the limousine. He shuffled me backward
until the calves of my legs were up against the back
seat.

Then his tongue started touching my portal of
delight and round my flower bud, I almost went
through the dividing partition into the front of the
limousine. His tongue was touching me in places as
no one had ever touched in such a long time.

As I had been shaven all over yesterday in
preparation for the evening dinner and presentation,
my choad was totally bald. My balls were bald. The
space between my balls and my legs were bald. Even
the little spot over my private hole was bald. And my
Master's tongue was touching each of these spots.

I cried out. I gasped. Oh, please balls of mine, do
not shoot now. I will always treat you with respect
in the future. Please don't shoot. Let me enjoy every
touch of my Master's tongue. Oh steppes of Siberia,
where is he touching now?

He is licking with the flat of his tongue right up
from the back of my balls to the coccyx of my spine.
Oh corporal mine, stop jumping up and down. You are
supposed to stand still and at attention. Oh thank
you, corporal. Oh thank you for not spouting!

My Master has now turned me round. My face must be
a sight. I know I am breathing as if I have been
running up and down the training sand-dunes.

My Master has taken my turgid member, my beautiful
corporal, in his mouth and not even sucking me, his
teeth have grazed over the flange of my cock-head and
the tender skin behind it on my shaft. It is too
much. I explode once, twice, three times, and a
glorious fourth time into his mouth. My Master is no
novice at this technique and has not lost a drop of
my seed which must have been almost solid such was
the pain of the explosions coming down my piss-hole.

We look at each other. Rather he at me. I am not
taking my eyes off him. He points to his own clothes
and expects me to help him dress, which I do. Then he
points to my two garments which I put on.

While I am doing this, he takes water in a bottle
from a small fridge in the back of the front seat.
The limousine has a fridge with ice in it! My Master
pours out some water into two crystal glasses, puts
ice in his and holding up a piece of ice is clearly
miming if I want it in mine.

I am being offer ice in my drink! I nod as if
nodding is going out of fashion and he hand me my
glass. Taking up his own, he lifts it in a toast. He
waits until I tentatively raise my own and then he
clinks my glass with his. I copy the way he sips his
water. I could have swallowed mine in one gulp, but I
sip every time he sips. He notices the imitation and
smiles.

Now we are clearly entering a city. It is large,
very modern. It appears to be all new architecture.
There are few people walking and quite a few cars.

We soon pull up outside the gates of a very large
house. As soon as we get near the gates - they must
be electronic of the types I have heard speak of -
they open to let us in. We are in a courtyard. My
Master is important because the driver opens the door
for him. My Master takes the file that he was reading
and we go into the large house.

The house is like nothing I have ever seen as a
private dwelling. It has not just an outside
courtyard, it has an inside one where all the walls
facing the inner one are of glass, looking out on a
garden and a beautiful fountain and plants of many
colours.

The driver has given me the overnight case and has
disappeared. I follow my Master down a hall and round
the courtyard until we are almost opposite where we
came in. We go into the Master's bedroom. He is
pointing out things to me, the toilet, the bed which
is just a leather covered base with a blanket on it
and a running machine treadmill which I have seen in
gyms. I hold up the overnight case, as if to say,
`where do I put it' and then he opens a double door
into another bedroom and points to a stool. I realise
my mistake. We are now in the Master's bedroom. The
other one is mine! I am astonished. I have my own
bedroom! The Master's one is so large you could park
army transports in it.

Clicking his fingers, I follow him again through
doors. He points to a brush and a rake and points to
the garden. I am to clean up the place. Yes, I
understand that. More beckoning of fingers, and we go
through double door again, and we are in a swimming
pool area. The Master points at me and points at the
pool, and with one arms makes a poor show of
imitating a swimmer. I am to swim in the pool! It is
my head that is beginning to swim, I can say at this
stage!

The Master is obviously in a hurry as he has looked
at his watch twice. We are now in the kitchen area,
where the driver is having his breakfast. I see a
pile of my slave biscuits on the counter and my
stomach rumbles even though it is only some hours
since I was fed.

A small Far East person in white comes in from
somewhere. He is clearly the cook, and they speak in
the English language. The driver has not risen when
the Master has come in, strange, but has stopped
eating his breakfast while he too is brought into the
conversation which obviously is about me. The driver
grabs his coffee and swallows it and a last gulp of
his breakfast.

We rush back to the Master's bedroom. The Master
quite quickly sheds his clothes and leaves them in a
pile on the floor. I do likewise. He smiles at that.

He walks into a smaller room and it is not a room
at all, but a wardrobe of shirts and ties and shoes
and suits. My Master must really be important to
have... My thoughts are cut short as he gesticulate to
the cuffs of a shirt he put on and to a pair of cuff
links on a dresser. I put them in.

He points to a whole pile of underpants and I take
the top one and slip them on him. He grabs a tie,
realises that he cannot put it on and is about to
throw it down when I take it from him and going
behind him, raising the shirt collar, put it on him
as I had many a time for my old Major. The Master
looked surprised and gave me a smile and a pat on the
backside.

Next a suit of light blue material and I slip a
belt through the loops of the trousers. The Master
already has a pair of socks in his hands and I put
them on. He slips on a pair of polished black shoes.
Looks at himself in the mirror from the front and the
side. Looks at his watch and breathes deeply. I know
that sign he is late for something.

He hurries out of the room-wardrobe and out to the
front steps of the house. The driver is waiting with
the car. I do not think I am expected to go with him
and I am correct. He turns to me, points to his watch
which says 10.30 and with his finger points to 4.30.
He will be back at half past four! I have six hours
to do all the things he has told me.

I go back towards my room and think that I should
start by putting away the Master's clothes, but I
meet the cook coming down the hall with them in a
basket. He realises that I am now naked and give a
big laugh and shakes his head and goes on about his
business.

My own tight shirt and khaki pants have disappeared
as well, but that does not really worry me. I am not
more comfortable working naked than with clothes on.
The house is spotless. You could eat your breakfast,
if you had a breakfast to eat, of the toilet bowl
itself it is so sparkling white.

I try to go through some doors re-tracing my steps
as with the Master, get lost once or twice, find some
doors locked, and finally find the place where the
brush and rake are, with other cleaning items.

I pull aside one of the glass panels out into the
inner court yard. There are some leaves and I rake
them. There are some flowers which are dead on bushes
and with a type of sharp pliers I have found I cut
them off. The court yard is clean but I brush it. The
day is beautiful and warm and though it must be hot
outside the house, here in the courtyard, with the
water tinkling in the fountain, it is cool and the
odd spray from the fountain hits my body. There is
even a small bird hopping from branch to branch on
one of the bushes.

I must have spent an hour in the garden and
courtyard, and then I went out to the outside court
yard where the limousine had come in and did the
same. There was little to do and it was soon
finished.


As the Master had said I could swim, I go in to the
swimming pool. By this point, I was getting to know
where was where in the house and got there no
problem. I walked the length of the pool. It was
twenty five paces. Twenty five metres. Forty lengths,
one kilometre. Two hundred lengths, five kilometres.
I started to do my five kilometres. The water was so
clean and like velvet against my skin, far smoother
even than the beautiful water of Lake Ozero where I
had learned to swim with my grandfather. At times the
water stings my eyes. I floated up and down the pool
at a leisurely pace, the internal computer of my mind
counting off the laps.



Chapter 5 -- Memories

I swam and I remembered all the good things in my
life so far. My school. The Army. The old Major who
had taught me so much about life and how to be a good
Speznaz officer in the field and all he asked was a
warm mouth on his member at night and a warm body
beside him in his military cot.

I remembered my Irina, whose parents came from
Bukhara in Uzbekistan. The softness of her skin. The
beauty of her smile. Her sharp tongue. Oh, that woman
of mine could have a sharp tongue at times! I called
her mine thought we had never married. The army never
seemed to leave me long enough in one place for it to
be called home.

I remembered the army lads, fresh from the steppes
and the farms and hills, wanting to be tough in one
of the best units in the army. Oh, I toughened them
up each and every one of them, not just with drills
during the day, but with my drilling of their portals
of delight each night.

I can proudly say that I had each and every one of
them, from the tightest young town butts to the more
accommodating buttocks of the farm lads who knew what
was what about sex.

And Sergeiy Ivanovich! Where are you now my Sergeiy
Ivanovich? You and your strange eyes and strange
second sense. I did not believe you that morning at
breakfast when you said, My captain, we will have a
snap inspection today.'




How you looked at me in the eye and walked into the
kitchen leaving me with a roll of bread half in half
out of my mouth.

`How the hell do you know that, Sergeiy Ivanovich?'
I had shouted after him, but he was humming to
himself in the kitchen just like he did when I took
his twenty year old hole each night I was not having
one of the others. He always hummed while I fucked
him, with that half smile on his face resting on my
army pillow.

But I had said to myself, "What if?" and went to
tell the guards on the only road into the camp to let
me know when they could see dust on the North Road,
that we were due a snap inspection. Two patrols were
out that morning, so there were only the two outpost
guards and seven of us left to clean up a camp which
had not been cleaned in a month. We did it all by
ten.

`Get the regimental flag!'

`Sir!'

`Get the flag of the Republic!

`Sir!'

`Ready to raise flags on my command!

`Sir!'

I remember thinking that I must have looked a right
prick standing there with my men in the Kazakh
morning waiting for a snap inspection, just in case
there was a snap inspection.

I had the six conscripts and myself at the ready
for half an hour as if anyone would inspect us in the
middle of nowhere. An then one of the outpost
sentries hared down the path.

`Dust on the North Road, Sir! Too far off to say
what, Sir!'

As the entry ran back to his post, I checked each
of my men. Sergeiy Ivanovich was the second last in
line.

`Snap? Is it, Sergeiy? We'll show them snap, won't
we?'


Three minutes later two jeeps barrelled into camp
leaving the sentries in a cloud of trailing dust.

`Attention! Prepare to raise the flags! Raise the
flags!'

It was old General Iron Bones himself with a
Captain in the first jeep and they had to stand to
attention as the flags were raised and as it the
privilege of the regiment, we sang the country's
anthem at full belt.

`Guard ready for inspection, Comrade General!'

`And Captain Yuriy Andreiyvich do you normally have
a guard ready for inspection at -- and the general
checked a wristwatch -- 10.45 every morning.'

`Only when we feel that a snap inspection is due,
Comrade General' I could not help reply.

The General inspected as if he and we were on the
Chimkent barracks square. A word for each man. He
took his time. Straightening an already straight
collar. Brushing away an imaginary speck of dust.
Pulling on an already tight belt. I hoped that the
young Captain would not spoil it all. I thought he
was about to burst.

The second jeep had spilled out a Major and a
sergeant-driver. The General had flashed him a look
and the Major shook his head as if to say `Well, I
did not tell them.'

The General stayed the day and that night. He had
brought his own tent. I asked him did he want one or
two. He asked how cold was the night in this outpost.
I replied that it could be quite cold. So he replied
that it would be a two conscript night.

I sent him two of the farm lads and I was glad I
had broken them in myself, because Old Iron Bones is
hung like a camel.

The Major, Captain and the sergeant-driver were
accommodated with one apiece.

But I kept Sergeiy Ivanovich of myself.

That was the first night that he crossed my fingers
as my hand lay over his chest when we were both
spent. He took the index and middle fingers of my
right hand -- I was spooning him for behind at the
time with my hand over his side and chest -- and he
put my index finger under my middle finger and kept
them entwined together.

`What's that about?' I remember I enquired.

`Sergeiy -- and he ran his finger down my index
finger -- and Yuriy' -- and he ran his finger down my
middle finger.

I did not remember that until long long after.

I do also remember that when one sunny beautiful
evening, he said, `A sandstorm to-night' as he was
setting my plate on the table for a serving of beans
and potatoes.

I looked at the satellite readings - all clear. I
checked the radio, but nothing on the army weather
station but high fronts.

I took the precaution nevertheless of battening
every single thing down. When the sandstorm hit out
of cloudless night, it was the worst in over twenty
years. One outpost further east was blown into a
river. Another nearly demolished.

The worst that happened to our lot as one of the
lads said was that he now had sand under his hood,
and he grabbed a hold of himself between the legs. I
had him two nights later to check the truth of that
particular assertion of his.

I should however have been warned when I went out
on patrol that day. The various men saluted as I went
by, but Sergeiy Ivanovich stood at my tent and his
arm was not in salute but across his chest as if on
his heart. It was only afterwards upon reflection,
and I have had a lot of time on my hands to reflect
as a prisoner of the Taliban, that I realise that his
index and middle fingers were entwined.

..198, 199 and 200. My five kilometres were done.
Ah, that was a good swim. I got out and planed off
the water. I notice that I had made a mess of
splashing water on my turns, and finding a type of
sponge brush, I cleaned not only the ends of the pool
but all around.

Going into the Master's bedroom, there was a
digital clock which said 01.15. In other places, it
would be lunchtime, but for a slave it is a time just
to do his work or the jobs assigned to me. So I went
to the kitchens to see if the cook had anything for
me to do.

The cook giggled when I walked in. He was slightly
nervous at a tall naked man in his kitchen. He nodded
outside the window to the courtyard and garden. I
nodded to him. He mimed brushing and pointed to the
outside courtyard and I nodded back to him. He did a
type of overarm stroke and I nodded. He shrugged his
shoulders.

A pot of something was bubbling on the cooker and
at the smell of it, my stomach rumbled as it always
does. It was a loud rumble, and the cook laughed and
looked at me.

He looked at me again, more closely. My grandfather
always said I was a big lad for my age and breeding,
and that I took after him in that department. Cook
was looking definitely at my member.

He came over to me and put his hand on my belly
which rumbled yet again. His hand was naturally a
light brown and very small, almost tiny. His hand
went down and he raised my member on the palm of his
hand and looked at it in wonder. Now whom am I to
object to an ardent admirer! Though I am some four or
so inches when down, I am almost eight inches when up
and very thick, as all the army lads have repeatedly
told me.

Cook looked at me with a semi-hard-on and sighed
and shook his head and let my member drop. Then he
did an extraordinary thing to my mind, he took off
his apron and dropped his pants and pulled down a
small white bikini type underpants. He took his small
uncut penis in his hand, it must have been only about
an inch and a half in length, looked up at me and
smiled.

Then pointing to his penis, he brought up his hand
before my eyes and made a circle of thumb and first
finger to indicate perfection. Then pointing to my
own member, he looked at it again, and pointing at
me, he again made a circle of thumb and first finger.
The rouble dropped as they say. His was perfect for
him! And mine was perfect for me! At least, that is
what I made of it, and he dressed himself again.

There was a bowl of potatoes on the table and he
took out a small knife and gave it to me and pointed
at the potatoes. Does an army man know how to peel
potatoes? Does your grandmother know how to boil
eggs? I took the bowl of potatoes, sat cross-legged
on the floor and peeled away.

Cook went over to a press and took out my, I say
`my' bag of biscuit. He said `two' and pointed to the
seven figure on the clock on the wall, and then
bringing his finger around the clock to seven again,
he said `two'. I would get two biscuits every morning
at seven and two at seven in the evening.

My stomach rumbled yet again at the mere thought of
food. I also realised that the cook had spoken to me
in English, and that I had understood clearly. He
then took a biscuit and broke it in half. My eyes
were locked on that half biscuit like radar on an
incoming missile. Cook made a little pantomime of
whether he would or would not give it to me.

I solved that matter by simply saying `woof' and he
burst out laughing and handed me the half biscuit,
but again in mime, he showed that it was to remain
between himself and myself, and to show the ill
effects that its disclosure would have on him, he
drew a finger across his throat. My Master would slit
his throat for his giving me a biscuit?

I started to take the biscuit out of my mouth. But
he laughed again his light little laugh, and coming
over tapped me twice on the head as if to say "Do you
always believe what you are told?'

We finished off the vegetables in double quick
time. He was doing some vegetable that looked like a
cucumber, making nice little shapes with it.

Cook then took me into another room with a large
table in it - clearly different rooms had different
uses here -- and he proceeded to set a place for one
person. Each part of the operation he had me watch --
a mat, some cutlery, glasses, a napkin. He was
teaching me how to lay a table for a meal for the
Master!

Then with a smile, he took out a large cloth from a
dresser and covered the entire place that he had
prepared, stood behind another chair and told me, in
mime and in words, that I was to prepare a place at
the table as he had done.

I was like a little child. I put the mat upside
down. Well, it did look the same. And then lengthways
instead of sideways. He giggled his way through my
efforts with the cutlery. Well, they are all for
eating, aren't they. And he would shake his head
until I got it right.

Finally, I got it all right, and he pulled off the
cloth off the first place setting with a cry that
sounded something like `rah-rah'. The two settings
were the same. Then he had me put away the second
setting. The Master would be eating alone.

Back to the kitchen, and Cook took down a pot to
make tea. He looked at me and then put it away again.
I indicated to him that he should make tea for
himself and that I would have water -- after all I had
eaten half a biscuit and needed more water.

Cook pulled the pot out again for his tea and made
some. He filled a glass of water for me. I can get
used to using glasses again, I can tell you.

A thought seemed to strike him and he went to the
fridge and took out a tray of ice cubes, make a face
at me. I nodded and he put two of them in the glass.

Then going out to the inner courtyard, he went over
to a plant and pulled off a leaf and pulled something
from a tree. He came back in and put a stalk of the
plant in my iced water, and taking what was a lime
that he had plucked from the tree, he cut it in half
and squeezed a full half of its juice into my glass.

Taking his own cup of plain brown tea and putting
it on a saucer, and handing me my glass of lime-water
with its stalk of - I smelt it - it was mint -- he
beckoned me to the side of the inner courtyard where
the sun was not shining and slapped a hand on the
seat next to where he sat down.

Yuriy Andreyvich Obov, former special forces Kazakh
captain, former lover of Irina, former big brother to
his army unit conscripts, and now slave of a Master
whose name he did not even know, was drinking lime-
water with a sprig of mint on a cool afternoon in a
beautiful courtyard garden! Was life ever more
perfect?

Looking at Cook, I knew that had he asked me to
walk barefoot over the Pamir Kush in the middle of
winter bollocks naked and in my bare feet, I would
have at least made the attempt for him.

Maybe I could find out the name of the Master from
Cook? I signalled for his attention and he looked up
from his tea.


I said `Master?' and raised my shoulders to
emphasise the question.

Cook replied and obviously by the way he touched
his watch he was saying what time the Master would be
home.

Again, I said, `Master' in my best English. What is
the word for `name' in that language? I could not
remember. Then I remembered what the Master had done.
I tapped my chest and said `Yuriy Obov' very slowly
ad clearly and repeated it twice, and then said
`Master?'.

`Ah, the Master's name?'

`Yes, name' -- that was the word I could not
remember.

`Jonathan Martin' and Cook repeated it slowly and
clearly.

I said it five or six time also slowly and clearly,
but obviously not clearly enough. Cook shook his head
and repeated where the accents had to lie `JOH-nah-
than' and sang it out until I was singing it with
him. Then `MAHR-tan' we sang out together half a
dozen time.

Cook finished his tea and laughing at my English,
he shook his head and went into the kitchen to
complete his work.

English is such a strange language. I remember they
say a `good' something in the morning especially for
the morning, and something for the early evening and
something `good' for the late day, and then something
`good' before going to bed. Why could they not made
do simply with a `good day' meaning it for any time
of the time of day or night as they do in proper
languages!

I went in to practice on Cook. It is to my shame
that although he had told me the Master's name. I
never to this day learnt Cook's own name.

`Ghuud dhahy, MahhsTER'

Cook looked at me coming in the glass door from the
courtyard saying my greeting. He almost fell into the
sink laughing. He shook his head, but he said to
himself as he went about his business `guhDAYmahstr'
and continued repeating it until I got the message. I
was putting the accent in the wrong place.

Then we tried it with `afternoon', `evening' and
`night'.

Looking at the clock, Cook saw it was 16.15 and
signalled `no more'. He had things to do.

I went and waited at the top of the steps of the
outer courtyard and some minutes later the outer
gates opened and the Master's car came in. I would
have gone to open the door, but I thought that was
the driver's job which it was, and when I went down
the steps to greet the Master, all my learnt English
of the day became confused in my mind and I stood
there like a dumb farm boy from the hills.

The Master saw me and said something which
contained my name in it. I was tongue-tied. He handed
me a briefcase and gave my arm a pat. I followed him
inside. I noticed that the sling had disappeared from
his arm as indeed the plaster and when he took off
his shirt in the bedroom to go into the shower, there
was some form of elastic bandage on his wrist alone.

I ran his shower and washed him down. My Master has
a fine body and I could appreciate it more now when
we are less hurried. I notice that while he uses a
perfumed soap, there are no cosmetics for men in the
bathroom, except for what I think is an aftershave
lotion. For a rich man, he spends a lot on clothes
but little on lotions.

As I towel him down, I notice him looking at me and
he gives me a smile, which I return. There does not
seem to be any malice in him. But I think I would not
like to have him as an enemy.

When dressed in casual and cool clothes sufficient
for the temperature of the evening, he walks to the
inner courtyard and around looking at the plants and
trees. The fountain is playing its water games in the
background. He notices that I have cut some of the
dead heads on the plants, and he smiles and pats my
arm again.

He reaches down and runs his finger along the
ground. He is checking if there is dust! Should I
have left the sweeping of the courtyard until later?
I am sure that the fine sand of the desert will have
blown in since this morning. He laughs at my apparent
consternation, and mimes if I have brushed the yard.
I nod, and for the first time, I say in English.
`Yes, Master.'

He pats my arm again and says two words followed by
`Yuriy'. I think he is telling me it is well done. I
smile back at him in gratitude.

We walk into the swimming pool area, and he points
to me and to the pool, I say, "Yes, Master' much more
clearly and with my finger on the wall, I write out
in imaginary numbers `200'. He does not at first
understand, and then he motions up and down. I say
`Yes, Master.' I am getting on fine in English now.
Three `Yes, Masters' without making a camel's balls
of it.

The Master points to his wrist. He is not allowed
to or cannot swim with it like that. He looks at me.
Pats my firm belly and smiles.

We go into the kitchen where the driver is sitting
down eating. He seems to eat a lot. Cook is busy and
chats with the Master, and obviously is talking about
me. I hope he does not mention about the half-
biscuit. I will have to get out of the kitchen soon
or my stomach will rumble. I can feel a rumble
definitely coming on. But we leave the kitchen for
the Master's eating room area.

There he looks at the place setting ready for his
evening meal. He seems to be thinking of something,
and with his hand on the back of his chair, he looks
at the setting and then distractedly moves the three
glasses the other way round to the way they are, and
walks over to the window deep in thought. Something
is on his mind, I think.

I put the glasses back in their proper order as
Cook had taught me earlier in day. When I have moved
them back to their correct positions, the Master has
turned and is looking straight at me. I heard a noise
behind me and there is Cook laughing. The Master is
now laughing. They have played a little joke at my
expense.

I will learn in due course that the Master eats
early by this country's time at 7 o'clock each
evening. He works at his desk on papers or making
phone calls on his mobile until about half eight, and
then he comes to bed. It is infrequently that he
changes his pattern, and he is not a person for late
nights.

To be continued ...