The Interview

Chapter 13

I thought what a contrast as I entered the old hotel to my journey a month ago. No, not quite a month, I corrected myself, but only a few days short and, on that occasion, I'd entered like the proverbial drowned rat! No such problems today with a clear blue sky overhead and the morning sun starting to make its presence felt.

It was the same tall Asian girl on reception as last time who'd been exceedingly helpful to a damp and dripping traveller. She looked up from the young couple she was dealing with, flashed a smile of recognition at me and then waved a finger towards the bank of lifts and mimicked talking into a telephone. I got the message and darted quickly over in time to cram myself in one about to depart along with five camera-toting Japanese tourists. 

She was waiting for me with the door open as I walked down the familiar corridor, and I followed her into the room to take my usual seat. My bottom had hardly touched down when there was a respectful knock at the door and a white-jacketed figure entered with the customary tray of coffee and biscuits.

"Very efficient", I observed.

"They phoned me from reception when you arrived, probably called the pot room as well. That's on this floor, too. The housekeepers do the beverages, morning papers, and light breakfasts for the early morning calls from there. You can do the honours, help yourself and pour one for me if you would"

I grinned and did as she instructed, and then, a thought struck me. "What's with the backpackers I saw? Are you going down market? There was a young couple at the reception, huge backpacks with Aussie flags on them, and I noticed several others coming up from the basement outside, those stairs by the gap in the iron railings!"

She laughed. "Ah, they must have taken the sign down. I told them it needed replacing; too tacky and way too big. We need something obviously but discrete, if you get my meaning, something more in keeping with the general nature and history of the establishment!"

She laughed again as I passed her a cup, for my expression must have mirrored my confusion. "I see". I muttered.

"Oh no, you don't!" she chided. "No, it's a new idea, born out of one of those management and staff brainstorming sessions. We are one of the oldest accommodation establishments in the city, can't compete with the real big boys of course prestige wise, the well-known names! The hotel lost that opportunity post World War One. However, we are the only such establishment also to have a 'backpacker hostel' under our name!"

  "Really!" I was a little surprised. "Won't that cheapen your brand?"

"What brand?" she laughed. "We are a one-unit brand with a steady, dependable but insufficient clientele. No, more the opposite. There was nothing down in that part of the building other than a couple of unused storerooms and empty staff quarters. Almost everyone lives out these days. They did them up very tastefully, twin triple and four bedrooms. Hand basin in every room, comfortable, single or double beds with fresh bedding, no damn bunk beds either! Plenty of showers and toilets. All very nice."

"Profitable?"

She winked at me. "Oh my, yes, very. Occupancy rates, you understand!"

I smiled. "Pack em in and stack em high, eh!" That drew a frown and the wagging finger.

"Not at all, and I just told you, no bunk beds, so no stacking! Likewise, the rooms, definitely no packing! They have plenty of space; that's one of the reasons it's been so successful. Word travels fast in that segment of the travel market. Prices are very reasonable, and our costs are low, same reception, same housekeeping team, a decent boxed breakfast option if they don't want to eat upstairs and bar takings; wow, they've skyrocketed!"

"Hmm, probably an easier clientele to deal with as well, I expect".

She laughed. "So, I gather. Initially, there was a certain reluctance, shall we call it in reception, not so much the extra work, but they were a little wary of what or who it might bring. Total opposite, now they've discovered a clientele that doesn't complain that the water is not hot enough or is too hot, the view isn't what they expected, the towels are too rough, the bill is all wrong and way too much and so on. Also, far more interesting to talk to!"

"Are you that bad? I chuckled.

She shook her head. "No, but some of our customers are, especially the budget coach parties!" she paused and then gave a decidedly wicked laugh. "Anyway, talking about bad, I've always had a fondness for backpackers, prime pony stall candidates!" 

I blinked. "What"

She picked up her cup and gently blew on the surface before taking a sip, her mischievous eyes never leaving my face.

"Prime pony stall candidates", she repeated and shrugged as she put her cup down and sat back. "None better in some ways. Almost always young, fit, healthy, intelligent and frequently good or better than good lookswise. I've had a few real gems down the years. These days cell phones and tablet computers have messed things up a bit, but they are still often a long way from all their contacts and, thus, fair game. Back in the old days of long-distance international phone calls, they could be three countries on from when ET last called home or wherever!"     

I grinned to myself. I'd come prepared to hear more about her first encounter with Rufus the Red, but it looked like we were about to immediately set off on one of those tangents that invariably cropped up. I didn't mind, I was in no rush, and it was always interesting to hear what she had to say. Often incredible, frequently unbelievable, but always perversely fascinating.

"The perils of Google maps and tracker whatever it is? I hadn't thought about that aspect. I suppose that sort of technology makes acquiring things a bit more…more difficult the days?"

She laughed. "Things! You mean makes it harder to kidnap someone straight off the street, right?"

I nodded, wondering why I'd been so hesitant in expressing what I meant. "Yes". 

She pulled a face. Yes and no. Mainly yes, from that acquisition aspect. The sort of chances that used to pop up so that any amateur with an eye open and the proper facilities could take advantage doesn't exist, at least not to the same extent. On the other hand, once caught, the technology for keeping an eye on one's valuable stock and maintaining the necessary security is vastly improved, alarms, cameras, etc. Swings and roundabouts, I suppose. My niece told me about someone who'd had a tracker implanted into all her animals!"

"Modern technology!" I  mused, then motioned downwards with one finger. "So your new budget accommodation ….."

"Oh, no, no, no!" she interrupted quickly. "Absolutely nothing to do with me other than obediently adding my rubber stamp to the idea. I told you, staff brainstorming session, how to put a few more zeros on the bottom line." She stopped and pursed her lips, looking thoughtful. "Not a bad idea though, possibilities perhaps, I wonder?"

I grinned and waited while she eyed the coffee table in front of her somewhat thoughtfully before shaking herself like a dog exiting the water as she emerged from the thought process. A part of me wanted to probe this thread further, whereas its counterpart thought it an opportune moment to cut back to France and Celine's stable. 

"You were going to tell me about Rufus?" I prompted as France emerged the winner of my brief internal debate.

She nodded."Indeed, I was mulling over that earlier while decapitating my breakfast egg. I haven't had a boiled egg in years but fancied one this morning. Strange the way these things go, isn't it?" she mused, then laughed at the expression on my face. "Alright, down to business, I promise!"

I smiled and glanced at the old clock on the mantlepiece. "Plenty of time".

She shook her head, laughing. "There is no such thing as 'plenty of time' at my age, as you'll discover one day. The days and hours fly by ever faster the older you get. You arise, and you go to bed and in between, woosh!" she paused before continuing. "That first day in Celine's stable, that day as I now recall, seemed both fast and slow at the same time in a strange sort of way. I remember being fascinated and enchanted by this wonderful new world I'd just entered".

"Did you realise that you'd just found your lifetime occupation?"

"Subconsciously, perhaps yes, although I wouldn't have realised that at the time. I'd been growing ever more excited at the prospect of seeing Celine's animals in the flesh" she paused and chuckled. "Of course, my mindset wasn't the same as it is now. To me, they were still very much people, men and women, unwilling captives harnessed and forced to live like animals!"

"When did that change?" I asked out of curiosity. She gave me a rather odd look and then sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling before answering.

"Good question. I'd never thought about that before. I suppose the answer is that very first day, certainly over the course of the next few days." She chuckled. "Definitely by the time I returned home. After some weeks of excellent French cuisine, I distinctly remember being served a plate of fish and chips by a gorgeously cute young waiter on the ferry going back across the channel and wondering what he'd be like in harness! One does that you know after a while?"

"Does what?"

"Tch, tch", she scolded. "Eye up suitable candidates, of course. Some men and women may look at a pretty girl or handsome guy and wonder what they're like under their clothes. I and likeminded types tend to take that a step further and wonder what the person would look like clad in pony harness."

"Me included", I laughed, although a part of me wondered if I should be laughing?

"No, I think your safe, at least for the moment" she giggled and winked. "I know you as a person after all, don't I?"

"Is that how it works then?" I didn't bother to explain as I was sure she would understand what I meant, but she did.

"Not for me personally. I've never had an animal that way, although I have known others who have. More than one pony has ended up occupying a stall simply because it caught someone's eye or upset someone it shouldn't have. We have a couple of ponies stabled with us at the moment until their owner decides what she wants to do with them. Her ex-Bestie, to use the modern term, who just happened to take a fancy to said friend's boyfriend, now wears harness and the unfaithful boyfriend occupies the adjacent stall. The moral is to never muscle in on your best friend's boyfriend, not if she has a nasty, spiteful, vindictive personality and her doting mummy and daddy have more millions than they know what to do with!" she paused and added. "Especially if they have unusual interests!"

I blinked. "You live in a rather frightening world, don't you!"

She laughed and shrugged. "Same one as everyone else does with just a few minor differences, that's all!" then laughed again at the look I threw at her.

"Anyway, enough embellishments, let me return to that first morning." She leaned forward slightly to pick up her cup, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "As I believe I told you, Rufus wasn't a huge stallion, bulky, impressive but not huge, not like some I've seen" she paused and chuckled.

"Yes?" I waited.

"I was about to be naughty and head off course again. I was just reminded of another of my business acquaintances, an old one in all senses of the word. She has a small collection of stallions. Talk about your Rambo's and that other big one, Arnie something or other, the one with the unpronounceable name; her big boys would make them look a touch wimpy! Manages them all herself along with an old housekeeper who's about as ancient as she is!" she laughed. "Hell, here I am talking about age; look at me, so that should tell you something. Quite incredible, and she can still bring the biggest and most unruly brute to heel through sheer terror!"

I grinned. "I think I'll have to plan for a series of appendixes!"

"Oh no, you don't", the finger wagged. "If we go down that particular road, we'll both be in big trouble with a capital B and an even bigger T. That lady is someone I don't want to upset, and the bitch is so tenacious I'm sure she'll outlast me!" she pointed downwards with her thumb "No doubting where she'll end up when her time comes, but I'm sure she'll fit right in!"

"Okay, so I suggest we stick to Rufus and Celine then", I reassured her. I was amused but slightly anxious by the genuine note of alarm in her voice as she'd spoken. I'd long since realised that my host was a tough old bird under that 'sweet little old lady' image she radiated, and if she was afraid of someone, well, that spoke volumes to me!

It was interesting, though, what she had just said, so I thought I'd risk a question floating about in my mind for a while. "I have a question, one that I'm not entirely sure how to ask it?"

She looked at me with interest, perhaps at my tone and the slightly hesitant way I'd spoken and smiled. "Well, just go ahead and ask your question. I promise I won't bite!"

She probably could, I thought to myself and not just with those perfect teeth, most of which I suspected were her own. I'd be en route to a pony stable in the Middle East or somewhere similar, one word from her in the right ear. Like that old military saying, 'somewhere there is a bullet with your name on it!' Was there a stall somewhere reserved for an over over-inquisitive person like me?  

"I'd made an assumption", I started slowly, still not entirely sure how it would come out. "I mean, I know one should never make assumptions as such, but my initial impression was that it all basically boiled down to sex! Sex and fetishism, but it's not, is it? It's a whole lot deeper if I, er…" I stopped feeling a little embarrassed at my inability to explain my thoughts as I wanted.

She'd been leaning forward, taking another sip from her coffee cup, and now she carefully replaced it on the small table, leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. Her eyes hadn't left my face, looking at me all the while with a thoughtful expression, then she smiled and, to my relief, laughed.

"Now, who's taking us off on a tangent?" she chuckled. "I know what you mean, though. I suppose it comes down to two things, one being sex and the other power, power and control" She paused. "Absolute control! Ever heard that expression, 'drunk with power’?"

I nodded. "I thought that tended to mean egotism, self-importance, delusions of grandeur, etc., though?"

"It does, or at least I think those are the accepted meanings, some of them anyway. The sexual aspect was what attracted me in the first place, as it invariably does to most people and will always feature to one degree or another, of course. Still, recognising the power and control you have over those lesser beings becomes the real thrill! Your hit, and you are on a constant high day after day for every hour, every minute! Sexual, yes, but something else along with it!" she repeated that dog-like action. Half shaking herself, half shuddering and chuckled. Even sitting here sharing a simple morning  cuppa with you, I've only to think of my stable and its captive occupants, and a part of me is up there on cloud whatever, higher almost than the most avid junkie!"

"Like some out of control political leader, some tinpot dictator!" I mused, then realised that global history was dotted with numerous examples that had hardly ruled tinpot little empires!

She nodded. "Similar, I expect, at least in some respects. Ever hear of the Stanford prison experiment?"

I shook my head. "Nope".

"Neither had I till a friend mentioned it during a similar discussion. It happened in the early seventies as a psychological experiment in the US. Volunteers were selected and then randomly assigned to be prisoners or guards and uniformed appropriately. They stopped the experiment after just six days when the psychological abuse of the prisoners by the 'guards' became increasingly brutal. Imagine if they been allowed to use physical abuse as well!"

I thought about what she was saying. 'Power and control' with a whole heap of unrestricted painful and degrading abuse on top for those unfortunates unwillingly confined by her. Six days, a mere fraction of the miserably lives those wretches faced!" I began to understand perhaps for the first time how truly evil the woman facing me was and likewise to understand perhaps why! This time I was the one to shudder so much that her keen eyes immediately spotted it.

"Cold?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. Somehow, I had this impression of a void, a vast gap between me and my diminutive host, an abyss that separated us far more than I could ever have imagined. There was a sort of depraved casualness about her that I could not comprehend and, despite all our previous meetings, had somehow shocked me deeply.

"No, not cold" I debated whether to pass it off as some physical manifestation and the thought better. Why bother. I doubt the woman would have been fooled anyway! "So back to Rufus?"

She was leaning forward again, watching me and then nodded as I spoke, shuffled on her seat, and leaned back in her chair, folding her fingers together and placing her hands in her lap before resuming her narrative.

"Celine, as I recall, was looking incredibly pleased with herself as she walked that fine specimen of a male stallion around the open space in her stable. That wasn't unusual; the girl, I soon realised, was always at her happiest when at home and working with her animals. After a couple of circuits, she invited me to take a closer look at the beast".

"Which you did", I murmured half to myself.

"Of course," she laughed, "What else? I was taking a little vacation, well, actually one destined to become quite a big one in terms of length, and I hadn't gone to see the local scenery" she stopped and laughed again. "Well, not in the picturesque landscape sense, if you get me meaning!"

I smiled back and nodded, reflecting as I did so that whatever else I knew about her, she did have a mischievous engaging personality that effectively camouflaged those other sinister aspects of her character. 

"Celine ordered the beast to stand still so that I could examine my first ever two-legged equine. I had handled submissives before, both willing and unwilling, but somehow this experience was immediately different and don't," she quickly held up a warning finger, "ask me why. I am not entirely sure why, but it just was!" her eyes narrowed slightly. "Rufus, I never did learn his real name or anything about him for that matter. Not that such was important now, I think back. It never is."

"Why not?" I was interested and surprised, "surely, you'd want that sort of information?"

It was her turn to look surprised, "Why!" Her response was more exclamation than a question. "What difference would it make? When I make a new purchase, I'm only interested in the animal's age, looks, and health. Attitude as well, perhaps and at most a little info on how it came into the seller's possession. The last thing I need is the creature's full-service history! Its past is mere baggage, and the less I know about it, the better!" she stated firmly and paused to consider something. 

"A new beginning, a sort of rebirth", I offered, beginning to understand her thread.

"Precisely. There are two types one comes across. Those animals that are fresh from the wild, as we say, and those already somewhat accustomed to wearing harness. In the latter case, the degree of acceptance of their new life depends on who has owned them and their length of time in captivity. Of course, there is no standard correlation between those two aspects for so much depends on their training!"

"Spare the rod and spoil the pony, eh?" I muttered to myself, forgetting about her sharp ears!

"Precisely. What has Miss X's name got to do with that or her job, family, home life, ambitions, whatever! None of that is relevant to her new life, not today or tomorrow, next month or next year! The sooner she learns to forget all that and obey her owner's whip, the better for the beast!"

"Hmmm," I pondered, the word conscience springing very much to the fore in my mind. I wondered how much that moral sense of right or wrong played in what she had just told me. Would knowing chapter and verse of a new pony make a difference, knowing the name, about her family, did she have children, etc.? Possibly with some individuals but not necessarily with all of them. Then again, how much easier was it to start with a blank sheet of canvass, paper, a fresh piece of timber or whatever!

"He was the first one ever for me that had that look in his eyes, Rufus, I mean", she continued picking up where she'd left off before I interrupted. "Sort of hard to describe", she added, seeing my curious look. "One of those things you experience for yourself rather than explain. A sort of sad anger but more than that, a mixture of a whole range of emotions rolled into one particular look. Every pony I've ever seen has that same look in its eyes. All different and yet all so identical!"

I nodded. "I see" I didn't, but I thought it wiser not to interrupt her again at this point.

She nodded as well. "Of course, I'd seen anger, rage, frustration, humiliation and so forth in the eyes of those I'd kept caged for Celine. I'd always found that aspect rather amusing, not to mention being something of a sexual turn-on going back to your earlier question on that subject. Ponies, I soon noted, all had that same sort of look and a lot more. I've seen similar indeed near-identical in those kept permanently in other animal forms".

"Such as?" I was interested.

She shrugged. "Dogs, or puppies as some would call them, are almost as popular as ponies. My niece has one of her own. A big doggie that lives in the house and accompanies her to the stable every day, scurrying along at her heels.

I stared at her. "But it's not a dog, not a real one, is it?"

My face went red as she gave me that look people generally reserve for idiots and imbeciles. Those individuals not afflicted by any mental problems yet insist on behaving at times as if their brains don't work!

"Of course, Achille is not a real dog! The only real animal bar rats and mice on the premises is Squiggles, the stable cat. He's there to keep an eye on said local rodents, not that he's any good at it. Even the two pigs wallowing in the sty behind the stable are humanoid. Now do let me continue!"

I nodded, looking sheepish, and indicated for her to continue, although more and more questions were piling up in my brain, 'dogs, pigs, what else? I had to force my mind back to what she was saying.

"…encouraging me to touch him, and I was only too eager to do so, as you can imagine. I'd handled helpless flesh before, mind you, those, as I said, who'd been unlucky enough to catch Celine's eye or that of her procurers. This time, there was a subtle difference" she paused, looking thoughtful. "No, perhaps not subtle, for it almost leapt out at me. He hadn't been there all that long yet long enough to know and to have experienced much of what this new life would be like in Celine's stable. Perhaps that was the difference. Those that I briefly looked after in London were angry and afraid and yet ignorant of the reality still to come." She paused and looked at me. "Does that make any sense?

I smiled. "Sort of. I think I understand where you're coming from".

"Hmm", she grunted. "well, I'm glad that one of us does! Rufus even felt more like a beast than a man as I ran my hands over him because of the coarse reddish hair that covered his body. I suppose it was more ginger than red, but the name still seemed appropriate, and it was so coarse to the touch. Naturally, he didn't like me doing that, but Celine had that nasal leash wrapped around her hand and held him on a short tether so that he dared not move for fear of the intense pain it would cause him. 

Celine was making silly reassuring noises to soothe and calm him as though he'd been a frightened puppy on his first visit to the vets. I remember thinking a little out of character given the numerous bruises and welts that covered every visible portion of his body, some on his buttocks very fresh and still oozing thin trails of blood in places!"

"Somebody being busy before you arrived?" I surmised, but she shook her head.

"No, Celine told me as we walked over that she'd visited him the previous night despite it being late. Given our late arrival time, I'd gone straight up to bed after the initial 'hello's or bonjours or rather bonsoires'. On the other hand, Celine had been eager to let her ponies know that she was home and paid a visit to her stable to…."

"Where I guess Rufus was not pleased to see her back home", I interrupted with a chuckle.

"I don't recollect her saying anything other than she'd visited the stable. Perhaps she'd wanted to let off steam and de-stress a little after the journey. I'm often in that sort of a mood myself. Anyway, someone had recently reminded Rufus of his lowly place in the local pecking order!"

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Did he even have one?"

"Umm, scuse me", she replied through a mouthful of biscuit, chewed and then swallowed. "Figure of speech. No, of course not. We all have our favourites, but there is no seniority for those in the stalls! Nor does age or length of captivity play any part. A favoured animal may enjoy marginally better treatment, but the differential is minimal!"

"You’ve had favourites. I remember you mentioning something about them during one of our early meetings,” I remembered. “You said something about emotional attachment and that you’d just lost one who’d been with you for about twenty years!”

She nodded, also thinking back to that meeting as well, our initial one, if I’m not mistaken, or thereabouts anyway. That would have been Beetroot, a very docile animal once I’d trained him. Yes, one does become fond of some of them over time, much like a farmer might do with certain cows in his dairy herd. I doubt that earns the cow any significant favours though over the others and likewise in the pony stable”.

I thought about that for a moment and then asked a question even though I suspected what the answer would be. Another one of those naive questions I was beginning to specialise in asking. “In what way?”

Her eyes widened with amusement. “Why, in the way of the whip, of course, silly! Just because I may have a certain fondness for one animal over another does not mean they get spared. Indeed, it can work to the opposite extent. I also learned that lesson in Celine’s stable on that first visit. Celine had a young black filly, an absolutely gorgeous creature with the most adorable glossy ebony hide, especially when oiled. One of those originally destined for someone else, but Celine couldn’t bear to part with the animal once she’d acquired it” She paused, nodding to herself as though in approval before continuing.

“The girl wasn’t that old, a couple of years younger than her owner perhaps—a lovely little animal and quite strong for her size when put between the shafts of a sulky. Celine spent a lot of time with that cute little filly, usually the first one she visited every morning when we walked over to the stable. Frequently the first one to feel her whip as well. A favoured pony might get the odd extra titbits, a sliver of apple, a sugar lump or chocolate, but the downside is that it invariably gets more than its fair share of whip, crop and cane!” 

“Do you really do that?” I asked in surprise. “Feed them titbits like that as though they were real horses?”

She pulled a face and made a disapproving sound. “Of course we do! That’s the whole point, is it not? To us, that’s precisely what they are, horses. Dumb, captive, obedient human equines. Two-legged ponies we treat no differently than the four-legged variety!” She paused and chuckled. “Well, perhaps a bit crueller! Anyway, haven’t you been listening? “She repeated the disapproving sound and then smiled, adding a more moderate tone. “My preference is boiled sweets or mints, easier and far less messy to keep in one’s pocket! Wrapped, of course, although given the average diet, I’m sure even a bit of pocket lint wouldn’t spoil the treat!” she finished with a chuckle reaching for her cell phone as it vibrated on the table and rang.

That call heralded an early end to the session, for which she apologised most profusely, promising to make it up next time. Something unexpected, and she needed to call her niece right back. It was nothing major, no imminent catastrophe, nothing of that nature, nothing to worry about, but they needed to discuss something urgently. She laughed and added, ‘or more likely argue about!’.

I found myself out in the corridor and heading for the stairs deciding to spurn the lift, and it was only one floor after all. My mind was still fixated on that last topic of conversation.

“Jeez-us!” I muttered aloud at the first bend in the stairs. I mean, what a life where even a bit of sticky sweet stuff, perhaps coated in fluff, was something so rare as to be welcomed from the hand of whoever dispensed it. The same hand presumably that could whip your skin to a bloody pulp anytime the whim took them! I shook my head, wondering what the next revelation would be from this strange and rather frightening little old woman!