?In the back of his mind, he realized that under other circumstances hewould have been getting pleasure from this treatment but at some point, heunderstood that this experience had nothing to do with sex.? This was about the fear and horror of realenslavement.? He remained silent, even inthe face of his manhood being removed and decided to do whatever he had to doin order to live.? That was his only goal--to live to another day with the hopes that he would be able to go home.? Charles had become a real slave.? Sleep was at a premium as he was never allowed to get morethan an hour at a time.? By the fourth, or fifth day, the women stopped locking him in hiscoffin and wouldn?t put on his leg and wrist restraints.? His friend would come nightly, giving himfood and water to keep him alive; never uttering a word in English.? Charles came to expect abuse as routine andthe pain was transformed into something other than pleasurable, other thanache; he would leave his body in order to escape. But to my surprise, they were not sitting in the living room as I had expected. I stood for a moment, puzzled, as I began to wonder where they were. I knew for certain that was Father Paul’s car sitting in our driveway, I had seen it there plenty of times before to recognize it as his.But as I stood there silently, slowly my ears began to hear faint but audible noises as they drifted down the stairs where I stood. They were not the sounds of voice, but strange and eerie noises, ghostly noises, and a chill ran down my spine.And as I stood there, straining to make sense of the strangeness emanating from up the stairs, a sudden and loud moan echoed down the hallway and down to me, causing my body to clench in panic.“What was that?” My mind raced.It sounded like someone in pain. Was it my mother? Was she hurt? And I began to feel very afraid. But i couldn’t just stand there, I had to do something, so I slowly and very frightfully began to climb the stairs, one step, then another, then.
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