The Good Slave Read Free Page B

relations!   Didn’t you?!”
    “No!” Phoebus had cried.   He didn’t even know what an “imp” was , and he couldn’t understand why the old meanie didn’t know the truth when he heard it.   “Never!   Never!   Never!   Stephen never touched me in that way!”
    “In what way did Stephen Messinjure touch you, then, slave?   You slept in his room, didn’t you?   Do you still?”
    “I... I’ve always slept on a mattress on the floor at the foot of his bed,” the little slave quivered.   The man glowered at him with such repugnance that Phoebus felt deeply ashamed, even though he had never done anything terribly shameful in his entire life.   He looked down at his hands clasped tightly on his lap.   Then he closed his eyes and prayed to God to make this devil disappear.
    “And did you never sleep in his bed?” the old man asked, sounding implicatively sinister as he turned toward the crowd hanging on every word.
    “No!” Phoebus had exclaimed.   “Only when...”
    He hesitated.
    The D.A. whipped back around.   He was smiling.   The boy immediately realized he his mistake, but he had to continue.   “When I was little,” he finished in a meek voice.
    Several people gasped.   One man even burst out laughing.   The little slave’s heart sank when he saw Master Josef grimace and shake his head.   Stephen’s expression remained blank, perhaps with a hint of sadness if one were determined to see it.
    “Now we’re getting somewhere!” the D.A. boomed.   “Apparently now you’re too old for the sodomite’s pedophilic depravities!   But when you were very small he took you into his bed, didn’t he?   Where he wrapped his arms around you and had unholy and carnal relations with you, didn’t he?   Didn’t he ?!”
    “No!” the little slave yelled.   “No he didn’t!   Stephen would never touch me in that way!   He’s my friend!”
    “How many other pretty little slave boys did he fornicate with?   I’ll bet a degenerate little piggy like you loved it, didn’t you?”
    “No!” Phoebus protested.   “That never happened!   Why won’t you believe me?”
    “Objection, your Honor!” Master Josef’s lawyer had bellowed with real anger.   “The district attorney is badgering the witness!”
    “Sustained,” the judge said.
    The D.A. backed away from the witness stand, his arms outstretched.   He made a show of composing himself by pulling his suit jacket down at the hem and smoothing out the fabric with his palms.   Then in a softer but ever malicious tone he said, “Explain to us how you just happened to share Stephen Messinjure’s bed, slave.”
    “He only let me sleep with him when I was ascared of the dark,” Phoebus said, fighting an urge to cry because he realized that the reason didn’t matter.   “Or when there was a thunderstorm outside.   But he never touched me!”
    Murmurs filled the courtroom.
    Phoebus was so upset he could feel the blood pumping through his temples.   A good slave’s gaze is always down and earthbound , he thought as his face contorted in his failing effort not to cry.   He didn’t want to endanger or embarrass Master Josef or Stephen any further.
    The D.A. began to slowly pace back and forth in front of the witness stand.   After a quarter of a minute he stopped and looked up at the boy.
    “Are you a good slave?” he asked softly.
    “Yes, sir,” Phoebus whimpered.
    “And do good slaves lie?”
    “N-no sir.”
    “Then why are you lying now?” the D.A. insisted.   “Why are you being a bad little slave?”
    “I’m not lying,” Phoebus muttered, afraid to look up and no longer able to stop from crying.   “Why won’t you believe me?”
    “Because I do not ... believe... LIARS!”
    Suddenly the little slave did look up—and straight into the old man’s eyes.   Everyone was riveted.   A few women gasped but the district attorney only smiled.
    “I don’t believe you, slave, because your arrogant insistence