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He didn’t even hesitate. Nor did he think to ask where I had got hold of such a coat. And that’s how Stenna came into my life.

To this day I’m not sure why I’d intervened. The boy would most likely have beaten her until he could no more, and then lost interest and moved on. It’s unlikely he would have beaten her to death, or even could beat her to death with only a rubber hose as a weapon. I’d seen much worse beatings dealt out in the past, and done nothing. Maybe at that moment I felt a special empathy for the woman, but if so I don’t recall it.

Of course she wasn’t grateful to me for saving her. I didn’t expect that she would. But she was my slave, and as such recognised my authority and could not refuse my commands.

That day I took her back to my home high up, and, of course, the first thing I did was to check her for disease. She had nothing out of the ordinary, no genital ulcers or syphilitic rashes, just lice and ringworm. I used a part of my small and precious stock of medicine, acquired at great effort and hoarded accordingly, on her. I intended to make full use of her, and I did not grudge the expense.

She was nothing much to look at then; stick-thin, with straggling hair and dirty hands and feet. Her clothes were rags and she stank. After I cut her louse infested hair off, made her bathe and gave her a change of clothing she no longer stank but didn’t look much better. There was still a look of wild terror in her eyes, and the bruises from the lashing stood out starkly on her arms and face. It was weeks before those bruises faded.

No doubt there have been times when slavery was something looked down on. But this is not one of those times. The slave is given food, clothing, shelter and a measure of protection in return for work – something which many free people would envy. As long as the conditions of servitude are not intolerably bad, it’s better than a lot of other things – or so I feel.

In those early days as my slave she did not talk. She did the cooking and cleaning and shared my bed without enthusiasm but adequately, but stayed silent. At first I did not mind the silence, but over time it got irritating and then infuriating. And then one day it came to a head.

I had just returned from a trip to the street. I had connected with a rooftop farmer who was willing to part with some of his fresh produce in return for a pair of shoes. Shoes I have aplenty; in the basement of this building there is still a truck parked with a load of assorted pairs of shoes. I have used more than half of them in barter over the last few years.

Among the produce I had got from the farmer were two rabbit carcasses, skinned of course, but the heads still attached so that I would know they were rabbits and not something else. This was a great windfall, fresh meat is something we all too rarely taste these days. The blood was still seeping from the carcasses when I got home and handed them to her to cut up and cook.

Instead of taking them from me she shied away violently, threw out her hands in a panic and retreated to the far corner, screwing her eyes shut and shaking her head.

"What?" I asked. "What’s wrong with you?"

"No," she said, "no."

"So you can talk." I walked over to her and thrust the rabbits at her. "It’s time you began. Now take them and cut them up and wash and cook them."

"I can’t," she said. "I can’t, please. Ask me anything but not that."

At that moment I saw red. I have no clear idea what I did the next few moments, but then I found myself standing over her, breathing heavily, the rabbits lying at my feet, while she lay crumpled on the floor, blood flowing from her head. I thought I had killed her. But she was still alive, breathing and even conscious, and after some time she got up and washed the blood off her face and got to working as though nothing had happened. She did not touch the rabbits, though, and in the end I took them and cooked them myself. I did offer her some but she would not even look at them.

Of course, had I actually killed her, it would not have greatly mattered. Slaves have no rights. Nobody has any rights any more. Your life and death depend on your own abilities. But although I have killed many times, I do not like to kill. I don’t even greatly enjoy causing pain.

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