The Lost Puzzler. Eyal Kless

       11

      Rafik didn’t remember the next four days of his life. He was feverish or asleep most of the time, and was moved to the barn to reduce the risk of infecting the rest of the household. He did remember being attended to by his mother and his older sister, Nisha, who tried to feed him hot lamb soup, washed him with hard soap, and constantly uttered prayers for his recovery.

      A travelling healer came and went, looking like a ghost with his white mask and gloves as he poked and prodded the hallucinating boy. The healer talked to Rafik’s worried parents as Rafik drifted in and out of consciousness. The word infection was repeated several times. His wounded left hand was smeared with foul-smelling salve, which stung and hurt, before being bandaged in cloth. The only other thing Rafik remembered was hearing his mother say, “No, you cannot see him, Eithan, not yet. But he is getting better and soon you can play together again.”

      On the fifth day he woke up feeling better. In fact, he sprang out of bed with a strength and vigour that surprised and delighted his mother. He ate all the food she served him—even the boiled cabbage, which he normally hated. Soon he was proclaimed healthy, and he was let out of the barn and promptly directed to a wooden keg filled with scalding hot water, in which he scrubbed off the residue of sickness that clung to his skin, being careful not to wet his still-bandaged hand.

      Eithan was already waiting for him outside, and in no time at all Rafik was briefed about the gossip of the last four days. Three travelling merchants had arrived two days before. Eithan had caught and cooked a giant toad the size of a grown-up’s fist. Cnaan was seen talking to Elriya again, and her parents complained to his parents. The village guards investigated some smoke coming from the edge of a field and frightened two vagabonds, who begged for their lives before being released with a warning. Eithan was a very good storyteller who could turn even the most mundane activity into an exciting tale.

      Finally, Eithan pointed at the bandaged hand. “When are you taking it off?”

      Rafik shrugged. “I have to wait until the healer visits again. It feels all right, though. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

      “Come on, let’s see it. It was really bleeding when you fainted. I carried you all the way to your home.” Eithan puffed his chest out with pride.

      “It only happened four streets away.” Rafik tried to hide his embarrassment, especially because he’d insisted on walking unaided only to faint once they’d passed the centre of the village.

      “Yeah? You were bleeding all over my shirt. I think you fell on it when you fain—when you fell,” Eithan said, quickly correcting himself when he caught Rafik’s expression. “Come on, let me look at it.”

      “Maybe later.”

      “Are you scared you’ll see your hand and faint again?”

      “No, I didn’t faint because I was scared. It was an infection.”

      “Maybe your hand got all twisted from the infection and now it’ll look like a claw.”

      “No, it didn’t. It feels all right.”

      “So … let’s see it.”

      “I’m not supposed to. The healer said—”

      “What are you, scared like a girl?”

      “Fine, but if I bleed, I’m wiping my hand on your tunic.”

      Rafik got up on his feet and quickly began unravelling the bandage. He could see the back of his hand as the strips of stained cloth fell to the ground. The skin there was notably whiter than the rest of his body, but he didn’t realise how different the colour was until it was completely free from the bandage.

      “That’s strange,” commented Eithan, stepping closer.

      “Maybe it’s the salve. It smelled like cow shit when he put it on me.” Rafik sniffed carefully. It smelled of soap.

      “Well, it really healed your hand,” remarked Eithan.

      Rafik flexed his hand. “True, there isn’t even a scratch on it.”

      His skin was perfect, or at least the back of his hand was. There were still scabs on the tips of his three middle fingers.

      “Ugh,” said Eithan, peeking from behind Rafik’s shoulder, “The scabs are really black.”

      “It’s because of the salve,” Rafik said quickly. “I bet they’ll peel off.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers with his thumb, but the skin felt soft and whole, and he couldn’t catch a scab edge to leverage a good peel. Annoyed, he brought the injured hand close to his face and began scratching it. It was right then Rafik realised the scabs had shapes. The scab on his forefinger was shaped like a triangle. The scab on his middle finger was shaped like two crescent moons, and the scab on his ring finger was shaped like three tiny balls, one on top of the other, connected by a string. Blood drained from his face.

      “What is it?” Eithan asked.

      “Nothing,” Rafik closed his hand in a fist so tight his nails bit into his palm.

      “No, I saw something.” Eithan moved closer. “Let me see it again.”

      “No!” Rafik shouted. “No, get away. It’s the medicine. I shouldn’t have taken the bandages off.”

      “But the scabs, they looked like …” Eithan suddenly choked on his words, but Rafik didn’t wait to see his friend’s reaction; he was already running away as fast as his feet could carry him. He burst into the shed and plunged his hand into the still lukewarm water of his bath. Then he pulled his hand out and looked at it again. The marks were still there. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Rafik began scrubbing his fingers with all his might—but every time he checked, the scabs where still there. He searched the shed, whimpering in fear, until he found a sharpening stone, then he began rubbing his fingers until they began to bleed again.

      It was Fahid who eventually found him, crying, shivering and holding his bloodied hand in a tight fist.