Bonesetter (2 page)

Now the finger was turning a dusky blue color!
He felt a roiling in his stomach—Kana's finger had turned blue, then black, after being crushed under a boulder she and Tando had been trying to move—soon after that, the rest of her hand had begun to swell and turn red.
This was followed by swelling of the whole arm—
h
igh fevers followed, with Kana going out of her head
. Her
hand had burst open, draining fluids with horrible odors
shortly
before she died
.
Tando's finger had been caught under the same rock but at a sharp corner and was cut completely off.
It had taken a while but the wound had healed and Tando remained a respected hunter.
It had only been the small finger on his lesser left hand after all.

Connecting these two facts in his mind, Pell quickly decided if the finger was turning blue, he would be better off without it.
He heard a gagging sound and looked up to see Boro staring at Pell’s finger with enormous round eyes
.
Boro’s
hand
was
over his mouth.
Boro turned and retched.
Pell felt his own gorge rising—he choked it back—he was too hungry to spare anything that might be in his stomach!
He scrabbled out his flint knife and laid it against the finger, directly over the most deformed part.
Then,
in his mind he saw
a scene from the previous summer.
He had been assigned to gather trophies from the body of a man the Aldans had killed while fighting with the Kinto tribe over a particularly rich hunting area.
Pell had
been surprised at just how
difficult
it had been to
saw through the
man’s
fingers.
Nonetheless
Pell
steeled his nerve to saw off his own finger.
He repositioned the blade several times but finally dropped the knife to his side in disgust at his inability to even
begin
cutting into his own finger.

Maybe if he walked back to the cave Pont would be able to put his finger back in place—he was, after all, their "healer", though it usually it seemed that there was little enough that Pont could do.
Or would do.
Maybe Pont could cut the finger off
for
Pell?
Pell struggled slowly to his feet and limped on down the path to the cave.

Boro had run ahead so that when Pell arrived,
Pell’s
mother Donte was already outside the cave.
Hair in disarray, she wrung her hands, tears streaming down her face.
“Oh, Pell…” she began.

Determined to be brave, Pell marched past her into the cave to find the healer.
With disgust he saw the bandy legged Pont sitting in his "healer
’
s corner" with a glazed expression on his face.
He'd been chewing his own herbs again!
Roley had once demanded that the healer stop taking his own medicines but Pont insisted, claiming that a
good
healer must take
his
medicines himself in order to understand and guide their powers. It seemed, however, that Pell mostly chewed the hemp leaves that made you glow inside.
Some of the adults joked that Pont “had the powers of the hemp
completely mastered
.” Though they only said such things well out
side
of
Pont’s
hearing. E
ven the massive Roley quailed before the healer’s
potential anger
, allowing him to do as he pleased.
One never knew when one might need the healer’s powers for
your
own benefit.

Pont peered owlishly at Pell's finger.
The healer rocked back and forth and it seemed that he could hardly focus his close-set eyes.
He pulled on Pell’s finger perfunctorily.
The
tug
stung like the bite of an angry child but did nothing to restore the form of the finger.
Pont squinted at it a moment longer then dropped to his knees and began to rummage through his baskets.

"What are you looking for?" Pell heard himself asking in a querulous voice.

"Dried hemp and other herbs to help ease the pain, boy!" was the slurred answer as Pont held out a handful.

Pell didn’t see any “other herbs” besides hemp in the handful he was given.
He stuffed it in his mouth and began to chew.
"The finger’s so co
ld I can hardly feel it anyway.
What now?" Pell mumbled around a mouthful.

“Give it time to work! Come back when your head sways.” Pell saw with dismay Pont putting more hemp in his own mouth!

Pell wandered about the camp chewing his own mouthful until his head began to swim and then returned to Pont.

“You’re gonna have to w
ait
a bit
!” Pell said crossly
, “even the Healer has to piss once in a while.” He heaved himself to his feet and made his way
unsteadily
out of the cave.

Pell stood uncertainly, swaying a little until Pont returned.
“Let me see it,” Pont said reaching out.

Pell tendered his finger and Pont grasped it, pulling mightily. Despite the cold and the effec
ts of the hemp it hurt savagely and Pell crouched, howling in agony.
When Pont released the finger Pell
turned to look at it
hopefully.
His finger looked the same! He looked accusingly at Pont but the healer had already turned and begun rummaging through his herbs.
“What now?” Pell asked with some trepidation.

"A poultice to stop the swelling.”

"No!
That's what you did for Kana!
She died!
Cut my finger off, like Tando's!"

"I
can't
cut your finger
off
, you ginja fool!" Pont ducked his head a little in embarrassment at his slip of tongue.

Pell stared at him aghast—ginja (useless) was a common swear word or insult, but
not
one that
you would use
on someone who might actually become ginja!
Pell felt the hemp making his world slow down.
Rather than making everything feel better as it had on the other occasions that Pell had given him hemp, a black rage built from deep inside him and rapidly swelled—he felt his face flash hot.
"I'll take it off myself then" he shouted, his voice breaking into a squeak at the end.
He gripped his finger with his left hand and bent it even farther backward, as if to break a green stick by wrenching it back and forth—as he bent it back he pulled mightily in order to rip the offending digit from his hand.
His hands flew apart with a violent jerk—for a second he thought he had succeeded in pulling off the finger
. He peered at his left palm
but
to his disappointment
there was no dismembered fingertip resting in his left hand.

Then he stared in shock at his injured right pointer finger.
It remained swollen, but it had been restored to a normal shape!
He tried to move it and it wiggled!
As he watched, its dusky color flushed pink—then brighter red than his other fingers.
He worked it some more in growing amazement.

A foul odor bit his nose and then he noticed the healer standing in front of him with one of his poultices of half rotted leaves.
Pont stared at the relocated finger
, eyes wide with
surprise but his expression quickly turned to calculation.
"See, boy, I told you those herbs would work!"

Wide eyed Pell
stepped back. Then he
shouted,
"Your cursed hemp didn't fix my finger!
I
fixed my finger!" Pell could hardly believe he was screaming at any adult, much less the tribe’s healer, but
he was drunk with the effects of the hemp
.

Pont cuffed
Pell
brutally to the ground.

His shout brought other members of the tribe crowding around.
They had
all
looked aside uncomfortably when
Pell
entered the cave earlier
with his injured finger evident
.
Now they stared in excitement and amazement at his finger.
Pont boomed
, “
My mixture of the special herbs put his finger back!
Does he offer his gratitude? No!
"

Pell opened his mouth to protest again but Tando, the respected hunter who’d lost his own small finger grasped Pell by the shoulder
, “
Don
't argue with your healer, boy.
Just be glad your finger is better.
It may still turn out badly, look how swollen it is."

Pell stumbled back
,
holding his finger in his other hand and slurring.
“It wasn’t the hemp!
I
fixed it!
I don’t want your ginja poultice either!” The finger was warming up and the feeling was coming back with a vengeance despite the hemp he’d ingested.
The finger was throbbing and tingling but Pell somehow
felt
that that was good.
He stumbled over to the pile of leaves and furs where he and his mother slept.
There he collapsed
and slept
.

When Pell awoke the next morning, only the urgency of his bladder dimmed the pain in his finger.
It throbbed with each beat of his heart as if he
were
striking it with a knapping stone.
After he had stumbled out of the cave to relieve himself, he quickly began to wish for more hemp.
However he was sure that he would be unable to face the healer with a request for the mind addling leaves. He sat a wh
ile cradling his injured digit. E
ventually
he
resolved to beg the healer’s forgiveness when he awakened.

Pont awakened in a surly mood however.
He beat Lessa for some offense even before going out to relieve himself.
When he returned he immediately began rummaging in his baskets and chewing on a mixture of his herbs.

Pell considered this a good omen, as Pont chewing on herbs usually became Pont in a good mood.
After some time passed, Pell sidled over and, in a timid voice, asked if he could have some more of the hemp.

“Ha, what is this?
Is this the young ginja who proclaimed my medicines useless last night?
Get out of here!
You’
ll
get
no more of the blessed hemp!”

Pont had spoken in the booming voice he cultivated for important ceremonies, so everyone in the cave heard.
There was scattered laughter, which brought a flush to Pell’s face, but as he looked around he saw horror on the faces of many
in
the tribe
. Pell
realized with dismay that the healer may have sealed his fate as an outcast.
He had been worried before because he was a poor throw, and therefore a
third
-rate hunter.
His father had predicted his inferior hunting skills.
Pell’s mother had consoled him with stories about how Roley himself had been clumsy until after his adolescent growth spurt
.
However,
a gnawing fear that he would never prove to be
an adequate
hunter was always yammering in the back of Pell’s skull.
Pell’s long dead father couldn’t teach him the secrets of flint knapping, a skill Garen had been so good at that the tribe had kept him despite
his
small, twisted foot which, in addition to his natural lack of
hunting
skill, had left him useful only as a beater during
large
hunts.
Pell had tried working some flint in hopes that his father’s gift had somehow passed to him naturally and would blossom without training.
Unfortunately, the points Pell
had
made so far had
been
no better than the untrained efforts of any of the other tribe members
and worse than many
.
To get good points the Aldans were forced to trade with other tribes at the summer gatherings.

Other than his mother, Boro was Pell’s only friend.
It often seemed as if that friendship was only a result of the fact that Boro’s social standing was as low as Pell’s.
Both
c
lumsy, they were social outcasts bound together by their unspoken fear of becoming ginja.
Once Boro and Pell had, in a fit of emotion, pledged to leave the tribe together if either of them were cast
out.
Pell looked over at Boro.
Boro
stared into his own lap and
avoided
Pell’s
eyes—as did pretty much everyone else in the cave except his mother Donte.
Pell returned to his bedding and collapsed to nurse his misery.