Читать книгу The Lost Puzzler - Eyal Kless - Страница 18

Sadre Banishra’s expression was one of deep concern, barely held in check, as he entered the barn. He turned ashen when he saw the expressions on the faces of his wife and eldest son.

Rafik was standing in the middle of the barn. He shouted, “Papa!” and ran towards him.

Sadre laid a heavy hand on his son’s small head. He looked uncertainly at his wife and older son. Fahid bit his lip and lowered his head. Rafik’s mother slowly shook hers but held his gaze, tears trailing down her face.

“Fahid, go to the house and make sure the other children do not talk to anyone.”

“But father, he said Eithan saw—”

“Just do it!” Sadre snapped.

“Father,” cried Rafik, “I didn’t do it. It’s not my fault. It’s the medicine, right? It’s only very small, look.” He held his hand up to his father’s face.

Sadre gasped and took a step back. “Blessed Prophet,” he mumbled.

“Papa, I … I didn’t … look … it’s so small … if I put the bandage back, maybe …”

Ignoring the boy’s words, Rafik’s father gripped his son’s arm and inspected it, before pushing it away and checking his other arm. He then grabbed Rafik’s head with both hands and searched the boy’s face, neck, and shaved head, even behind the ears, until he was satisfied there were no other tattoos.

“Take your clothes off,” Sadre ordered. When Rafik hesitated, he lunged and tore them off his son’s body in several violent movements.

“Sadre—” Rafik’s mother took a step closer, trying to calm her husband.

But Rafik’s father turned his head towards her and hissed, “Everything is lost, everything, unless we do something quickly.”

Rafik trembled from fear and the sudden cold as his father looked over his back, armpits, buttocks, genitals, and feet—he even checked between the toes. He found no other tattoos except for the three on Rafik’s fingertips.

Sadre glanced at the corner of the barn where the tools were kept and then looked at his wife, who must have realised immediately what her husband was planning to do.

“No,” she said in horror. “He is your son.”

“He is our son,” Sadre said, his voice hard. He got up and grabbed Rafik’s wrist. “And we have no choice. We do this for his sake, and for the sake of our family.”

“What are you going to do, Papa?” asked Rafik, his voice rising with fear.

Sadre kept a firm hold of his naked son. “You must be brave, my boy. You must understand and pray to God and the Prophet Reborn, and you must forgive—” His voice cracked, and he turned and led Rafik to the chopping block.

Rafik saw his mother hand the heavy axe to his father while saying, “It’s for your own good.”

Rafik began to pull back with all his might, screaming, “No, no, please no, Mama, please don’t!” But his struggle didn’t slow his father down. Not even when he dropped to the floor.

His mother was already tearing the hem off her long dress, preparing bandages while his father opened the latch of the small oven and thrust the axe’s blade into the flames. They waited, watching the metal turn red-hot. Rafik’s soft whimpering punctuated the silence.

Sadre, still holding Rafik firmly, finally beckoned to his wife, and she bent down and brought the gleaming hot ax. This brought a new wave of panicked wails from Rafik, and although his wrist was pinned to the chopping block, he managed to curl his fingers into a tight fist.

Sadre watched the axe in his hand for a long moment, steadying his breath before slowly turning his attention back to his son. “Rafik,” he said softly, “I need to chop the tops of your fingers off. Please son, I need you to be brave.”

“No, Papa, please, no! I’ll be good, I promise!”

Sadre grabbed his son’s chin and forced him to look into his eyes. “You are cursed, marked.” The softness was gone from his voice as he spat the words into Rafik’s face. “This is an abomination, do you understand? If it is discovered, we are all finished. Your brother’s wedding will be called off, your sisters will never marry, we will need to leave this village, and you will be killed. They will hang you and leave your body to rot. Now stop crying and repent for whatever God and his Prophet Reborn have punished you for, and if you do not help me and be still, I swear by the Prophet Reborn that I will chop off your entire hand.”

It was that last threat which somehow calmed Rafik’s hysteria. Losing the tips of your fingers was not as bad as losing your hand. He slowly uncurled his fingers and turned his head away. His father suddenly bent down and kissed the top of his head.

“You are brave, my Rafik,” he whispered, “and you must remember, this was an accident.”

Rafik felt his mother’s arms around him, channelling warmth and love even as she pinned him down. He didn’t want to see what was going to happen, but after what seemed like an eternity he turned his head towards his father. It was exactly at that moment that Sadre must have gathered the courage to bring the axe down on his son’s outstretched fingers. There was a flash of pain which completely blinded Rafik, the sound of searing flesh, and an awful smell. Rafik shrieked and then collapsed on the ground as his mother rushed to cover the smoking hand with cloth. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was his father throwing the three digits into the flames, then collapsing to his knees and throwing up.