The Lost Puzzler

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The voices woke Rafik up.

“How is he?” a man asked.

“He’s better today, thank the Prophet Reborn,” the familiar voice of Rafik’s father answered, “the fever is gone. He drank some water this morning and fell asleep again.”

“Thank the one God and the Blessed Reborn. What a horrible accident, and just after he got healthy. God saves us and protects us from harm.”

Rafik stood up unsteadily. His knees were weak and trembling and his mouth dry.

“Is this what all the people are saying? That it was an accident?” Rafik’s father lowered his voice.

“What else would they say? That is what you wrote in the message when you asked me to come. I traveled here, although I am no healer, so I do not know what help I could be. But Sadre, I only had to walk into the village to hear that you did not let the previous healer return or even let that pompous fool Isaak sit and pray at his bed. People are worried. They think that maybe Rafik has caught some kind of disease. What’s going on?”

“It was no accident.”

“What happened?”

“I chopped his fingers off, Simon. I took off my own son’s fingers with my ax, and my beloved wife held him down so I could do so.”

Simon was Rafik’s uncle. He lived in another village and rarely came to visit.

“Are you mad? Tell me you are jesting.”

“I am not jesting. Laughter will not touch my lips for the rest of my life.”

“But why?”

“He was marked, Simon. He had it, the curse, on his fingers.”

“No!” Simon gasped.

“They appeared on his fingertips after he fell and bled, after the sickness.”

“God save us.”

“I searched him, he did not have marks anywhere else on his body, so I … I had to … you should have heard him, Simon, my brave boy, he even stretched out his fingers for me … my little boy, why is God punishing me so?”

“Calm yourself. How is Fahtna taking it?”

“Badly. She’s putting on a brave face for the kids, but she cries every night and blames herself.”

Rafik leaned on the doorframe but his father and uncle, sitting at the kitchen table, did not notice him.

“What about Fahid?” Simon asked in a quieter tone

“He volunteered for extra guard duty. I don’t think he wants to be here, with him.”

“He has plenty to worry about.”

“I know. If word of this gets out … the wedding … everything I worked for my entire life … my girls. Why is this happening to me? I’m a good man. I pray each day, even in the fields. I pray to the Prophet Reborn to keep us all safe and healthy.”

“I don’t know, brother. Does anyone else know about this?”

“I don’t think so, but he shouted the name of his friend, Eithan, a few times in his dreams. These boys are inseparable, and Eithan brought Rafik home when he got sick the first time, and then sat by our door for four days until I had to chase him away. This time Eithan hasn’t tried to visit even once.”

“You think this Eithan knows?”

“Maybe, but if he saw the marks he hasn’t told anyone yet. They would have been on my doorstep if he had.”

Simon, Rafik’s uncle, scratched his shaved head. “I hesitate to ask, but are there many cases of the curse in your village?”

“No. The last one was two months before I moved here and married Fahtna. She told me they hanged the boy, left his body to rot for three days, then burned his family’s house and slaughtered all the livestock. That’s the only one I know of, and it happened more than fifteen years ago. But now that I think about it, there were also two girls who went to the fields and disappeared. We looked for them for weeks but found nothing, not a trace of them. I think they ran away, maybe they were marked, too …”

After a long pause Simon said hesitantly, “The situation is grim, may the Prophet Reborn protect us. I don’t know how I can help you.”

“I need you to take Rafik away.”

“What? Are you asking me to bring Rafik into my household?”

“No, of course not. I’m asking you to help me send him far away from here.”

“But why? You said you chopped the fingers off. People will believe it was an accident. If you send him away, surely they’ll suspect.”

“I have to, Simon. I have to send him away as soon as he’s able to walk.”

“What are you are not telling me?”

It was in that moment that Sadre noticed Rafik leaning against the doorframe.

“Papa …”

Simon got up from his chair so quickly that it fell backwards to the floor with a clatter.

“You’re awake! Say hello to your uncle Simon. You last met him two years ago at the spring festival.”

Rafik nodded slowly. “Hello, Uncle.”

“Prophet’s blessings on your head, Rafik,” Uncle Simon answered nervously.

“Show Uncle Simon your hands,” Sadre said. “Go on, don’t be afraid.”

Rafik held out his right hand and Simon gasped, swore, then uttered a quick prayer of forgiveness to the Prophet Reborn.

Rafik’s hand was whole. His fingers were all there, fleshy pink and perfect, without a mark on them save the same black tattoos, which now spread across half of his three middle fingers.

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