The outside of Steve and Etua’s tent looks like a crime scene. Etua is right—there’s blood everywhere. Inside too. On the floor, on the walls, even on the stove door. Later, I wonder how the blood managed to splatter so far.
Joseph is sitting on the floor of the tent, rocking back and forth and moaning when we come in. His eyes are glazed over, just like Tarksalik’s were after the accident. Joseph nods when he sees Steve, but then, a second later, his head sinks to his chest and he passes out.
That makes Etua sob even harder. “Joseph’s dead! Dead!” he cries. “It’s because of me! I told him we needed more wood for the stove. And now he’s dead!”
Steve is crouched on the floor next to Joseph. “He isn’t dead, Etua. He’s in shock. He’s lost a lot of blood, but he’s not dead. Look at his chest! You can see him breathing!”
Etua chokes on his tears. “Are you sure, Ataata?”
We have to stop the bleeding. Even I know that. “What can we do?” I ask Steve. Tom, Lenny and Jakopie are standing next to me, ready to pitch in. Geraldine, Roy and Matthew have shown up too, probably alerted by Etua’s wailing.
Steve barks out orders. “One of you get the first-aid kit! Someone else get towels! You’ll need to cut them into strips. And get me the satellite phone—quick! Matthew, I’m gonna need your snowmobile to get Joseph back to George River. Can you clear it off for me? Two of you had better go do it. It’ll be safer.”
“I’m not sure you should be traveling in this kind of weather,” Matthew says.
“We don’t have a choice,” Steve tells him. “Go clear it off.”
Since I know where the satellite phone is, I get it from Steve’s backpack by the tent door. There’s blood on the backpack too. After Joseph injured himself, he must have stumbled into the tent, probably to look for a towel to help stop the bleeding.
I’m squatting on the ground, rifling through the backpack, when I happen to turn my head and look outside through the crack in the tent. That’s when I spot it—Joseph’s thumb, covered by a thin, thin layer of snow. Seeing it gives me that same lurching feeling in my stomach. It’s fat and flesh-colored; the nail at the top is thick and gnarled-looking. The thumb is lying under a spruce bough next to Steve’s ax, the one Joseph was using to cut logs for the fire.
I have to tell the others. Can’t doctors reattach body parts like thumbs? Only where are we going to find a doctor?
I suck in my breath to steady myself. “Uh, Steve,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “Joseph’s thumb’s out there, on the ground.”
“Go get it,” Steve calls out as if he’s talking about a log for the fire. “Someone’s gonna have to sew that thumb back on. Etua, get Noah some snow to keep Joseph’s thumb cold.”
Eating ptarmigan liver is nothing compared to picking up someone’s thumb from the snow. I’m afraid I’ll puke again, but thank god I don’t. It’s a big thumb, nearly a third the size of my palm, and even though it’s been out in the snow, it’s still slightly warm. Is it my imagination, or can I feel it pulse inside my hand, almost as if the thumb has a heartbeat? I carry the thumb back into the tent.
“We’ve got to stop the bleeding,” Steve is saying. “Joseph, can you hear me?”
Tom and Jakopie have found towels, and Geraldine is cutting them into strips. I think about telling her to be careful, but I don’t. I don’t want to do anything that might set Lenny off again.
Steve has wrapped one strip of toweling around Joseph’s hand, but the blood is seeping through like a red river. Again, I think of Tarksalik and the pool of blood and how she managed to drag herself to the side of the road. Joseph’s blood is the same color as Tarksalik’s.
“I’ve never seen so much blood!” Geraldine says softly as she hands Steve another strip of towel.
“We’ve got to make a tourniquet—fast,” Steve says. “And we need to keep his hand elevated so it’s over his heart. That’ll reduce the flow of blood.” Geraldine helps Steve make the tourniquet. Then she and Steve use another piece of towel to make a sling that will keep Joseph’s hand higher than his heart.
Etua is back with the snow. “I need some strips of towel too,” I tell him. “To wrap the thumb in.” In a way, it’s a relief to wrap Joseph’s thumb inside the towel. I pack it in as much snow as I can. At least this way, I won’t have to keep looking at the thumb or feel its strange pulse inside my palm.
Lenny grabs the satellite phone. “Do I phone Mathilde? Is that what you want me to do? What’s the number at the clinic?”
“Three, three, seven…” Lenny dials as Steve calls out the number. I hope Mathilde answers.
The phone makes a buzzing sound as it rings and rings. No one’s there.
“Now what?” Lenny asks.
“Try my dad’s. Maybe she’s at his place.” Only I don’t know Dad’s number. When I’m in Montreal, he’s always the one who phones me. Every Sunday at exactly 11:00 am. He’s never missed a Sunday since he moved to Nunavik.
“I know the number,” Tom says, and he tells it to Lenny. Tom must notice me looking at him. “I call him once in a while,” he explains. “When there’s trouble at home,” he adds, lowering his voice.
I’m glad to hear Dad’s voice on the other end through the crackling sounds of static. Even if Mathilde isn’t there, he’ll know where to find her.
“Good to hear from you, Lenny Etok,” I hear Dad say. “I’ve been worrying about you guys. I’m watching the weather on the net and listening to the fm. It looks pretty bad up where you are. Gale-force winds. It’s way calmer down here. Minus seventeen right now, but hardly any wind at all. So tell me, how’s my boy doing?”
“Uh, look, Bill,” Lenny says, stumbling for words, “I’m not calling about the weather. We got a bit of a problem. Is Mathilde around?”
I hear Dad suck in his breath. “I’ll put her right on.”
Lenny passes Steve the phone. Steve gestures for Lenny to come and press down on the toweling on Joseph’s hand. “Hey, Mathilde,” Steve says, cradling the phone under his chin, “Joseph’s cut his thumb clean off. It’s bleeding pretty bad. He’s in and out of consciousness. We’ve made a tourniquet and we’re keeping the hand elevated. But you’re gonna have to tell me what to do next.”
It’s hard to make out exactly what Mathilde is saying since she isn’t a loud talker the way Dad is. But I can tell from the steady rhythm of her voice she is giving Steve instructions. Steve listens and nods. Then he catches Lenny’s eye and raises one hand in the air. “Raise his hand even higher,” Steve whispers. “That’ll help with the bleeding.” Steve nods again in response to something else Mathilde says. “Yes, we’ve got the thumb,” he tells her. “Noah found it. Okay, I got that. We can’t let the thumb freeze.”
But even with Joseph’s hand elevated, the bleeding doesn’t let up. Joseph opens his eyes and moans as he looks around the tent. His eyes land on the blood splattered on the stove door. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to cause any tr—” But he passes out again before he can finish his sentence.