C Fletcher - A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

More grunting and pointing had me going through the right pack and finding her medical kit and the dictionary. The stuff in her medical box was different to mine, but there were clean strips of bandage and a lot of herbs and ointments I didn’t recognise. She snatched them from me and started to try and deal with her wound. And that was the problem, because she couldn’t twist around to get at it. She’d been able to tie a loop of material around herself and cinch it tight, but the gash was behind her.

I indicated that I would have a look. She shook her head in irritation. I picked up the book. Although I used it hundreds of times after that, I remember the first word I looked up. The English was “infection”. So was the French. I grunted in surprise. When I showed it to her, she stared at it and the side of her mouth twitched microscopically.

Infection, I said. If you don’t clean it you will get infected. And you can’t reach it.

Anfecksee-on , she agreed.

I took the book and found the next word. I pointed at myself, then at her, then the word. She squinted at it.

Ay-day , she said.

Yes, I said. I will ay-day you.

She looked at me with those eyes that were both old and young.

Okay, she said.

Okay, I said.

She beckoned and I gave her the book.

She pointed to the word for clean. Then at the word for close. I must have looked confused because she tutted and found another word.

Sew.

She pointed behind her. And grimaced.

Sew.

She rummaged through her medicine box, tutting as she did so. She was looking for something that wasn’t there.

I walked away and found my pack. I brought back my honey and showed it to her.

Okay, she said. She said other things in French but I was too busy building a fire. After a bit, she watched me and said nothing. Her face was getting as grey as her hair now, and the night was coming in. I wanted to get this done while there was still light enough to do it by. The wound was long and deep. I was going to have to clean it and then see if I could close it. There would be lots to do before dark.

She stopped barking commands at me after a bit, I think because she saw what I was doing and approved. I got the fire going and used two of her cooking pots to boil the water we both had been carrying. When it had boiled for ten minutes, I put her bandages in and boiled them for another ten. While that was happening, I made a rack out of birch twigs and used it to stretch the bandages on to dry in the heat of the fire as I let the boiling water cool. I speeded that up by pouring the water from one pot to the other, letting the air get at it.

It was still just warmer then blood temperature when I started. I pointed at her trousers. I indicated they would have to come off.

Pew-tan , she said, and took out a knife. Before I could stop her, she had reached round and cut through the waistband just over her hip, wincing with the effort. Then she started trying to peel the two sides apart to expose the wound. The blood had dried and the material was stiff and glued to her skin. She winced and looked paler.

No, I said. I’ll do it.

I felt sick when I saw the damage close up. The boar’s tusk had cut long and deep, deep enough for me to see the different colour of fat and muscle. It was worse than any cut I’d seen before, and the thought that I might have to sew it up gave me a feeling like vertigo.

First things first, I said. First things first.

I helped her roll from her side to her stomach. Because I imagined this would hurt about the same as having a bone set—which was something I’d seen Dad do for Bar—I went and found a branch a little thicker than my thumb and cut a short length from it. I gave it to her, making a dumbshow to let her know she should put it in her mouth to bite down on for the pain.

Pew-tan , she said again, rolling her eyes. But she shrugged and put it between her teeth and turned away.

The wound didn’t smell, and the blackness within it was dried blood and not anything worse. I used the lukewarm water to soften the bloody trouser material enough to free it and swabbed the revealed buttock as clean as I could on either side of the horribly gaping slash.

I put my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t turn round.

I’m sorry, I said. This will hurt.

She nodded and said nothing while I sluiced the wound with the clean water. Her whole body tensed, and I realised how strong and wiry she was under the clothes that hid it. I tried to get it done as quickly as I could. The only sound I heard was the wood of the branch crunching between her teeth.

Cleaning it just made it look worse really: fresher but also easier to see where the flesh had started dying. If it had been a gash on an arm or a leg, I might have thought of just trying to hold the wound closed with a really tight bandage, but being where it was there was no doubt it would have to be sewn up.

I realised that I had been staring at it for so long, trying to work out what to do next, that I had not seen her turn her head and stare back at me.

Anfecksee-on? she said.

Not yet, I said. And then I held up the jar of honey.

Ah, she said. Ah bon .

She nodded her head and turned away.

I cleaned the needle by boiling it. It was the needle I always carried for mending things that might rip, like bags or sails or clothes.

I almost scalded my hands washing them, and I used my shaving soap to clean them. She watched me do all of this with her head craned round as she lay on her stomach. I showed her the needle with an apologetic grimace.

Mared , she said.

Pew-tan? I said.

It was the first time I saw her smile properly. The stern face cracked and let out a little unexpected sunshine.

Wee , she said. Pew-tan .

And she picked up the stick, bit down on it and turned away.

I think it would have been easier if she had fainted, but she didn’t. Pouring the honey into the wound made her buck and flinch, but that was the first, not the worst of it. I’ve done some horrible things in my life, but sliding that curved needle in and out of living flesh and then making knot after knot in it, pulling the wound closed and leaving a thin and badly puckered gash is one of the things I still have nightmares about. I am not a good sewer at the best of times. At the end of things, it looked more like a length of barbed wire than anything else. But I got it done as fast and as neatly as I could, and when there was no more wound to cinch tight, I poured a line of honey over it and carefully laid a strip of clean bandage on top to hold it in place. Then I made a pad to put over it and was going to ask her to lift her hips so I could wind the long bandage around it to hold it in place when I realised she was asleep. Asleep or passed out. She was breathing though, so I left her undisturbed and just watched in case she woke and tried to roll over on the wound.

Jip came and sat with me, and for a long time that was all I needed in the world. He licked my hand and I scratched him, and then I buried my nose in the familiar roughness of his neck fur and he let me hold him and tell him how much I had missed him and how bad I had felt when I was sure he was dead and it had all been my fault. And then we just stayed leaning against each other and watched the sky and the sleeping woman. The horses cropped away. It got darker. When she woke, she did try to roll but I stopped her. Then she drank some water and went back to sleep.

Before it got full dark, I hung the pig upside down and cut its neck so that if the blood had not already settled it might run out during the night. Then I collected the horses and tied them to a tree each. And then I went to sleep too. I didn’t know if what I had done would work or if she would take an infection and die. As I lay in the darkness and listened to the unfamiliar sounds of the night starting up, I wondered if it had been the right thing to do. I decided I didn’t know if she was as dangerous a person as Brand. Then I thought some more and decided she was probably as dangerous, but that she had saved me and found Jip and that, all in all, I probably had done the right thing. And then I slept.