Roger found it about three weeks ago under his mothers sink. It was wrapped up tight in a damp sock that had already begun to smell rather horribly; it wouldn’t be long before mould would cover it further, speckling the cotton surface with green and white patches of nasty looking fur.
A finger of all things. Wrapped up in a sock and wedged in tight behind the pipes that led up into his mothers leaky old sink. Roger told me that he wondered just how long it had been there for and whether or not it could have come from somebody who he knew. He also wondered who in Gods name could have put it there and why on earth they didn’t dispose of it in a more logical way. Why didn’t they just throw it away or bury it? Why place it in a sock and place it in such a specific place in such a methodical way? These were the principle concerns that he told me about in the pub on the Monday night; two days after he originally found it.
“I’m telling you Nathan I’m definitely holding onto it for a bit. At least until I’ve had chance to have a good think about it anyway – I really think that it’s been placed there for me to find for a reason.”
“What reason? Maybe it was put there for your mother. Maybe it was your mother who put it there! What if someone’s out to get her or something Roger? This could be really fucking serious. You should phone the police.”
“Oh don’t be so bloody melodramatic. Why on earth would it have anything to do with my mother? She’s a sixty seven year old woman for god’s sake, what does she know about severed limbs and appendages? Think about it. Besides, it’s a female finger, it was bound to be left there for me to find - it makes sense.”
“Sense? Just because it belonged to a woman doesn’t mean that it was left for you. What do you think it was some kind of romantic gesture or something? “Please accept this token of my affection darling. Do me a favour.”
My friend Roger was never one who had the capacity for lateral logical thought. He was one of those people so absolutely sure of their own correctness that any alternate outcome sends them into a hail of confusion and denial. The older we got, the more certain Roger became of his own authority on every topic known to man, he could rarely be talked into compromise. I doubt he even knew the meaning of the word. Perhaps that was why he was single, unemployed and overweight.
Anyway I spent the rest of my evening with him voicing my disbelief at the situation and marvelling at the way that Roger was dealing with the entire turn of events. Rather than being cowed or in any way intimidated by his macabre discovery, it appeared that he was rather enjoying the whole thing. In his mind he was getting attention from someone and they thought enough (or little enough) of him to leave a severed body part for him to find. Roger was completely intrigued. He wanted to know the reason why he had been chosen, how it had been done and for what deliciously twisted purpose. He was planning on doing some kind of detective work, or more likely, he was planning on doing very little other than waiting to see if anything was going to happen next. I was totally against the idea and I told him so. Unsurprisingly my own personal doubts fell upon deaf ears and ruddy drink coloured cheeks.
“Will you just relax Nathan; I want to wait a few days to see if anything else turns up. If nothing else strange happens then I suppose I’ll go to the police. Is that ok with you?”
He accentuated the ok to make it clear that I had absolutely no influence on the situation whatsoever.
“You’d better. That’s somebody’s finger you know. That used to be attached to a living, breathing human being.”
“Well its not anymore is it? Now it’s attached to the handkerchief in my pocket. Look lets talk about something else. It’s your round by the way.”
At least he knew where his priorities lay.
The next day Roger phoned me at work sounding breathless and excited; he was panting like some kind of dog. I could almost hear the beads of sweat dribbling down his fat face and soaking into his beard that crunched against the mouthpiece of the telephone.
“Nathan you’re not going to believe this. Its incredible. Its- ”
“What is it? You do know I’m at work don’t you Roger? I’m not supposed to take personal calls- ”
“This is important Nathan! It’s the finger. I’m telling you man…it’s…its not just a finger anymore.”
“What do you bloody well mean it’s not just a finger? Of course it is! I don’t have time for this at the moment you know, I’ve told you to just give the damn thing to the police. You never think do you, you can’t just call me up at work whenever you feel like it with some stupid -”
“Its not just a finger anymore, it’s a hand alright! It’s grown into a fucking hand!” He shouted down the phone desperately before continuing; babbling and laughing excitedly all at the same time.
“Unbelievable! It literally grew overnight Nathan. I knew there was something about this! It was a finger yesterday and now it’s a hand. Can you believe that?”
“Well no actually…”
“My house. After work. Come round and see for yourself if you don’t believe me. It’ll blow you away.”
He hung up. Massaging my temples irritably I remember how I couldn’t get on with my work for the rest of that day. I kept thinking about it. No longer a finger but a hand. It had grown overnight into a whole woman’s hand. If it was true my friend had something remarkable at home with him. This was simply no time for work.
So I arrived at Roger’s house out of breath and dripping wet from the relentless rain. I chained my bike up around the back of his garage in its usual place like I always did and strode purposely in through the back door into his kitchen. He was sat with his back to me at his dining table peering into a shoebox with a magnifying glass, he was whistling happily to himself and seemed not to notice me come in. I remember noticing how he had an absolutely huge sweat patch spread right across his back like a continent on a globe or a map. It looked a bit like Africa does.
I sat opposite him and looked into his eyes; they were dilated, sparkling and alive. He held the magnifying glass in one hand and a melting ice cream in the other. He pointed down into the box with his ice cream before taking a huge dirty lick.
“Look.”
There nestled amidst a mountain of tissue paper was a fully formed female hand. It was perfectly still and serene yet I felt as if it should be breathing heavily. It had a strange aura about it that although invisible was almost tangible; it felt as if the air around it was thick with something that I had no name for. It was so strange seeing it there, I’d seen that finger only yesterday yet here it was right before my vary eyes and attached to a real hand. It really had grown overnight. It was incredible.
There was blood and bone visible at its wrist but there was nothing jagged and gory about it. It looked perfectly cauterised; almost flat and smooth like a stick of rock. I was reminded most though, of a tree stump; ringed and ancient.
It was a youthful hand, slender and pale in the white light of Rogers kitchen and was quite lovely to look at, but I found myself inherently repelled by it. Its the only thing I have ever seen that I have found both captivatingly beautiful and despicably repugnant at the same time.
Even now I can picture it there in my mind all still like a spider that’s readying itself to strike. A coiled tensed spring. A measured living force of nature. A hand that was no longer a finger.
“Cool Nathan.”
Roger had seen me staring at it. He had seen the look in my eyes. I find that thought unsettling even now.
“What are you going to do? Does your mum know about this?”
“No way. She’s out cold in the front room. I slipped a couple of valium in with her tea.”
“Jesus. Was that really necessary?”
“She’d freak out if she knew man. Besides its nothing she’s not used to..”
“You do this often?”
“Relax alright. She is sixty you know, she can take it. Besides I only do it when I need some fucking peace and quiet - special occasions you know.”
He looked at me in such a matter of fact way that I remember feeling for a moment that what he had done was actually ok and that I was being the uptight one. Roger was a strange one alright but we’d been friends for a while. You just learn to tolerate the inconsistencies of friends don’t you?
We spent the rest of that evening talking about what to do with the hand. Eventually Roger bulldozed me into agreement that we should wait another night, just to see if it did anything else. After that we could maybe think about calling some kind of local authority, or better yet a newspaper. It was my idea to take photographs and to think about filming its progress. I was pretty impressed with myself I have to say. Later on when I rose to leave, Roger told me to come back the next day with some clothes.
“Just in case she needs covering up.”
“What exactly are you expecting out of this?”
“I just don’t want her to get cold.”
“It is a hand Roger.”
“At the moment Nathan, it’s a hand at the moment.”
He had a look in his eye that I didn’t like.
Wednesday was another lost day at work. Unable to concentrate on cold calling people, I didn’t even manage to sell one damned package. I was distracted. I kept on thinking about the wrist of that hand and how it looked so smooth and how its flesh looked so strange. My mind returned to it over and over again, to the way that the rings of its bone, muscle and tissue were shaped like the rings of age rippling through the core of a tree trunk. I drank several coffees throughout the day as I resisted the urge to call Roger. My fingers on my own hand spent their time drumming on my desk and dancing across my keyboard impatiently. The clock on my wall was as slow as anything I can think of.
Finally it was time.
Arriving at Rogers house I forgot to lock my bike up outside. The lights were all off inside the house and I remember the curtains twitching impatiently as the door swung open to meet me, Roger pulling me inside.
My heart beat quickly as he showed me up to his bedroom, leading me past his mother asleep face down on the couch, a pot of tea lying beside her on its side open mouthed and inviting.
Roger locked the door behind us once we were inside his room.
“Last night I stuck it under the tanning light on my mums’ sun bed.”
He was anxious and unshaven.
“Nathan it grew again.”
“Let me see.”
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