“Do you need anything?” Emily asked. “Water, something to wash your hands?”
“No,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and entwined his fingers, and Jack saw for the first time how large and fat his hands were, with fingers like swollen sausages. After cracking his knuckles he glanced at Rosemary, then the others.
“Keep away,” Rosemary said. “You can watch, but don't interrupt him while he's operating. It's dangerous.”
“Operating?” Sparky stood from the sofa, relinquishing his hold on Jenna's hand with some reluctance. “He doesn't have any knives, or anything.”
Ruben smiled, held up his hands and waggled his fingers. Then he went to work.
Jack could not help watching, fascinated as well as disgusted. Emily stood beside him filming the whole thing, and once again he marvelled at her toughness.
Ruben's obesity and fat fingers belied his grace and deftness of touch. He felt around the wound first, using a soft yellow cloth from his pocket to wipe away the blood so that he could see the hole more clearly. His fingers trailed across the skin, barely touching, and Jack saw Jenna's stomach twitch as though tickled. Then he pressed slightly harder, flexing the skin and pushing down around the wound. Rosemary had not told any of them exactly what Ruben's gift was, and Jack was unsure of what to expect.
Ruben pushed his fingers into Jenna's stomach.
Jack gasped and stepped forward, but Rosemary reached out and grabbed his arm, shaking her head. She mouthed the word No, and held on until Jack nodded and stepped away again.
Initially it looked as though Ruben's fingers were pressed into the wound, following the route of the bullet through Jenna's guts and towards her spine. But then Jack realised that the big man's fingers had punctured the skin around the wound, though no fresh blood flowed, and Jenna seemed to be in no more discomfort than before. The bullet hole pouted and seeped a fresh flow of blood and clear fluid, and the purplish curve of her intestine once again showed at the rip.
Ruben was concentrating so hard that sweat speckled his balding head, soaked the back of his shirt and dripped from his nose and chin. When it mixed with Jenna's blood he seemed unconcerned, and Jack started to worry about infection, the germs on his hands, and—
He's stuck his bloody hands into her gut!
He glanced across at Sparky and saw that the boy was astounded.
Ruben lifted himself up slightly, hunching over Jenna before pushing deeper. Both of his hands were in her stomach now, her light skin stretched tight against Ruben's darker skin, and Jack could barely see the join. The man's hands worked inside her, tendons flexed on his wrists, and the muscles in his forearms performed their own complex, delicate dance as he probed deeper, and wider.
Jenna groaned, still unconscious, and tried to press her hands back against her wound.
“Hold her hands, please,” Ruben said. Sparky and Emily went to the sofa and did as he asked, stroking Jenna's skin and unable to look away. Emily still bore the camera in her other hand, training it on Ruben, the wound, Jenna's face, and then turning slightly to record Jack's reaction as well.
“There it is,” the man said, his voice barely a whisper. “Now then…” He leaned closer, more sweat dripping from his face, and Jack saw that his eyes were closed. He was operating by touch alone.
Jenna groaned and said something, too distorted by pain for Jack to make sense of.
“It's okay, girl,” Ruben said softly. “Almost done, almost out, and then the lady Rosemary will do her work.”
“Have you got it yet?” Sparky said, and Rosemary threw a stern look his way.