At the house, Father was sitting on a chair in the driveway beside the big old pine tree, his face as grey as the clouds. Mother was bent over him, wrapping his hand in a tea towel, a red stain radiating through it like spreading ink. Kurt set Miki on the gravel, and she stood there watching silently. But the congealed strands of blood on Father’s overalls made the world shimmer again. Kurt pressed her to the ground, and there she remained while the others had a discussion. Father’s face was pale and tight. Kurt was standing alongside, listening intently. They were trying to work out how to get to hospital. With his finger cut off Father couldn’t drive, and Mother had never learned, because driving was a man’s job. Kurt was too young to have his permit, but he’d driven the paddock bomb and tractor around the orchard for years. He would have to drive the car. It was a long way to Hobart, but there was no other solution.

They had all clambered into the old brown Commodore: Father and Kurt in the front, Miki and Mother in the back. On her lap, Mother carried an esky with the finger inside. Miki was still reeling from the smell of blood, so she leaned against Mother while Father sat in the passenger seat and held up his hand, covered by the towel which was dark red and saturated. Mother reached forward with another towel and rolled it over the first, saying quietly, ‘Put some pressure on it.’ Miki wondered why God couldn’t make the bleeding stop. Weren’t her parents praying hard enough? Mother’s lips were clamped in a flat line, and Miki knew she was angry—Miki felt a hot stab of guilt because she knew it was her fault. She was the one responsible for this disaster, as if she had cut off those fingers herself. But despite her shame, she felt excitement rising, because this was the first time she had ever left the farm.

In the driver’s seat Kurt started the car and clunked it into gear, taking off jerkily and bouncing down the driveway through puddles and potholes and ruts. Father groaned with every bump, every clumsy gear change. Then they were through the gate onto the gravel road, entering territory Miki had never seen before, driving past paddocks and orchards, half-hidden houses with letterboxes and driveways, gates and sheds.

They came to an intersection where Father barked instructions, and Kurt slowed the car and turned onto another road that was smooth and black with no bumps. The car went so fast Miki thought they might take off and fly. It was scary but exhilarating.