The Toe

Two young people fell deeply in love.

“How much do you love me?” the young woman asked.

“Deeply,” the young man replied.

“What if I was only a toe?”

There was only one correct answer, the young man knew — yes, of course he’d love her if she were only a toe. The young woman had asked similar questions before. Would he love her if she were a snake? Would he love her if she were a changeling? The answer was always yes, he’d love her regardless of the circumstances.

However, it was equally important to consider her question. If he answered too quickly she’d accuse him of being insincere. What kind of snake — harmless or poisonous? A good changeling or an evil changeling? It was a game they played, he knew. But also, he knew, not a game.

“Which toe?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” he said. “I’ve always been partial to your big toe.”

The young woman seemed annoyed by this statement. She abruptly changed the subject, indicating the game was over.

The next time the young man saw her she was limping.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I cut it off,” she said. “Your favorite toe.”

The young man assumed she was joking, but she took off her shoe to reveal a bloody sock. The young man was appalled. He peeled back the sock to examine the young woman’s foot. Clearly she hadn’t hired a surgeon. Not only would a professional have refused her request, but the wound looked ragged.

Her foot was still bleeding. Maybe, he thought, the toe could be reattached.

“Where did you put it?”

The young woman narrowed her eyes.

“Because you love it so much?” she accused him. “You want to marry it?”

“Because I want to help you,” he insisted.

The young woman limped away. The young man tried to follow. She wasn’t limping very quickly, on account of her injury, but she screamed at him to leave her alone.

It wasn’t his fault, the young man thought. He hadn’t cut off her toe. But what had she done with it? She’d seemed too jealous to keep it. Throwing it in the fire would’ve drawn attention — her father would’ve smelled the smoke. It seemed most likely she’d buried it. When the young man pictured her toe in the ground, with dirt shoveled on top of it, he felt a pain in his chest. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he did love the toe.

The young man went to her home.

“She doesn’t want to see you,” her father said.

He was polite but firm, standing in the doorway.

“I only want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’ll be fine in a day or two. The two of you will be fine — trust me.”

The young woman’s father gently closed the door. Upstairs a curtain shifted. The young man stepped back and looked at the second floor, but the windows were dark. Looking down again, he thought about returning the following day — and then he thought about the back yard, where the toe must be buried. If the young woman had recently filled a hole with dirt the young man could find it. He could dig up the toe before it was too late.

The young woman’s father watched him through the downstairs window. He watched the young man dig hole after hole, while, upstairs, he assumed his daughter was also watching. It wouldn’t be so hard, he thought, to go upstairs and tell her what to do. Of course she wouldn’t listen to him. A young person had to do everything wrong before she did one thing right. Pretty soon the young man would cut off his own toe.

The young woman’s father was grateful to be old.