Gory bits of toilet tissue hung from his face. When he smiled, a thread of blood unraveled at the corner of his mouth. His whole head seemed uneven until Cole realized that one of the sideburns was gone. “I hurt my hand,” Henry said, and exhibited the dark deep wound in the palm. The wound looked both fresh and old at the same time. “I sliced it on glass fixing something for Mrs. Goss,” he said with an air of martyrdom. “I don’t think it’s healing right, do you?” “I’m not a doctor, Henry.” Overhead, birds were piping in the heat, their notes shrill like warnings. “What happened to your face?” “Shaving with my left hand — a hard thing to do, Mr. Cole. I wouldn’t advise it for everybody.” “Are you going to let me in?” “Sure.” He jerked to one side, waited, and then closed the door after Cole. “But like I told you, she’s not feeling good. If you don’t have to disturb her, it’d be better you don’t.” He smiled again. “Something you want to know, maybe I can tell you.”
