I closed my eyes and waited. It was as if I were on the operating table again.
My neck muscle knotted, and without warning it twitched.
The blade nicked me just above the Adam's apple. "Hey!" he shouted. "Jesus... take it easy.
You moved. Hey, I'm awful sorry." He dashed to wet a towel at the sink.
In the mirror I watched the bright red bubble and the thin line dripping down my throat.
Excited and apologizing, he got to it before it reached the neckcloth.
Watching him move, adroit for such a short, heavy man, I felt guilty at the deception.
I wanted to tell him who I was and have him put his arm around my shoulder, so we could talk about the old days.
But I waited while he dabbed at the cut with styptic powder.
He finished shaving me silently, and then brought the sun-tan lamp over to the chair
and put cool white pads of cotton soaked in witch hazel over my eyes.
There, in the bright red inner darkness I saw what happened the night he took me away from the house for the last time....
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