The bloody tops removed, Klempner's naked chest is smeared in blood, red by the wound, black at the edges.
He looks down at himself. “It looks worse than it is,” he comments. “My clothes... Sorry... Your clothes... soaked up the blood and spread it across.
Mitch gives him a look calculated to swat flies then, starting at the outer edge, working in, she wipes and cleans, squeezing the cloth into the bowl which swirls red.
After only a minute or two, silently, Michael fills another bowl with fresh water and replaces the first.
The worst of the blood cleaned, the wound can be seen as a clean slit, starting shallow, but slicing deeper. Mitch slaps a pad of clean cotton over the top, pressing it in place with her hand. “It needs stitches.”
Klempner removes her hand, replacing it with his o
