FOUR
MY FINGERTIPS FIND A MONSTROUS and misshapen landscape where my face once was but you never seem shocked, Jude, not even when I feel it contort even more with the enormous effort of trying to speak. It’s just one hopeless attempt after another. It seems that you are capable of holding secrets and tolerating uncertainties because here you are again. How many days have passed? There is no way to measure time in this hospital bed.
The day of the stroke I was already in the car and backing out of the garage when you arrived. I told you we were going to Martin’s for chicks. The sweetish stink of the offal-saturated hunting bag I’d put in the trunk made you wince and roll the window down. The gamy smell of it no longer repelled me. You’ll get used to it too. You’ve grown accustomed to thi
