One Endless Hour

him for half an hour with a thin-looking liquid in an aerosol spray can. Then Dr. Afzul would wait for another half hour before he rebandaged Willie. During the interval Dr. Afzul would roam the ward, talking to the other inmates. 'How do you feel today, sssir?' he would ask me, stopping in front of my chair. I would wait for a count of five, then nod my head slowly.

At first Spider Kern accompanied Dr. Afzul as he toured the ward, but as time went on even Kern became adjusted to the little doctor's continued presence in what Kern considered to be his own private domain. Occasionally the doctor would sit down with a magazine while he was waiting. He never looked at anything except the advertisements for cars, footwear, and men's clothing and jewelry.

He came into the ward one day with two young doctors. The three of them set up a portable tent around Willie Turnbull's bed, and they all disappeared inside it. Most of the men on the ward drifted in that direction for what they sensed was to be the unveiling. 'What does it look like, Doc?' we heard Willie ask impatiently several times.

'Soon you will see for yourssself,' Dr. Afzul assured him each time.

It must have been two hours before the doctors emerged from the tent. All three were smiling. Willie Turnbull followed them. His head was no longer mummified and his arm was at his side again although still bandaged. The lumpy, purplish growth on the right side of Willie's face was gone. In its place was a shiny, reddish, taut-looking sheath of flesh that didn't look too much like skin.

'The color will fade,' Dr Afzul said calmly, correctly interpreting the doubtful expressions on the faces of his audience.

'And it will blend,' one of the young doctors confirmed.

'It will never match exactly the other ssside of your face, Willie,' Dr. Afzul said. 'But we will show you how to use cosssmetics so that few can tell the difference.'

The third doctor shook hands ceremoniously with Dr. Afzul. 'As fine a job as I've ever seen, Doctor.'

Willie didn't sound nearly as certain when he voiced his own thanks.

From the time Willie walked out of the ward until the unveiling, the process had taken about twelve weeks. In another month the lobster-red coloring had faded to a dull pink and the shininess had begun to disappear. Every third day Dr. Afzul would come onto the ward and cover the new side of Willie's face with his liquid spray, wait for an hour, then do it again.

I had watched the program with more than an academic interest. What I had just seen accomplished was what I most needed myself. I waited until Dr. Afzul sat down near me with a magazine one day while his liquid concoction 'set' on Willie's face. 'How long would it take you to fix me a new face, Doc?' I said in a normal tone but without looking at Dr. Afzul.

'That isss hard to-' he began, then turned from his magazine to look at me. I was staring straight ahead as usual. The doctor glanced about the ward. Spider Kern was at its far end, out of earshot. Dr. Afzul lowered his voice before he spoke again. 'I have not heard you ssspeak before.'

'I want to talk to you, but not here.'

He was looking at his magazine again. 'I have my share of curiosssity. I will have you brought to my office tomorrow.'

'Fine.'

Neither of us said anything more.

* * *

After Dr. Afzul left the ward that afternoon, I experienced another break in my usual monotonous routine. Colonel Sam Glencoe of the state police came to see me. He'd come three times before, and each time I'd let him see a slight improvement in my supposed catatonic condition. Another man was with him this time, not in uniform. He looked like F.B.I.

They drew up chairs and sat down, one on either side of me. The first time Glencoe showed up, Spider Kern had tried to horn in on the interview. Glencoe sent him packing with a single hard look.

I knew it was still bugging Glencoe that he couldn't get a line on Chet Arnold. It probably bugged him almost as much that after talking to Hudsonites like Jed Raymond and Hazel Andrews, he didn't hear much that was wrong with Chet Arnold. Chet had arrived in Hudson as a stranger with a tool kit and a trade. A year in a lumber camp had made me a tree surgeon when I wanted to be. That and a crack shot.

I came to Hudson to try to find out what had happened to my partner, Bunny, who had gone there with the loot from a bank job in Phoenix. While looking for him, I did a little tree work and blended with the local citizenry. As I gradually uncovered the slimy trail of Blaze Franklin and his girl friend, Lucille Grimes, I developed an affair with Hazel that was the finest man-woman relationship I'd ever had. Then the roof had fallen in.

The unexplained explosion had baffled the sheriff's department, too, but they'd given up a lot more easily. Colonel Sam Glencoe wasn't naive enough to believe that a man of Chet Arnold's locally demonstrated dimensions had sprung full-blown from the earth, though. With no fingerprints possible, and me out to lunch mentally, as Glencoe thought, the colonel was frustrated.

'How are you feeling today?' he began.

I waited for a count of three instead of five. 'Good.'

His hard blue eyes inspected me. 'What day is it?'

I waited again. 'Tuesday.'

'What month?'

'March.'

'What date?'

I shook my head negatively.

Glencoe smiled, although it wasn't much of a smile. His frosty-looking features merely rearranged themselves in a different pattern. 'If you'd known the answer to that, I'd have accused you of seeing me coming and boning up. There's plenty of days I don't know the date myself.'

It was a surprise to me that he would even attempt a smile. He certainly hadn't on his previous trips. He'd sat and fired hard-voiced questions to which I'd supplied no answers while staring straight ahead. This time Glencoe was apparently ready to try sugar instead of vinegar. It suited me fine. Up to a point, I was ready to show progress.

'You've never told us anything about yourself, Arnold,' Glencoe continued. 'Now that you're communicating better, I want to ask again about your background. Where you're from originally, what you do for a living, how you happened to be in Hudson, what triggered the events there… quite a few questions. Where would you like to begin?'

I waited, then slowly lifted a burned hand to my scarred, ridged face. 'I'd… feel… more… like… talking… if… I… didn't… know… what… I… looked… like.'

'I'm sure the hospital staff is making plans to correct it,' the state police chief said smoothly. I didn't reply, and he tried again. 'There must be some loose ends in your background that it would be advantageous to you to pick up. Why don't you let us help?'

I wasn't going to reply, but even before I could have, the FBI man-if he was an FBI man-reached out suddenly and took hold of my hand still resting against my face. He bent down to look at the fresh cigarette burns on the back of the hand, and Glencoe leaned closer to look, too. Glencoe started to look down the ward in Spider Kern's direction, then caught himself and stared up at the ceiling instead.

When the man with Glencoe let go of my hand, I dropped it into my lap. Glencoe cleared his throat and started over again. 'Where's your hometown, Arnold?'

I sat there.

'Where were you living before you came to Hudson?'

I sat there.

It went on for ten minutes. Questions with no answers. They tired of it finally and got up to leave. 'We'll be back,' Glencoe promised. The usual threat was back in his voice.

Before they left the ward, they stopped just inside the locked ward door and appeared to be arguing about something.

I didn't doubt that Glencoe would be back.

But just wait long enough, Colonel, I thought.

Wait long enough and I might not be here.