Out in the garden, Gravor was cradling a hoe in the crook of his arm and kicking the blade through the dirt with the side of his foot, but when he saw Vera Lilly coming down the lane, he decided to pretend to weed behind the hedge instead.
"Gravor," he heard her call from one house down. He crouched, motionless except for the phantom weeding of his bandaged hands. Vera's white-stockinged feet in polished white leather shoes appeared before him under the hedge.
"Hello, Gravor!" Vera's upside-down face appeared under the hedge as well. Her helical blonde tresses bounced like springs, and her cheeks flushed.
Gravor leapt to his feet and hid his hands behind his back. "Oh, good morning! Miss Vera!"
Though they had grown up together, even as a little boy he was taught to call her 'miss.' He always paused before saying it, though, as if daring himself to address her as an intimate.
Vera rose as well and put a gloved hand on the top of the hedge. "Good afternoon is more like it! We missed you at service this morning, so I wanted to come by and see if you are alright."
"Oh, yes, I must have forgotten what day it is. I'm fine, though. Everything's fine -- just a lot of work to do around the house."
"You must be very busy. No one has seen you come out of your house all week."
"Yes, very busy."
Vera smiled. "Then maybe I can help. I could cook and clean for you -- until you finish your work, I mean."
Never had Gravor hated anyone so much as he hated Blueberry that moment. "No, I couldn't. It's really not so much work. I should finish very soon. That really is so kind of you, though." Vera's eyes were swallowing him. Drawn to her, he leaned against the hedge. As soon as he approached, she leaped back and covered her mouth.
"What? What is it?" he pleaded, staggering backward himself.
"Your hands!" she gasped. "What happened?"
He had forgotten them. "Oh, nothing. It's not as bad as it looks." He hid them behind his back again, but when Vera reached over the hedge to him, he consented to submit them for her inspection. The warmth that diffused through her soft gloves against his wrists paradoxically sent waves of chills up and down his arms. Vera turned his bandaged lumps over and back, over and back, but said nothing. Gravor had to admit that his hands couldn't be much worse than they looked. He had insisted on dressing them on his own -- that is, without the use of hands -- and had made up for a lack of finesse with more bandage. Worse, he had not been able to stomach cleaning them properly, and he dreaded what the wounds might look like now. After five days, the bandages were bloodied, greyed with dirt and stained with a yellowish weeping.
"Please, please come with me right now to have this looked at," Vera's voice trembled. She couldn't take her eyes off Gravor's hands. He could do little but assent.
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