III.

Well. At least Victoria had omitted the expletive. She was watching him with her head tilted to one side. Her expression could have been wifely concern or clinical detachment--Victor couldn't quite tell.

"All right, I give up," Victor said, rubbing his forehead. "What is the matter with my head? You're the third person to bring it up, and I'm beginning to get a little..." Unable to describe his feelings, he didn't bother to finish. Again, Victor reached up with his right hand, but Victoria stopped him.

"No, dear," she said. Pointing, she added, "Check the left side of your head."

Victor obliged. He noticed that Victoria was wincing a little. What's the matter? he wondered as he felt past the tuft of white hair over his ear. What could possibly be so wrong with...

"Argh!" Victor cried as he finally touched his hand to the left side of his head. The startled cry was a bit louder than he meant it to be, judging by the way Victoria jumped. In disbelief, Victor gingerly patted his head. Or rather, the place where his head used to be.

"Part of my head is gone!" he said to Victoria, gaping. Victoria pressed her lips together and clasped her hands.

"It's not...Well, it's not gone, exactly," Victoria said reassuringly. Despite her tone, she was grimacing a little. Victor was in a state of semi-shock. How did I not notice this? he asked himself. Further, how did this happen to me? He kept running his hand over the damaged part of his head. There wasn't any hair, but then, there hadn't been for almost twenty years. His ear was still there, but on closer inspection Victor realized that it didn't feel quite right. It was sort of...all over the place. He didn't remember his earlobe ever being so close to his jawbone. Nor had it ever been fused to his skin. After some further prodding along his face (being careful not to dislodge his problem eye), Victor finally realized what that odd texture was that he had noticed earlier. His face felt like wax. And was that...was that some kind of metal wire inside his cheek? Victor couldn't help shuddering slightly as Victoria looked on sympathetically. The right side of his head was all right, but the left...Judging by touch alone, he was a mess. Victor could only guess what he looked like. Maybe I don't want to know, he thought, gingerly touching the edge of what felt like a gaping hole right above his left temple.

"I...I am so terribly sorry, Victor," Victoria said, gently pulling his hand away from his head. "Best not to touch it too much--you might make it worse." Victor stared at her.

"Victoria, I haven't got a rash, I'm missing half of my head!"

"Please calm down, Victor. It's not..."

"Not that bad?" Victor finished for her. Victoria gave a helpless sort of shrug. "How can it not be that bad? My cheek is wax, and there's something metal running along my jaw! And I think..." he paused for a moment, and touched his head again. "I think I can feel part of my brain!" Now Victor knew how sideshow attractions must have felt. How...grotesque! Victoria opened her mouth to say something, but Victor knew what was coming. He held up a hand and said,

"And please don't tell me I'm going to give myself a stroke. It's a little late for that." From the way Victoria rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, Victor knew that he'd correctly interpreted what she'd been about to say. It wasn't that hard. Ever since he'd passed the sixty-years-old mark, Victoria had warned him about giving himself a stroke whenever he so much as got mildly irritated. Well, he felt mildly irritated now. At the very least.

There was a silence as Victor tried again to think of what had possibly happened to him. He couldn't remember a thing. The memory loss actually bothered him more than having his brain partially exposed, he was surprised to realize. Although, there could be a causal relationship there...

Finally Victoria leaned forward and folded her hands on the tabletop. Then she asked gently, "Are you finished now?" Victor almost laughed through his panic and confusion. Victoria sounded just the way she had when their daughters had thrown temper tantrums as toddlers. Instead of laughing, Victor merely dropped his hands into his lap and nodded.

"How terrible is it?" he asked, watching Victoria's face for signs of disgust. Much to his relief, she didn't look disgusted at all. Just concerned, and maybe a little pitying.

"As I said, it's not too awful," Victoria replied. She tilted her head again and regarded him as though she were looking at a particularly interesting painting. "It looks as though the mortician--I'm supposing that's who it was--tried to, er...tried to...sculpt your face back into shape. I think that's why the left side of your face is mostly wax and wires. It also looks like someone made an effort at--this is going to sound quite disgusting--pulling the skin over the hole in your skull. " she finished. Victor's eyes widened, the left one trembling ominously in its socket. He realized that he'd been leaning in as Victoria spoke, his mouth hanging open slightly. He thought about what she'd just said, and then asked,

"So...there's a big hole in my head?" Victor shook his head a little, realizing how stupid that question sounded. "I mean, what does it...look like, exactly?" As soon as he'd asked, he wondered if he really wanted to know.

"I'm not really sure how to describe it," Victoria replied. She reached over and gently touched the left side of his face. "You're not exactly missing any...pieces, as it were--I'd say that it looks caved in."

"Caved in?"

"Well, yes. As though something crushed the entire left side of your head, including your face." Victoria put a hand to her mouth and shook her head. "Victor, darling, what in the world happened to you?"

"I honestly can't recall, but I don't think I died of natural causes," Victor replied, attempting to be flip. It didn't work. He still felt like a carnival freak. Trying to relieve tension meant that he didn't have to worry about not being able to remember anything about his death. To his surprise, Victoria laughed quietly.

"Well, that much is obvious, dear," she replied, taking his hand again. Victoria grew more serious as she added, "I'm sorry that you didn't get to die quietly in your bed. Was it terrible, whatever happened? Did it hurt much?" She did sound very sorry. How Victor'd missed Victoria worrying about him. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, just as he had so often when they were alive. That's when he noticed that Victoria was missing the middle finger of her right hand. Victor stared down at it as he turned her hand back and forth, momentarily distracted from his own bodily troubles. Victoria realized what he was looking at and tried to pull her hand away, but Victor held on.

"Victoria, what happened to your finger?" he asked, looking up at her. Victoria glanced away, looking a bit embarrassed. Victor couldn't imagine why. "Victoria?" he asked again, concerned.

Finally Victoria met his eyes. "I broke it playing pinball," she said in a tone that suggested she was daring him to laugh at her. Victor, even though he was sympathetic, had to try very hard to keep from doing so. He blinked, and trying to keep the laugh out of his voice, said,

"You broke it--"

"Playing pinball, yes," Victoria interrupted. She looked down at her hand again. "I've gotten surprisingly brittle. A few months ago I was playing a particularly enthusiastic game, and before I knew it, my finger had snapped off. I never found it, either."

Victor patted her hand reassuringly and smiled. "Don't worry about it. It gives your hand...erm, personality." Victoria cocked an eyebrow at him, and then returned his smile.

"Enough about me, though," she said, taking his hand between hers. "How did you die? Do you remember anything at all?"

Victor knitted his eyebrows together and looked down at the table, trying to replay his last memories. He rubbed the right side of his face and started to think aloud, Victoria listening intently.

"Well, I remember getting up. It was raining outside. I was going to Victor's house--you remember Victor, Anne's son?"

"Yes, of course I do. Go on, Victor."

"Yes. Well, I was going to their house for Alice's birthday party, and..."

"Alice!" Victoria interrupted, sounding delighted. Victor wasn't surprised. Alice was their oldest great-grandchild, and so she had always been rather special to the both of them. That, and Alice was the spitting image of Victoria. It was eerie--she was Victoria, only in saddle shoes and sweater sets instead of corsets.

"How old is she now?" Victoria asked, smiling widely.

"Sixteen," Victor replied. "So I left the house, and..."

"What did you get her? Sixteen is a special birthday, you know," Victoria said, squeezing his hand. Victor smiled. He had the feeling that next to himself and the children, Victoria had missed holidays and birthdays most after she'd died. She'd always loved buying or making presents. The past two Christmases especially had been very empty without her. Still, selfish as it might have been, Victor was getting rather anxious to get on with his story before he began to forget again.

"I got her a necklace, a gold one. The man at the jewelry store said that it was a nice one," Victor said, figuring that if he just answered Victoria's question as patiently as possible, she'd be satisfied and he could continue. Sadly, sixty-two years had not been enough time for him to learn how to gauge exactly when Victoria was done speaking.

"I'm sure it was lovely. I wonder if she got it?" Victor was halfway through a shrug when Victoria asked, "How many carats was it?"

Victor rolled his eyes skyward. "Victoria, I don't remember. All I knew was..."

"Was it a locket, or just a necklace?"

"Victoria..."

"Were there any gemstones in it?"

"I...well..." Victor tried to recall what the necklace had looked like, still fearing that a remembering something else would push recollections of his death out of his mind. Still, it was probably best to answer, or they'd be talking about the necklace all day. "It wasn't a locket, exactly, but it had a little...you know, a...thing. On a chain. Whatever you call it."

"A 'thing on a chain'..." Victoria said to herself, obviously thinking. "You mean a charm?"

"Close enough," Victor replied quickly. "It was very pretty, and it had little diamonds on it. Now I don't mean to be rude, but may I please get on with my story?"

Victoria looked sheepish. "Yes, of course, I'm sorry darling. Go on." Victor just looked at her, and then pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Now I've completely forgotten what I was saying," he said, a little irritated.

"You were on your way to Alice's party, it was raining outside..." Vicoria said, trying to help prod him along. Victor stayed quiet, picking up the thread of the memory. Suddenly the events of that day came to him in a flash, like a movie going at top speed.

"I remember now!" Victor said, almost in a whisper. He and Victoria inclined their heads toward each other over the table. Victor laid his free hand over Victoria's, running a finger over her knuckles. Victoria was quiet, waiting for him to go on.

"Yes, I can remember it now," he said again. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and began to speak.