A man sat behind me. He was in a wingback chair at the head of a long dining table under a strange sheet. There was a golden ring around his head to hold the sheet and there were spaces for his eyes and a flap for his mouth when he ate. I had a brief thought that this was made from the same thing as the bright smoke and cold fire. He was staring straight ahead. His eyes were wide open. I slipped but caught myself. The man didn’t turn his head or give any notion that he knew I was there. Not at first. I tried to talk but I couldn’t think of anything to say. Sorry? For what? I mean, I knew who
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