Michael Malone - Weebly

Abernathy's consciousness. Its furnishings were as
sparingly and as carefully arranged as the contents of a
teepee or a Kansas sod house. On hooks and shelves
and cabinets the few items (like a row of cooking
utensils or a stack of a half-dozen tape cassettes) sat
immaculate and symmetrically positioned. But there
were also rush mats on the floor and bright colored
pillows on the drab couch. There was a lavishly
whorled and sinuous white dragon on a Parsons table
beside a vase of dried pussy willows.
Next to the couch near a ball of ivory was propped
a photograph of Henry and his wife, Chin Lam, standing
stiffly side by side, he in a dark suit slightly too short,
she in a cheap American dress. His eyes suspicious of
the photographer, her fingers tight around his arm.
Abernathy looked at the closed door. "Your wife is
sleeping?"
"Yeah."
"You found her at Pru Lattice's."
"What business is it of yours? You know what I
wish? I wish people would leave my wife alone!"
"Miss Lattice mentioned that you were bleeding."