Mr Finkelstein was facing the corner fully. Mr Newman came around now to watch the corner and stood beside him. They stood that way for a minute, waiting.

Mr Newman looked at Mr Finkelstein’s face and saw the blood coming out of one nostril. He took out his handkerchief and put it to Mr Finkelstein’s nose. Taking the handkerchief and holding it to his nose, Mr Finkelstein turned and walked like a drunkard to his store. Mr Newman followed him in silence and they went in.

Mr Finkelstein sat down on the backless wooden chair, and taking the handkerchief away from his nose for a moment, he saw how much was coming out and tilted his head back and pressed the handkerchief against the nostril again. He was still holding onto the bat with a grip so strong that it remained standing straight up from the butt resting on his thigh.

Newman went to him and took hold of the bat, but Finkelstein did not let go. Newman looked at his upturned eyes, his strained and helpless eyes, and stopped trying to take the bat. He could not break his gaze away and kept staring into Finkelstein’s eyes. It was like seeing Gertrude all new over Ardell’s desk that time, seeing her changed, human. He put his hand on the bat again, and said, ‘I won’t hurt you.’ It was not what he meant to say but Finkelstein seemed to know and let the bat slip out of his hand. Newman tried to tilt it on end beside his against the showcase, but they started to fall, and he caught them and again tried to balance them against the glass and his hand began to shake and both bats toppled and hit together like bowling pins and then stopped moving on the floor. He felt himself sitting down and the inability to control himself started a sob rolling up his chest, and he sat on the floor, almost falling back flat. He looked up at Finkelstein who was staring up at the ceiling, and heard himself sobbing softly, as he watched the blood spreading over the whole whiteness of Finkelstein’s handkerchief. The taste of vomit stung his tongue and he cried aloud against it and continued sobbing.

Finkelstein muttered, something under the handkerchief.

‘Nothing,’ Newman shook his head and rubbed his fingers in his eyes and kept shaking his head at the way his tears were flowing.

Finkelstein turned to him with effort, trying to keep his head back at the same time. After watching Newman for a minute, he asked,’ What are you doing that for?’

Newman wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked up at him.

‘Go in the house,’ he said. His stomach still had not come out entirely.’ Go on, I’ll take you in.’

Finkelstein was breathing rapidly.

‘Have you got a good heart?’ he asked.

Finkelstein raised an eyebrow and it meant so-so.

They sat that way. Slowly Newman felt his innards unwinding, moving down from his neck. He breathed and it came easier. He rolled to one side, supporting himself against the showcase, and made his way to his feet.