He just couldn’t see small enough inside himself. What he did with the bone, with the strands of muscle and layers of skin, it was harder than ever it was to find the cracks in the quarry stone. But he could feel his way through the labyrinth of his body, find the large wounds, help them to close. Most of what went on, though, was too small and fast for him to comprehend. He could see the result, but he couldn’t see the pieces, couldn’t make out how it happened.

That’s how it was with the bad place in his bone. Just a patch of it that was weakening, rotting away. He could feel the difference between the bad place and the good healthy bone, he could find the borders of the sickness. But he couldn’t actually see what was happening. He couldn’t undo it. He was going to die.

He wasn’t alone in the room, he knew. Someone always sat at his bedside. He would open his eyes and see Mama, or Papa, or one of the girls. Sometimes even one of the brothers, even though it meant he had left his wife and his chores. It was a comfort to Alvin, but it was also a burden. He kept thinking he ought to hurry up and die so they could all get back to their regular lives.

This afternoon it was Measure sitting there. Alvin said howdy to him when he first came, but there wasn’t much to talk about. Howdy do? I’m dying, thanks, and you? Kind of hard to keep chatting. Measure talked about how he and the twins had tried to cut a grindstone. They chose a softer stone than what Alvin worked with, and still they had a devil of a time cutting. “We finally gave right up,” said Measure. “It’s just going to have to wait till you can go up the mountain and get us a stone yourself.”

Alvin didn’t answer that, and they neither one said a word since then. Alvin just lay there, sweating, feeling the rot in his bone as it slowly, steadily grew. Measure sat there, lightly holding his hand.

Measure started to whistle.

The sound of it startled Alvin. He’d been so caught up inside himself that the music seemed to come from a great distance, and he had to travel some distance to discover where it was coming from.

“Measure,” he cried; but the sound of his voice was a whisper.

The whistling stopped. “Sorry,” said Measure. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” said Alvin.