Russ asked me where I stood on world politics and I shrugged, trying to steer clear of any family disputes. “I’m not neutral. I’m irrelevant. First credo for a musician: if a fight breaks out at a dance, stay up on the stage, don’t get involved or even watch. I work in a band, and the band plays on.”

“Didn’t Shakespeare say that the hottest parts of hell are reserved for those who remain neutral?” Russ said, misquoting Dante. “Say, Martha, you think you could carve me some of that brisket?”

“It’s probably easier if I just bring it around to you.” The beef was on a small carving board with a gleaming knife and fork alongside it. Martha held the twin-barbed fork and carving knife against the left side of the board and brought it around the table. “Since you’re our guest, Mr. Sherwood, why don’t you carve first? I’ll just squeeze in here on your right, if you don’t mind.”

I did mind. For as she moved alongside me, I felt a searing hot pain in my right arm. I cried out and she looked aghast.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” she blurted. I turned my head to my right and saw that the left tong of the carving fork had gone into the back of my arm. As she pulled it out of me, I felt a slight tearing sensation.

“Ray!” Gail came over to me and barked at her mother, “You stabbed him?”

“It’s nothing serious,” I assured everyone before I really knew if it was. I felt a warm wetness against my shirt.

“I was holding the fork against the carving board at an angle, and as I moved to put the brisket down, it must have gone into his arm,” Martha rushed to explain. I looked over my right shoulder as an uneven circle of blood grew larger on my shirt. She held a napkin against the hole in my arm. “Russ, apply pressure and it’ll stop the bleeding.”

Russ stepped over. “It’s just flesh there, Sherwood, nothing to worry about, I’m sure.”

“I just washed the fork before we sat down,” said Martha, “and it’s touched nothing. I’m sure there’s no chance of an infection.”

“I’ll get Mercurochrome and bandages,” said Gail. “Are you all right, Ray?”

I flexed my right fingers. There was no problem with them, just some soreness in my right triceps. I told them I didn’t think it would affect my playing.

“I’ll get you a fresh shirt, Mr. Sherwood,” said Martha. “Again, I’m so terribly sorry for my clumsiness.”

She looked straight at me, clear-eyed, with just the hint of a smile on her face before she walked out of the room at her own good speed.