After my first evening at Pine Vale, I decided I'd never tell Howard Finley my name. I was sitting on a stone bench under the evergreens in the darkening twilight, inspecting the piece of wood that I'd been carving. It was going to be a dog--maybe a German shepherd. I liked to shape things, not just whittle. I thought about smoking. Not thinking of actually doing it, mind you, only remembering. Over the years, liver spots had replaced the nicotine stains on my fingers. I'd begun carving a set of chess pieces to occupy my time back whe ....