“Excuse me, Dr Carriscant, Dr Cruz sends his compliments and would like you to visit him in his theatre. It’s a matter of some urgency.” Carriscant was very surprised. He and Cruz had barely exchanged a word since the row over Delphine’s appendicitis. “In his theatre, you say?” “Yes. At once, if you please.” Carriscant crossed the courtyard towards Cruz’s consulting rooms. He followed the nurse down an ill-lit corridor towards the operating theatre. The walls here were painted with ancient yellow distemper which was flaking and peeling, and there was a curious smell in the air, a sweetish fatty cloying reek which lingered in the nose, coating the palate almost as if it were designed to be tasted rather than smelt. It was the smell of old untended food, an exudation of dirty kitchens. Carriscant recognised it at once as the smell of putrefaction. Cruz’s operating theatre was, to Carriscant’s eyes, a scene from one of the circles of hell.
What do You think about 1993 - The Blue Afternoon?
