He had given each of them a signed photograph, the one from the ad for Gauloises cigarettes, so they would give Roy special care.He went into room 304 and immediately realized that his brother wasn’t well. His pale, washed-out face frightened him.“What’s wrong with you? What happened?”“I feel…very out of sorts.”He doubled over with nausea, barely managing to lift his head out of the bed to vomit. There was blood. Ezequiel dropped the envelope, which flew under the orthopedic bed, and threw himself onto his brother.“Roy! What’s happening? What is this?” He pressed the buzzer and shouted: “Infirmière! Infirmière!”Al-Saud ran the last stretch to 304 when he heard Ezequiel’s call. Blahetter, leaning out of the bed, was vomiting a bright-red, almost burgundy-colored liquid. A violent convulsion forced him back onto the pillow, and with the vomit still smeared around his mouth, he started to tremble, shaking the system of pulleys holding his leg up.“Hold the broken leg!”
