‘Let us go up to the dormitory. I have something important to discuss with you,’ Marina summoned me one night. Feeling sluggish and low, I had found myself longing to leave Moscow. Unexpected details of Cornish life kept coming to mind – muddy aconites in January, bare trees against the skyline, low cloud lit up beneath by wintery afternoon sun. I let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘Oh, Marina, I’m worn out. Couldn’t we talk here?’ Marina raised her eyebrows. ‘I think you’d appreciate privacy for what I’ve got to say.’ ‘I’ve got no secrets. Talk away.’ ‘Very well, I will.’ She looked at me. ‘As your doctor, I’d like to give you a physical examination.’ ‘Really?’ I was taken by surprise, although in my heart a little worm of doubt, long suppressed, suddenly wriggled to the surface. ‘Why’s that?’ ‘You have been nauseous for, I should say, several months. We’ve all heard you say how you have lost your appetite for various foods.
What do You think about The Vanishing Futurist (2016)?
