We drive silently to the hospital. Ellen is driving, I am counting the stripes on the road. The road is full of cars on warpath. At first Ellen drives to fast, then to slow. She is not using her blinkers. I keep silent.
Billboards rise up at the banks of the road.
THE FUTURE IS HERE
WHAT MAKES AN ENTREPRENEUR HAPPY?
‘money’ I answer.
‘Sorry?’
“oh, nothing.’
We park inside the concrete belly of the hospitalcity. Walk through roofed street full of people dressed in tracksuits who push wheelchairs. At a square, surrounded by the smell of frying oil and wilted flowers, are some people playing gypsymusic.
I say ‘go left here.’
She says ‘There is the elevator.’
I see her face reflecting in the window. All the colour is drawn from her lips because of the tension.
She had said ‘I can not be held responsible for my actions …’
‘If they tell me what I fear they will say, then …’
She was not finishing her sentences for weeks.
‘Please sit down,’’says the doctor. And when we sit: ‘I have not such very pleasant news for you.’ I see Ellen grow numb. She pushes her chin against her chest, looks straight at the ground. ‘in particular for you, sir.’
Her back straightens, her chin goes up. I can see it out of my corners. She briefly turns her head towards me. All of a sudden I notice that my clothes stick all cold and wet against my body due to overly sweating.
‘You are infertile. And aside we can not fix it, I am aware this must be shock, it is always been this way.’
The first thing I feel is, at least what I first notice, is relieve. There is made a huge misstep. Files are mixed up, results are filled in wrong, someone with the same name, at this exact moment, sitting at another room, now hears the results of my examination: ‘You are completely fine, sir. Your seminal fluid is in very good condition.’
‘But that is impossible,’ I reply. ‘I have a thirteen year old son!’
Mary's translation 