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Updated: May 21, 2025
He thought of how he had importuned her, this stoic wife of his, to drive him to the hospital, of her obdurate refusals even when she had been the perpetrator of his broken arm and spintered clavical, and how it was from guilt his silent recriminations had mutated to hate in that taxi ride to Siriaj Hospital, that hospital that in youth they had gone to be with the abused dead of the anatomical museum.
Needing to part the silence he said, "To see my wife if you must know." "I must. The one who broke your arm?" "And clavical. The same." The emphatic must enticed him and he smiled begrudgingly. "You know what I think?" "No, why would I?" "That she doesn't exist." "She doesn't exist." His smile dissipated. Then he tilted his head down and his taut countenance became empty like the void in his head.
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