The Smoke

The Smoke

She sat down, glanced over his office, lit up a cigarette, taken out from a gold cigarette case. She inhaled the smoke, puffed it out. It curled in the air, creating some interesting shapes, which masked the woman’s face, for there was no air-conditioning in the cabinet, nor any air-movements to drag the smoke away. Except her breathing. This though was inviting even more smoke.
He had more stubborn and, because of this, heavy stare than she. He was pursuing the paths which the lines of her body would offer. From her bare arms, shoulders, to her breasts, covered with a blue material. Her dress was light, airy, and this gave her a distinguishing feature of a Hellenistic character, as a queen, who, solemnly sitting on the stolen throne, would watch the battle, without blinking.
They watched each other.
Her cigarette was drifting towards an end.
He wondered what she would do after it was over.
Their stares occasionally met. As it happened, she would puff the smoke stronger, so it reached his head which was resting on his fist. On such occasions he would simply stare more impudently at her body. He was seeing through the blue material. Her breasts. Her abdomen. Her thighs. His gaze was typically professional, without any private thoughts.
‘Women come here if they have problems’ he said, taking a golden pen in his hand. He played with it.
‘I never said I didn’t have any problems’ she spoke, and her voice dragged him into the midst of the smoke and her presence.
‘You never said anything’. Her cigarette was over. She laid it in an ashtray. Then she crossed her legs and spoke again.
‘You like my breast?’ and before he could reply she continued ‘I have cancer. Cancer of the left breast’.
He showed no signs of a surprise or amazement.
‘That’s why women come here’ he smiled, tiredly.
‘That’s why I came here’.
‘Good. You want me to perform an operation? You want me to operate your breast?’
‘I need more time, got it? I need more time and to preserve my breast’.
‘I am sorry’ for the first time he looked into her eyes directly. He put down the pen. ‘Maybe it’s not very professional of me but you won’t live for a long. I am not a cancer specialist. I am a plastic surgeon. I am capable of cutting the bloody terminology from my language’.
‘I don’t care. I have to live. I am marring a certain man in a few weeks. He must not know that I am ill!’ she took his hand in excitement. A table was between them. Her arm outstretched to touch his ‘He will never marry me, if I am an invalid!’
A grin from his side. She took her hand back.
‘My assistants will take all of the necessary analyses’ he stood up to lay his hands on some forms for her. She took out a folder of files from her small bag. All of the necessary analysis. ‘In two days’ his voice was firm.
‘Tomorrow’ hers was even firmer.
He grinned. A smile lactating evil indifference.
She stood up. Disappeared in the darkness of the corridor. The smoke hadn’t dissolved yet. It still covered the oak furniture in the cabinet. And himself.

The day is sunny. The theatre for operations looks like real. He is washing his hands. His white gown is a bit too long for him. His assistants waiting in the other room. She is undressing in the corner, behind the curtain. Her uncanny black silhouette marks his mood. He turns away to check the instruments. He hears her slowly reclining herself upon the table.
 As he turns around, he sees her naked body. The jalousie automatically closing on the windows. Her body will be sinking into the shadow before the lamp will be put on. She watches him.
‘I recognized you yesterday. Because of your stare. Five years ago you had it just the same. The all penetrating stare’
‘Your name and your surname on the patients’ list... It wasn’t hard for me to guess. These two words are cut in my mind’ he tries to smile, but without any success.
‘I didn’t want to. Honestly. Forgive me, please’ an imploring intonation rebounded from the walls.
‘I loved you’ the jalousie was closed.
‘I didn’t know. I… I was stupid. I was…’ it is a pity that he can’t see her tears in the darkness.
‘I was nothing after you had…’ he hesitates ‘treated me. Harshly’.
A silence. She weeps. Three nurses come into the room, put on a small lamp that gives no light. It lightens only the table with metallic instruments. Blades. Knives.
‘I know…’ she controlled her voice ‘I know’.
A nurse hands him a syringe with a substance that will erase all her feelings. Even these which are emerging from her conscience now.
He comes nearer, takes her left hand. He feels the shivering of her body, her abdomen muscles strained in because of her repressed sobs. He is watching her body with no obstacle which would hide it.
‘I have never been so close to you’ he utters. She has no powers left to vile her tears.
She can hear his deep breathing. She doesn’t even feel the needle penetrating her vein.


May 2007
Prague