Since
he has been in hospital, Gabriel with the skill of a conjurer
steals knives and scalpels. With them, he slits the veins
in his forearm to squeeze out the stone dust that has formed
into clots, which shackle his joints at the slightest twitch
of the hand. The voices of death and the wails of dying
patients that echo eerily in the
hospital colors, especially at night, do not reach him.
