He waited for his companion to approach, searching for the right words to describe what he had just witnessed.
—Did you see his tattoo, Camilo? Is that it? —repeated the chief doctor, trying to understand what was worrying his colleague so much.
—I was watching her and noticed an opening in her habit. It seems she has a tattoo on her back. I’m not sure—he replied, visibly disturbed.
Foseca, with the serenity of someone who has been in that position for many years, crossed his arms and reflected: “Is it just your impression or perhaps it’s a tattoo?” he said, making a brief pause before concluding.
Not everyone follows the path of faith from a young age. Sometimes, one lives immersed in the world, marked by it, and only later dedicates oneself to religious life. It could be a memory from the past. Nothing strange.
Amilo took a deep breath, looked at his colleague and asked him something that perhaps he had been keeping to himself since the beginning of that tour.
And all these years here, did you ever do an autopsy or work in the morgue? Foseca, who had already been working in that morgue for more than a decade, raised his eyebrows. To be honest, I did dream about it.
I was surprised that the delegate sent the body here. You know, when an autopsy is performed it’s because there’s suspicion of a crime, and murder is a cover-up. That seemed almost absurd to me.
Surrealist or not, said Camilo, in a more serious tone. We faced a crowd and confessed that this thing intrigued me.
Foseca nodded. He seemed to understand his colleague’s unease. Then he began to prepare for the procedure.
