From Memoi(r)s of Death, chapter: Medicine
It was the 1st of November, 1975 when I entered the bar where the meeting was held. I ordered a drink and sat at the bar, listening to the conversation at the hidden corners in the dark.
Even though the majority of the crowd were cheering over some football game on the bar’s aging TV, I could hear every sentence of those old friends back in the corner. I was interested to know what is going to do happen to collected work.
He opened a briefcase and handed her the manuscript and a small bottle. Her hand went toward it, but gently touched his hand and lingered there for several seconds.
"This is everything I’ve collected so far,” he said in spite of the touch, “It took me decades to collect and years for my group to analyze, understand, and connect, and you already seen this bottle. I hope you know what you’re doing?"
The women in her seventies in the red dress took the documents, replying, "My dear D - you know what I’m capable of-"
He cut her off. “Exactly, Evelyn. And I know what THEY are capable of. I’m not scared anymore... I know what giving this away can bring on me."
"Will I ever see you again, Trumbo?" she asked.