The Refectory Of The Damned
It’s midnight. The only sound was the occasional clink of cutlery against white porcelain. I could only thank God that no soothing but anonymous music played over this scene. Silence was our salvation. We each ate immersed in this silence.
Large round tables that could seat eight filled the hall from wall to wall. But these tables were each occupied by only a single diner. Heads bowed to each dining plate in communion. Each pale face gazed forlornly into bland food.
Emotionless kitchen workers in uniforms of lifeless sage distributed dry chicken, translucent boiled cabbage and watery potatoes amongst stainless steel hoppers from which we would draw our frugal sustenance.
Occasionally, a diner might snatch a furtive but imprudent glance around the room, only to inadvertently catch the eye of another. Both would quickly stoop and return to food’s focus and hope that this moment of connection would soon pass.
The university dining hall was open all hours to cater for those resigned to the study of a PhD. The needs of the laboratory or library would force each soul to work long days and eat at strange hours. In each four-year sentence, none of these pale young faces would ever glimpse the nourishing sun. Boiled vegetables long leached of vitamins attempted to offer meagre substitute.
Souls would drift in and out of the hall all night, staying only long enough to eat before returning to their labours. No one stopped to talk. No one ever said a word. Silence.
I finish my welcome treat. Bananas in slick custard followed my main course, and offered the single pleasure in a long day of research. Once finished, no joy was to be found beyond this hall. Only lonely work.
This was the refectory of the damned.
