The doctor studied the new image, which looked like the borders of a new country on another map, or another island with a new shape.

“Perfect. Now we have something to compare with. Your voice is very deep, much deeper than most, but you probably already know that. I say this because I have some patients who come here quite unaware of how they sound. And therefore they don’t realize the difference afterward.”

Hoffmann nodded. He knew that his voice was easy to recognize. That’s why he was here—he had no other choice. His voice, his appearance, his way of moving. It added up to a personality, what could expose a person.

“The fact that your voice is so deep is a good thing. Because only the bass tones will disappear. I just need to remind you—just to make sure we’re on the same page—that the new condition we will create, shifting your voice upward, is irreversible. Once I’ve stretched out the vocal cords and increased their rigidity they’ll vibrate more quickly, and from that moment on, your voice will be changed forever. Still deep, still a man’s voice, but more like everyone else.”

The operation was usually performed under anesthesia.

Piet Hoffmann didn’t have time for that.

The doctor with no name tag, after an intense discussion, agreed to using only local anesthetic—so the patient who lay on the operating table staring into the icy light was aware of how his neck was being opened, how the cartilage in his larynx was being pulled tight. The next time they communicated—the wound just freshly sewn and taped up—Hoffmann carried out his end via paper and pen. Every time the doctor tried to strongly recommend that a patient should stay for observation after this procedure, Hoffmann replied via a notepad with the hospital’s logo in one corner that he had to go, and he wouldn’t be doing that.

When they sat down at the desk again and Piet Hoffmann spoke into the microphone, they could both see how the map had changed—the points and the lines formed a new voice with another tonal range.

“If you go home now you do so at your own risk. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“You can eat normally tonight, but don’t forget to keep your head bent a bit forward. And please try to speak as little as possible over the next few days. I’m giving you some antibiotics to prevent any infection in the wound.”

The doctor handed him a small round bottle with white tablets inside, and then they both stood up. It was over.

Back at the entrance to the hospital, they were met by heat and sound. It was morning now.

“When the thyroid cartilage and cricoid cartilage are pulled together like this, swallowing usually becomes a little more difficult. It’s nothing dangerous, just uncomfortable, but it will pass in a few weeks.”