“Turn right and then stop there — we’ll wait for my wife to come down,” Ivan said in a muffled voice to the taxi driver. It was a cold January morning, just before dawn. The day promised to be sunny, but bitterly cold. Despite the winter season, it would be a long day, Ivan thought, sitting in the silence that had settled inside the taxi the moment he got in. When conversation doesn’t take off, taxi drivers usually turn on the radio to lighten the mood, but this time, for some reason, the driver didn’t reach for the button, and the two of them traveled in silence.

The taxi stopped in front of the building entrance.

“Mom, we’re downstairs. If you’re ready, you can come down,” Ivan said briefly and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

Shortly after, an elderly woman emerged from the building into the freezing air, dragging a small wheeled suitcase behind her.

The driver reacted immediately, got out, and took the suitcase from her to place it in the trunk. Ivan, who was on the other side, reached his mother a moment later and hugged her.

Something wasn’t right. Ivan pulled back and looked at the slightly overweight elderly woman’s face.

“Why are you so yellow?” he asked stiffly.

“Oh, it just seems that way — it’s the light,” his mother replied.

“No, you really are yellow,” Ivan insisted.

“Come on, let’s go, it’s cold,” the woman cut the conversation short, leaned on Ivan, and motioned toward the taxi.

The ride passed mostly in silence, broken only by occasional comments about the previous evening’s news and the weather.

At the hospital, there were surprisingly many people waiting outside the doctor’s office. Everyone carried a small suitcase and waited to be called. Under the neon lights, Ivan’s mother’s face was glowing yellow — like a traffic light.

“Mom, you’re really very yellow. Go check yourself in the bathroom mirror,” Ivan insisted again.

“All right, all right,” the woman said and slowly shuffled toward the nearby restroom.

Ivan glanced around once more. The people were quiet; from time to time, questions from a few confused individuals could be heard, but overall it was calm. Suddenly, the doctor’s office door swung open sharply, and in a clear, loud voice, the nurse called out a name. One person with a suitcase detached himself from the crowd and approached her, handing over his documents. After a brief check, he was instructed to proceed to the chemotherapy ward on the fourth floor, where he would be admitted.

“You’re right — I really am yellow,” his mother said when she returned. “Now the doctors will tell me what’s wrong,” she added.

“Yes, let’s not think about it until they see you,” Ivan agreed.

The area in front of the doctors’ offices was packed with people standing, but one side section was completely empty.

“Mom, our turn won’t come anytime soon. Why don’t we sit and wait over there?” Ivan suggested.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” the woman agreed.

In the empty section it was calmer, and the two of them relaxed a little. They talked about various light, amusing, unimportant things. His mother told funny stories from his childhood, then they gossiped a bit about relatives, and time passed more easily. Before long, however, a tall, middle-aged man entered the otherwise empty area, looked around without greeting anyone, and sat down two chairs away. This didn’t interrupt the conversation between mother and son, which continued in the same casual tone.

Suddenly, the man’s phone rang. The ringtone was loud and strangely familiar. A cheerful, lively little melody — and rather intrusive. Since, for some reason, the man didn’t hurry to answer, Ivan had time to rummage through his memory to recall its name and performers.

“The Yellow Submarine by the Beatles,” Ivan realized. A few seconds passed before the full meaning of it reached him.

The man finally answered the phone, said something brief, and hung up.

“Why did you go quiet?” Ivan’s mother asked.

“Oh, nothing, nothing…” he muttered.

The man’s phone rang again — the same ringtone — and once more he didn’t rush to answer. It felt as though hours passed.

“Come on, relax a little!” his mother nudged him playfully.

Ivan looked at her. She was smiling gently, encouragingly. She was literally glowing…