More recently, if I were asked what Hell looks like, I would describe a place very similar to a hospital, dull wards with light-colored walls and a persistent, ingrained smell of medicines. A place with wide windows stripped of curtains and badly painted wooden frames scratched with sharp nails. A place that from childhood caused a quiet panic and a keen desire to be as far away from it as possible, not to feel this terrible stench of medicines and the musty, but almost palpable presence of death itself, circling under the whitewashed ceilings in search of its next victim. This is how I saw hospitals then, for many years,...