for a while the fetching and carrying continued, nothing had
changed, the pot cooked all day long over the small flame, the laundry soaked in the tub. her mother scrubbed and scrubbed, as if there was some sense in that.
she left finally, after a few weeks or months, soon after, her mother
left too, went to the city and found work.
first she had gone to London.
there were men there who would pay her way, she was sure of that,
she had a look that they liked, like broken glass, she thought, a
frame filled with broken glass, it made her hard and soft at once,
shiny and dense, easy and dangerous.
she wanted to be an actress, she thought that would be best, to pretend, to pretend to be someone else, to look a certain way, this way or that, to be powerful yet hidden, someone but not herself.
she knew about men. she had seen her mother please her father,
anticipate his every wish, his every intention, her mother had done it
gracelessly, stupidly, never getting anything in return, a cold, hard
life full of senseless work, she had other ambitions, not to be her
mother, that was her ambition, never to be her mother.
she was in London, a warrior on a mission, never to be her mother. -
she watched other women, she saw how they dressed and how they
talked and how they kept silent, she watched them advance and
retreat, like dancers with measured, predetermined steps, this was
her first acting exercise, how to be this one or that one.
she watched men, what they liked, what pleased them, how they
smiled, what made them smile, how they drank, how they danced,
how their arms moved to claim a womans whole life, every breath
within her.
she learned to judge men without sentiment or desire, she learned
to see them as they would want to be seen, never herself being deceived. she learned what to do to claim the highest price, sometimes in money, sometimes in services, just as other nomads learned to live
off berries and weeds, find water holes, protect themselves from rain,
she learned to pick a meal out of a crowded room, to find a warm
bed in the faces on the street, to milk that male cow without mercy,
shame, or regret.
the first one had been a shopkeeper, nice dress in the window,
never show need, a quiet dress, modest, a dress that would let them
see whatever they wanted to see. a dress that would make no particular statement, set up no particular expectation, I am whatever you want me to be, the dress seemed to say.
she learned to empty her face of its intelligence, she learned to
empty her face of its past, poverty, grim, grueling poverty, drudgery,
murder, she learned to empty her face so that the man himself could
fill it in.
soon she had several dresses, a small, quiet room, and enough
money to take an acting class.
time passed in this way, man after man, year after year, man after
man, never for nothing, always for something, in this way she advanced herself, slowly, bit by bit.
it was true, the first time it did hurt, the shopkeeper had been
delighted at the blood, he had taken her again, biting and pum-
meling, more blood, he seemed to say, more blood.
his apartment was small and filled with things, she remembered
that it was filled with things as he entered her. her scream delighted
him. she was graceless, awkward, her body tough and tight, she
twisted and turned, her twisting and turning delighted him.
as soon as he was finished, he seemed to forget her. she felt lonely
and cold then, her body as if dead, covered with a cold white sheet,
she turned towards a window and watched the light coming up. this
was the saddest moment of her life.
she learned to use her vagina, to contract the muscles, to envelop
and squeeze the cock, she learned to whimper and to moan, she
learned to sweat and to cling, she learned to cry out. this was her second acting exercise,
she learned to kneel in front of the man and take his cock in her
mouth, she learned the postures of wantonness and abandon, she
learned the postures of fear and submission.
she learned to stay on her stomach as the man entered her ass. she
learned not to scream unless he expected it. she learned to bite his
arms or to bite her tongue, she learned never to ask for anything.
she became pregnant twice, the first time a nameless doctor had
stuffed her vagina with gauze and injected her with chemicals, he
had told her to go home and wait, not to drink, not to take pills, not
to call anyone for help.
she had waited for 2 days, thinking it would not happen, also
thinking she would die.
then the pain started, cramps in her gut, dreadful cramps, like being kicked in the belly over and over, she drank to ease the pain, the pain got worse and worse, feet kicking her in the belly, over and over,
endless, constant.
there was no one to call, would she die there, and still there was no
one to call, she tried to call the doctor, she dialed the number she
had been given, no answer, nothing, just feet kicking her in the belly,
her back almost broken from the pain.
contractions in her gut, she went to the bathroom, tried to get it
out, whatever it was, out, straining and straining, feet marching over
her and in her, Nazis, an army of Nazis, marching over her gut.
sweating, screaming, silent, standing or sitting or lying, straining
over the toilet, then it came out, in the toilet, a small, not human, not
anything, mass of membranes, like a lima bean, but all bloody, it
was something but what was it, nothing, nothing human, she looked
at it for a moment, repulsed, and then flushed the toilet.
the second time the doctor had come to her. an arranged signal, a
light bulb on and off 3 times in the window, he was very big, sloppy,
wore a hat. what would he do to her.
he spread newspaper on her bed. she lay, her back on the
newsprint, her legs hanging spread wide open over the edge of
the bed.
then, he began to scrape inside her. then, the pain, then, the searing, scaring, screeching pain, she must not yell, neighbors, police, she must not scream, no pills, no shot, scraping inside her, scraping
her inside out and outside in.
then, he took her legs, closed them, and lifted them onto the bed.
for a moment he stared at her, her face contorted in agony, her body
wanting to curl but not daring to move, would he, was he going to,
no, he turned to leave, then he was gone, what did he do to her,
would she die, and the pain, would it ever stop, and the bleeding,
would it ever stop, an army of Nazis inside her tramping tramping
goosestepping inside of her and all she could think of was, would
she die.
she had advanced herself, she had her own room now, filled with
things, quiet and dark, she had a closet full of dresses, enough for
any occasion a man would provide, she took more classes, in acting,