Small Joys Final Joys

Description

She gathered a pile of papers in front of her, facing eight years of her life, years spent chasing after a fertilized egg. She closed her eyes, acutely aware of how the sweetest years of her youth had turned into a frantic, fruitless, and even disastrous search. She collected all the reports in a bag, tied it shut, and threw it in the trash. After getting rid of it, she felt light, detached from everything, outside of everything, even the weight of her body was freed. Was she entering the realm of sleep? Because she startled awake, opening her eyes in terror, her heart pounding. Her mind conjured a picture that seemed frightening, even though it was composed of all the loving and familiar faces. Her image was of her returning from her honeymoon, their eyes fixed upon her—all of them: her family, his family, the neighbors, the acquaintances, the grocer, the baker, the cleaner. Eyes asking: What are you hiding from us? And she replies with a sweet smile: I don’t understand, what am I hiding from you? And they point their fingers They pointed at her stomach and asked, “What are you hiding inside?” She replied shyly, “But I’ve only been married for a month.” A nightmare, a true nightmare. She got up to drink water, her breath coming in gasps. She thought that if she were to write to the American doctor about her environmental and psychological circumstances, she would start with this nightmare, specifically with the question, “What are you hiding inside?”