PARTISAN REVIEW
1960
<429
ing.
If
she sUlTenders something
will
happen to her, she thinks.... ''They
do
things
to the brain," she says. "They
operate on it. First they
stick
a needle
in you and press your knees down on
the table and you fall asleep, then they
do anything they want . . . they scoop
out your insides . . . they pick around
in your brain. I know." Sudden silence.
"Ma, you're looking much better ..."
I tell her. Gravity. Silence,
Etema1n~.
The lounge is formica and plastic, a
pleasant beige color, the other women
are shapeless and contented, sleeping
and smiling, probably all mothers. Here
we sit, mother and daughter. We have
come to rest. I fight the urge to lie
down at my mother's feet and press
my body against the floor, the linoleum
floor, to make everything outside me
stop moving. I am sweating inside.
Globs of sweat form in my stomach.
The second hospital. The third hos.–
pital. She stuffs herself and gets fat–
her stomach swells. Her stomach then
shrinks.
Now I am sixteen years old and
the house is sold. My father leaves for
California. I sleep: I dream of the
blood-splattered hallway, the door, the
woman inside bleeding. In my sleep I
follow the trail of blood-stains.
1969
In my sleep I follow the trail
of
blood-stains. It leads to my future! I
