An unwanted pregnancy:
The first to pursue higher education in a family of workers and petty tradesmen, I had escaped the factory and the trading post. But neither the baccalaureate nor the literature license had succeeded in diverting the fatality of the transmission of poverty, for a pregnant girl was as condemned and symbolic of this misery as an alcoholic. I was caught by the ass, and what was pushing me was, in a way, social failure…
An illegal abortion:
I saw a pan of boiling water on the gas stove where the instruments must have been. She took me into the bedroom. She seemed in a hurry to get started. She extended the bed with a table covered with a white towel. I took off my tights and panties; I kept my black skirt because it was wide…
Several days later:
O.’s door was ajar, with a light on. I called her and said softly, “that’s it.” We were both in my room. I sat on the bed with the fetus between my legs. We didn’t know what to do. I told O. that the cord must be cut. She took the scissors, we didn’t know where to cut, but she did. We looked at the tiny body with a big head; under the transparent eyelids, the eyes were two blue spots. It looked like an Indian doll. We regarded its sex. We seemed to see the beginning of a penis. So, I was able to make this. O. sat down on the stool; she was crying. We cried silently.