Το μισό κορμί ακάλυπτο και μάλιστα το πίσω, αυτό που σου δημιουργεί την μεγαλύτερη ανασφάλεια. Είσαι ακάλυπτη κυριολεκτικά και συναισθηματικά.
Η νομιμοποίηση των αμβλώσεων σε αφήνει παγερά αδιάφορη. Η κοινωνία σε δέχεται με τους νόμους της αλλά όχι με τη στάση της.
Περιφερόταν σε προθάλαμο χειρουργείου 2x2, ήταν και μικρότερο; Ως ένα σφάγειο. Δεν ήταν γυναίκα, άνδρας, άρρωστη, μωρό. Δεν υπήρχε κατηγορία.
Δεν ήταν άνθρωπος.
Βημάτιζε με την πλάτη προς τον τοίχο όσο μπορούσε να καλύψει τη γύμνια της. Λες και αυτή ήταν που ήθελε να κρύψει. Την ντροπή της, την ενοχή της, αυτά ήθελε να καλύψει.
Τα μάτια της βούρκωναν κάθε τόσο και τα δάκρυα ελευθερωνόταν.
Στις 4 ώρες αναμονής περνούσαν διάφορα μωρά από το δωματιάκι για να τους τρυπήσουν την φτέρνα, προφανώς όχι για να την κάνουν «αχίλλειο», αλλά για προληπτικούς λόγους. Και ξαφνικά το γονιμοποιημένο ωάριο της γινόταν το μωρό που είχε μπροστά της.
Λες και επίτηδες της άφησαν αυτές τις 4 ώρες για να προετοιμασθεί. Να αποφύγει το έγκλημα.
Έτσι αισθανόταν. Σφαγέας της ζωής, της ζωής του.
Τύψεις – τύψεις – ενοχές. Αν και πάλι αν.
Όλος ο μύθος περι αυτοδιάθεσης του κορμιού σου, του είναι σου, του μέλλοντος σου, παραμένει μύθος.
Ρίγος διατρέχει το κορμί, αφανίζοντας τα ίχνη απελευθέρωσης που νομίζει, η νομίζεις ότι έχεις.
Το δικαίωμα να ορίσεις το σώμα σου καταργείται.
Ακυρώνεται. Μαζί με αυτό και το δικαίωμα στην απόλαυση του έρωτα.
Ποιανού έρωτα;
Θυμόταν τα χάδια του, τα φιλιά του, τα χέρια του να την αγγίζουν, τον πόθο να φουντώνει. Εκείνη κι εκείνος στην αρρένα του έρωτα. Αίμα κι ιδρώτας, ζωή και θάνατος. Ο έρωτας, αυτό δεν είναι; Λείπουν οι θεατές κι οι νικητές. Σ’ αυτή την ορμή δεν θάβγαινε νικητής ο ένας από τους δύο, αλλά η ίδια ζωή αν το σμίξιμο ήταν αυτό της αναπαραγωγής.
Τα κορμιά δεν υποχωρούν όταν ο πόθος είναι παρών.
Άραγε πως θα ξεπεράσει αυτόν τον πόνο; Πως θα αγγίξει το κορμί χωρίς φόβο; Η τεχνολογία λέει, δίνει απάντηση. Τα δοκίμασε ή νόμισε ότι τα δοκίμασε.
Την ενοχλούσε που ήταν μόνη. Που ήταν αυτός;
Ο άλλος της πράξης, την συνέπεια της οποίας αυτή αντιμετώπιζε;
Σε συμβούλιο; Σε δουλειά; Στην πρέφα; Στο κόμμα; Στο κυνήγι;
Ελεύθερος ο δράστης. Κι αυτή εδώ. Ένοιωθε το βλέμμα αδιαφορίας του προσωπικού, τη ρουτίνα, την περιφρόνηση. Δεν ήταν άνθρωπος γι αυτούς, μια κρεάτινη μάζα ήταν. Δεν της μιλούσαν. Μόνο περίμενε. Κι αδελφές πάνε κι έρχονται βιαστικά, δεν συμμετέχουν στο δράμα της, δεν θέλουν να είναι συνένοχοι.
Η ενοχή πλανάται στο χώρο. Μια γυναίκα, που είναι;
«Έχετε κάνει αμβλώσεις εσείς που διορθώνετε το σκουφάκι σας;»
«Πως βγήκατε από αυτή την κόλαση;»
Βγαίνεις;
Πότε;
Με ποιόν;
Πως;
Ας μίκρυνε, ας γινόταν ξανά παιδί. Ας ξανάρχιζε από την αρχή, αγνή, άδολη, ανένδοτη. Ανένδοτη στην απόλαυση, στην ευχαρίστηση, ασυμβίβαστη στις συμβάσεις. Στις συμβάσεις του έρωτα, του γάμου, της ζωής.
Τα λάθη πρέπει να πληρώνονται. Ναι! Ασφαλώς Ναι!
Δεν ήξερε ότι έκανε λάθος. Όταν το διαπίστωσε ήταν αργά, τόσο αργά που ήταν αμετάκλητο.
Κι αν το κρατούσε;
Νοιώθει αδύναμη. Δεν μπορεί. Φοβάται. Λυγίζει...
Τόχει αποφασίσει. Νόμιζε ότι ήταν ευκολότερο.
Δεν ήταν. Ηταν ο χρόνος λίγος και μετρήσιμος.
Μετράς μέχρι το 20 – 30. κοιμάσαι και όταν ξυπνάς, νομίζεις ότι είσαι η ίδια.
Δεν είσαι!
Το αίμα κύλησε, αλλά αυτή τη φορά όχι για να ξεπλύνει την ντροπή, αλλά για να σε σπιλώσει, να σε φορτώσει ενοχές και ανομήματα για το υπόλοιπο της ζωής. Να μπεί ανάμεσα σε σένα κι αυτόν, οριστικά.
Το θυμάσαι και στις γέννες και στους θανάτους.
Και στον έρωτα. Όταν το κορμί σου αναζητά την ένωση, το άλλο κορμι. Εσύ τότε του λές! ΚΟΡΜΙ ΘΥΜΗΣΟΥ !
(Γράφτηκε το Μάρτιο του 2000)
English Translation
Title: Before the abortion
Alternative title : For women who considered worth celebrating the 8th of March.
Alternative title : For women who considered worth celebrating the 8th of March.
Written in March 2000 by Maria Toloudi.
They made her wear a green robe, reminiscent of hope as well as of surgery.
Half her body stood naked; it was her bare back that triggered in her an utmost anxiety. You feel bare naked factually and emotionally.
Authorization of abortions leaves you icily indifferent. Society does have to accept you lawfully, but people’s arrogance doesn't.
She wandered into a 2x2m large antechamber next to the surgery room; or was it even smaller? It resembled a slaughterhouse. She felt neither a woman, nor a sick man, or even a baby. There was no categorization possible. She wasn’t even human.
She stepped forward with her back turned to the wall to cover the nakedness as much as she could. As if this was what she wanted to veil. It was the shame though - the guilt that she tried to conceal.
Her eyes became teary every now and then, and tears were left to roll.
In the four hours she was left waiting several babies were brought into her tiny chamber to have their blood sampled, pricked from their heels - obviously not to turn them into ‘Achilles'’, but for proactive purposes. Unexpectedly her embryo morphed into the babies that stood in front of her.
It looked like they did it on purpose to leave her during those four hours to prepare herself. To avoid the crime. That’s the way she felt. An assassin of life… its own life.
Guilt, guilt, the feeling of guilt. If and only if…
The whole fairytale about self-determination of your body, your being, and your future still remains a fable.
A shiver runs through the body, wiping out the traces of the freedom of choice that it itself thinks, or you yourself consider that you own.
The right to command your own body is being repealed. Gone... With it also goes the right to the enjoyment of love making.
What love making?
She remembered his caressing, his kisses, his hands touching her, the intensifying lust. Him and her together in the arena of infatuation. Blood and sweat, life and death. Isn’t that it what love is all about? There’s no audiences and nobody’s winning. In such a momentum there wouldn’t be any victor between them two, but it would be life itself the winner if the embracing was meant to reproduce.
Bodies don’t step back when lust appears.
How to overcome this pain, she wondered. How to touch the body without anxiety? Technology, they say, provides the answers. She tried them all, or, she thought she did.
It bothered her that she was left alone. Where was he?
The other contributor in the act, whose repercussion she was now faced with?
In a meeting?
At work?
Playing cards?
At the Party Offices?
Was he gone hunting?
The offender, free as a bird. She was here. She felt the staff’s gaze of indifference, the routine, their contempt. She wasn’t a person to them; she was just a mass of flesh and blood. They wouldn’t talk to her. She just waited there. And nurses come and go hastily; they don’t take part in her drama; they don’t want to become an accomplice.
The blame has been hovering in the air. Just a fellow woman; where’s everybody?
"Have you ever had any abortion, yes, you that you tidy up your top?"
"How did you ever escape from this hell?"
Can you really ever escape?
When?
Who with?
How?
She wished she became younger again, just a kid. Let her start all over again, a virgin, blameless, adamant. Adamant in her enjoyment, the indulgence, be a nonconformist. In the conventions of love, marriage, life itself.
Wrongdoings should be penalized. Yes! Absolutely Right!
She didn’t know she was then doing anything wrong. When she found out it was too late, so much late that it was irrevocable.
What if she kept it?
She felt weak. She just couldn’t. She was scared. She bent.
She took the decision. She thought it was simpler.
It wasn’t. The time was short and finite.
You count to 20 - 30, you fall into sleep, and when you wake up, you still think you are one and the same person.
You ain’t!
Blood poured, but this time it wasn’t meant to wash away the shame, but to stigmatize you, to burden you with remorse and turpitude for the rest of your life. To stand between you and him, forever.
You still reminisce the act during births and passings.
And also during love making. When your own body looks for the union with the other body. You then utter to it! MY BODY, DO REMEMBER!
They made her wear a green robe, reminiscent of hope as well as of surgery.
Half her body stood naked; it was her bare back that triggered in her an utmost anxiety. You feel bare naked factually and emotionally.
Authorization of abortions leaves you icily indifferent. Society does have to accept you lawfully, but people’s arrogance doesn't.
She wandered into a 2x2m large antechamber next to the surgery room; or was it even smaller? It resembled a slaughterhouse. She felt neither a woman, nor a sick man, or even a baby. There was no categorization possible. She wasn’t even human.
She stepped forward with her back turned to the wall to cover the nakedness as much as she could. As if this was what she wanted to veil. It was the shame though - the guilt that she tried to conceal.
Her eyes became teary every now and then, and tears were left to roll.
In the four hours she was left waiting several babies were brought into her tiny chamber to have their blood sampled, pricked from their heels - obviously not to turn them into ‘Achilles'’, but for proactive purposes. Unexpectedly her embryo morphed into the babies that stood in front of her.
It looked like they did it on purpose to leave her during those four hours to prepare herself. To avoid the crime. That’s the way she felt. An assassin of life… its own life.
Guilt, guilt, the feeling of guilt. If and only if…
The whole fairytale about self-determination of your body, your being, and your future still remains a fable.
A shiver runs through the body, wiping out the traces of the freedom of choice that it itself thinks, or you yourself consider that you own.
The right to command your own body is being repealed. Gone... With it also goes the right to the enjoyment of love making.
What love making?
She remembered his caressing, his kisses, his hands touching her, the intensifying lust. Him and her together in the arena of infatuation. Blood and sweat, life and death. Isn’t that it what love is all about? There’s no audiences and nobody’s winning. In such a momentum there wouldn’t be any victor between them two, but it would be life itself the winner if the embracing was meant to reproduce.
Bodies don’t step back when lust appears.
How to overcome this pain, she wondered. How to touch the body without anxiety? Technology, they say, provides the answers. She tried them all, or, she thought she did.
It bothered her that she was left alone. Where was he?
The other contributor in the act, whose repercussion she was now faced with?
In a meeting?
At work?
Playing cards?
At the Party Offices?
Was he gone hunting?
The offender, free as a bird. She was here. She felt the staff’s gaze of indifference, the routine, their contempt. She wasn’t a person to them; she was just a mass of flesh and blood. They wouldn’t talk to her. She just waited there. And nurses come and go hastily; they don’t take part in her drama; they don’t want to become an accomplice.
The blame has been hovering in the air. Just a fellow woman; where’s everybody?
"Have you ever had any abortion, yes, you that you tidy up your top?"
"How did you ever escape from this hell?"
Can you really ever escape?
When?
Who with?
How?
She wished she became younger again, just a kid. Let her start all over again, a virgin, blameless, adamant. Adamant in her enjoyment, the indulgence, be a nonconformist. In the conventions of love, marriage, life itself.
Wrongdoings should be penalized. Yes! Absolutely Right!
She didn’t know she was then doing anything wrong. When she found out it was too late, so much late that it was irrevocable.
What if she kept it?
She felt weak. She just couldn’t. She was scared. She bent.
She took the decision. She thought it was simpler.
It wasn’t. The time was short and finite.
You count to 20 - 30, you fall into sleep, and when you wake up, you still think you are one and the same person.
You ain’t!
Blood poured, but this time it wasn’t meant to wash away the shame, but to stigmatize you, to burden you with remorse and turpitude for the rest of your life. To stand between you and him, forever.
You still reminisce the act during births and passings.
And also during love making. When your own body looks for the union with the other body. You then utter to it! MY BODY, DO REMEMBER!
Πολυ δυνατο! Η σκεψη μου σ´αυτες που δεν θ'αντεξουν να το διαβασουν μεχρι το τελος...
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