JULY 9

I woke up with two yellow stains on my hand. I’m afraid of the stains on my skin. My face is also blotchy. I dreamed about my brother, about the years I could spend with him. The strange thing was that we met in a mall, and he apologized for his absence, he said he’d hidden out of shame. I didn’t understand anything, but then my mom appeared dancing, and he started to shrink, just like the baby in the other dream, and then he was disappearing, and I, distressed, asked him to stay, but there was nothing that could be done, he was disappearing, and when I tried to look for him he was already a particle in the wind blown by my mother’s hands. I told M my husband is going to have a baby, then we opened a bottle of wine, and I cried a little while he told me that this story is, without a doubt, the telenovela I always wanted to live. I’m starring in a telenovela, it’s true. We both drank wine. I couldn’t drink more than two glasses and later vomited up all the food.

JULY 15

This morning I had an intense pain in my abdomen, so M massaged my belly. He did it softly and while I watched him doing it, I felt the baby move again and fell asleep. I dreamed I had a basketball in my belly and when I stood up, the ball fell out, and I felt an immense relief, but also a little pity for the Danes. The Danes. The women from the foundation recommended I do a C-section, but that would mean they’d open my body and cut through seven layers. I don’t want a wound that reminds me of the absent child. It will be a natural birth.

JULY 26

I move very little. There’s a being moving inside me, I feel his bones, it’s horrifying. His bones are big now. A line in the book I’m reading disturbs me—the human custom of wrong love. M told me not to think about the baby, not to think about the baby’s future, not to let my mind do that to me, but I punish myself: I’ll think about this being for the rest of my life. Like my brother. Like my husband. Like the man from the cave. The losses. Time passes somewhat slowly, and the days get longer, my skin stretches and my back hurts. Today I thought that I’m here to bring this baby into the world and then disappear. I like this idea. He’s never going to want to look for me. I won’t want to look for him, either. I know it’s a man, I’ve gotten this idea into my head and that’s what it will be.

AUGUST 1

There’s a painting hanging at the foot of my bed in this guest room. It moves me and will be with me forever. With the passing days, this painting has become a part of all this. It’s a picture in which every day I discover something new. It’s a woman sitting at a long table with a white tablecloth. The woman is wearing a pink dress and the wall behind her is red. On the wall is a painting, in the painting, which is only partially visible—the painting is cut off by the painting itself—you can see the ocean: agitated waves. On the plate is a fish the woman looks at—the fish out of water. Under the table, the ocean full of fish. What moves me most about the painting is the way the dress is gathered into pleats and in the image the woman’s legs and ocean beneath the table melt together. I asked M about the painting, but he said it came with the house. The house we’re living in belongs to a friend of M who now lives in South Africa.