AUGUST 5

I spend a lot of time lying down, most of the time staring at that painting that’s now my companion. Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad, like none of this is happening, but then I focus on a detail in the painting and calm down. Today I studied the tablecloth that’s a white tablecloth with the creases from the folds intact. That image made me think about bodies, memory, creases, and what used to be remembered but no longer is. My memory often fails me, which worries me even though the women from the foundation told me this is from the pregnancy. I don’t think I’ll recover lost memories once the baby is born.

AUGUST 8

I go for a walk every day even though it’s difficult for me. I go midmorning so I don’t run into neighbors. The women from the foundation brought me big dresses as my clothes no longer fit. I feel an unbearable pressure on my bladder and pee all the time. This last month everything has been about the body’s suffering. Now the body is no longer mine, the other body I’ll soon leave behind imposes itself. We’re going to leave each other behind.

AUGUST 9

Lately I’ve missed the cave. I thought about the days there, the sensations. There’s one that really stands out that has to do with certain visions I had of bodies materializing during lovemaking, bodies coming in through the walls, through the pores in the wall. I have a baby in my belly that’s about to come out. I’m scared. Every day the idea that my husband is going to be a father hurts less.

AUGUST 10

I dreamed I gave birth to a large man. An adult came out of my vagina. I saw his penis come out; it was black.

AUGUST 11

I got an email from my dad that I opened. He says he hopes I’m enjoying Europe. He says he understands I didn’t want to say goodbye. He doesn’t understand anything. He sends the address of some family members who live in Paris and says that maybe I could visit. I feel one day I’ll get my body back and go on with my life; I’ll be able to travel without so much fear.

AUGUST 12

My brother’s birthday. I dreamed I was wearing silver thimbles on my fingers like the ones my grandmother used so she wouldn’t prick her finger while darning socks. I stuck one on every finger. I was always fascinated by the little holes that make up a thimble’s topography. I wanted my fingers to be like that.

AUGUST 18

I told M there are moments when I want to keep the baby. He asked what life would be like if I did. We had a long conversation. I explained that the music in the cave always felt like a premonition, like a warning that made me have the strangest visions: bats, body parts coming in through walls, one-eyed turtles, and other marvelous, terrifying things. Real, I insist, and I pause on this word without understanding what exactly it means. I tried to explain it isn’t esotericism, but destiny is inevitable, it exists in the way things are done. There’s no possibility of doing them another way, I insist. And he nods, briefly closing his eyes, forgiving me with that gesture, and says that’s how it is, that he totally agrees with what I say and that I’m generous. That’s an absolute lie, I respond.