Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

Mariella Mehr

“high meadows,” at night. fires burn in my body. pain. did i dream? where do these raving pains come from? the fire spreads, red rings before my eyes, pulsating circles. they consume me. i scream, rave, begin to flail like mad about me. i have to scream away the fire. someone presses me onto the bed until i can move no longer. again this crazy breathing, a rattling burning above me. it is the doctor. he straps me in, taught cover over my upper body, the hands bound on the back. air, let me breathe, doctor, let me at least breathe. my back breaks in two, smell of ether. i am being de-ranged, now i am being de-ranged for good. i beat my head against the iron bed frame until i faint. blood, laughter. he sits on the chair and laughs. i see him double and swaying. i see his eyes, see hate, why? i begin to lie. time and again it kept happing, the story with the red before the eyes. they always came with the straitjacket. silvia began to mime the intelligent, reasonable little girl. at times she slipped out of her role, but against that they always had a remedy.

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