Genitor
…Three years ago I moved out of my previous home: the black house. I call it black in mockery, because in fact it was not black at all. It was nothing but a wooden shack. I do not even recall its colour; I never paid any attention, really. However, it is like when we refer to the “White Tower of Thessaloniki” or the “Black Sea”; they are not defined by their chromatic property but by something else. Something deeper.
Anyway, I was accustomed to living there. It did not feel alright but I got used to it. What do I mean by ‘did not feel alright’? There was nobody to take care of me, which means I did not feel ok. And I cannot feel alright if there is no one taking care of me. Not because I am spoiled or insecure, I have just been incapable of taking care of myself. Utterly incapable. In the event someone left me with no food or water there was no way I would provide for those goods by myself… I would rather die than take action. So, you must be wondering how I lived. This is one of my secrets: given that my habitat was by the sea, believe it or not, the seagulls brought me food and water. To be exact, they did not bring them as much to me as to their newborns waiting in the nests outside my house.
Therefore, I would lie down next to the nests, open up my mouth and wait. The seagulls carried with their beaks tin cans, pieces of meat, cheese and various other dainties which, unfortunately, most of the time had a rancid flavour because they had been picked up at dumpsters and had gone bad, although still nutritious. This is how I survived by myself, on the leftovers that fell off the nests directly into my mouth. If this may be called survival. Nonetheless, I covered my basic needs and stayed alive. I was thrifty and self-sufficient.
My basic occupation was to gaze at the sea, the most beautiful view in the world after the starry night sky! Another occupation – today I feel awkward to talk about that! – was composing verses. I would write them on the wet sand while pondering: “If I write at least one worthy verse able to capture in the rhyme the beauty of the world, which touches somehow the secret essence of the universe, then the sea will respect it and behold its waves so as not to erase it. Needless to say, this never happened. The laws of the tide and sea currents not once did they break for my art’s sake; this either means that I did not write the appropriate verse, or that the sea does not answer to a poet’s request. As I said, talking about these topics embarrasses me… I do not mean to sound cliché but… we know how people treat verse-makers… Most of the times they consider them half-crazy… and they are probably right.
I was living a dream life, though not everything was perfect. But in that desert beach, the calm and silence were so absolute that sometimes I felt almost happy. Despite the difficulties, I kept on hoping for better days and many times I would make dreams and fantasies about the future. An external observer of my life would think that I am profoundly unhappy, but the truth is a far cry from this. I was used to it! Whichever my life conditions were, I had become accustomed to them. Not to mention I had learned to take pleasure in things that others consider to be petty, like watching the clouds, plunging my hands into the foam of waves, or lying on the cold, wet sand. You might think all this is unworthy mentioning but… to me they were experiences of joy and delight.
Nevertheless, it was temporary. Just as I thought my life would continue on in harmony with no fuss, the pain began. It would come and go suddenly without a warning. My innards were ravaged by pain and my only possible reaction was to lie down and curl in a fetal position, hoping it will go away, while I clenched my teeth and closed tightly my eyes. So intense was the tightening that when the pain eventually retreated I felt all my muscles ache. There were times that because I could not stand it anymore, I would moan and hit my face with my very own hands in a desperate attempt to shift the centre of pain, located in the stomach and extended downwards to the bowels and genitals and upwards to the chest. The entire ordeal lasted a few hours – maybe even a day – and then, gradually, it simmered down and eventually disappeared.
At first, I thought I was ill; maybe it was cancer, which explained why it hurt so much. Hence, I quickly made peace with the idea that I was about to die in a horrible way. And since I was not willing to be hospitalised or follow any treatment those thoughts did nothing but aggravate my anyway melancholic nature. I was wrong, though. After quite some weeks of hardship and agony I noticed that my belly began to expand. Initially, I thought of it as the result of my peculiar disease and paid no attention. However, my abdomen continued to swell until one day everything became clear. In a recess from my excruciating pains I felt something shifting inside me. There was actually something in there that could move! And not only that: it could grow, change position and even kick! So I realised what you would probably have realised by now: I was pregnant.
At first, I was surprised myself with this conclusion but quickly dismissed it in a cynical, self-defeating mood. However, there were still suspects in my mind. Day by day, I became more and more certain that the truth was that. Yes, I was carrying a baby! Obviously, it was some kind of anomaly, or, better said, a joke of nature! Nevertheless, it was a fact which I had to accept. Believe me, there was nothing else to do! Crazy as it might sound… I could not but embrace it. Once I made peace with it my gloomy mood changed immediately. There was a life inside me and I had no right to let it perish. It was my responsibility to keep it alive. In other words, a perverted maternal instinct was rising from the bottom of my soul.
Months after months passed by like this with me wavering amongst various thoughts and worries. I could not explain how this had happened and, in the meantime, my belly was growing even more… One day, I felt terrible pains much stronger than those I had been used to; labour pains, I thought, birth pangs. Cold sweat ran down my spine. I am in labour, I thought, I have to do something. If I do not go to the hospital both I and the baby will certainly die. So, I took the big decision: I left my home with a lot of effort and suffering and went out to the highway; I hitchhiked and asked to the first stopping driver to take me to the nearest hospital. Imagine that I had never asked anyone for help and now I was adrift in pity, at the mercy of the first stranger. In case he refused to take me, I would implore him in tears. That dire was the situation. Later, I lost conscience and when I regained it I was in a wheeled bed, strapped down and covered in little tubes and intravenous infusions. The doctors who examined me could not overcome the shock. I was indeed pregnant, heading urgently to the operating room. Lack of a vagina made the delivery by cesarean section necessary. In the meantime, my belly had become so large that you would think it was going toburst. Everyone told me to take deep breaths. What is more, the general anesthesia failed to kick in thus allowing me to observe what was going on around me - despite my lightheadedness due to drugs and pain. Incredible! I was about to give birth! No similar medical paradox was ever reported in the history of medicine! They had me lie down on the operating table and with a scalpel they opened up my abdomen. It was at that moment that a human being – a monstrous, bizarre baby – slightly older than me came out from my body! And while the nurses cleaned him from the mucus and blood, I realised that his facial features were identical to mine! Eyes, mouth, nose, and chin: he was my exact copy! He was my new me… The old one had died at birth…
When I came to the world, my mind was clouded following the painful labour. But eventually I understood what was going on: the doctors had decided to keep me hospitalised in order to study my case. To make of me a guinea pig. So, after battling with the nurses that strived to hold me against my will, I ran away. It was only later that I found out that as opposed to my older self I was stronger and capable of successfully defending my physical integrity. Blinded by rage against the one who brought me into the world, I burned down the black house, destroyed the seagull nests, and began to furiously strike the sea.
Now, I wander like a tramp here and there; I hide in big cities and feed on garbage. The government ignores my existence. No registry office can possibly accept the fact that I am the genitor of myself. Even today, in the era of clones, this is unheard of.
Police and Intelligence are helping the doctors to track me down in order to examine me. Apparently, my case has triggered a war within the scientific community. Spokespeople of feminist associations say that I am a mere fabrication of the chauvinist propaganda. They claim that no man could ever give birth to himself. I refute it; it is not about propaganda.
My fear now is that my physical and mental wellness will not last long. I am already starting to feel what the signs of pain inside me are, which means soon I will be ravaged by waves of pangs… My stomach is getting bigger day by day… A new creature is growing inside me but I feel that this time I will not survive the childbirth either. Who knows if the new life is going to be me again, only a little different? Perhaps the new person will have nothing in common with what I am now, just like I do not share any similarities with the previous one.
So, here I am, going through labour in anticipation, agony and fright.
And when the time to deliver arrives, I know that I cannot go to the hospital… I am going to rip my belly open with a knife and this is how I will bring you into the world, my new me. Be certain that I shall not survive the delivery, which is why I am writing these words to you. Once you will be out there make sure you know what to do.