I Who Have Never Known Men

by Jacqueline Harpman

And now, racked with sobs, I was forced to acknowledge too late, much too late, that I too had loved, that I was capable of suffering and that I was human after all.

I felt as if this pain would never be appeased, that it had me in its grip for ever, that it would prevent me from devoting myself to anything else, and that I was allowing it to do so.

Is there a satisfaction in the effort of remembering that provides its own nourishment, and is what one recollects less important than the act of remembering?

If the only thing that differentiates us from animals is the fact that we hide to defecate, then being human rests on very little, I thought.

But human beings need to speak, otherwise they lose their humanity, as I’ve realised these past few years.

I could have loved myself whether I was hunchbacked or lame, but to be loved by others, you had to be beautiful.’

‘Then they’d be acknowledging my existence. If you do something that is forbidden, it is the action that is the target. If you do something that isn’t forbidden, and they intervene, then it’s not the activity that’s attracting attention, it’s you yourself.’