So it was on that day I foresaw what was going to happen to me. However, I had never yet seen anyone "cured" by psychiatry. Since then I have seen a few: inoffensive, cautious, stuffed versions of themselves, humans with moist hands and the look in their eyes that moves between the flame and the ashes, the flame and the ashes.... I believe that the Thing no longer made them suffer but that it remained alive in them. It is still the Thing which is the driving force in them.

Even with my sick, heavy, painful head (this brain which the drug steals from me!), I understood it all. I wanted no part in such a fate. So I concocted the perfect escape plan, down to the last detail. To begin with, no more pills. Then to eat enough to get my strength back. To get permission to go out on the grounds. The rest would be easy. Above all I foresaw that without the drug the Thing was going to assault me with anxiety, the shivering, the shaking, the fear, and the sweat. I'd begin to have trouble seeing, to bleed like a stuck pig. Too bad. I had to get out of there! I had only twenty-four hours to play out this little comedy. After that, I might not be able to leave, my strength once again mobilized in the struggle with the Thing. For I suspected that I wouldn't be able to get back my bag full of tranquilizers, sleeping pills, and the little things that I was in the habit of taking: lumps of sugar for stomach cramps, mints to make the tongue less pasty and the throat less constricted, aspirin to soothe my aching head, a deodorant so as not to be overwhelmed by the stench of my perspiration, Tampax, Kleenex, cotton balls to stem the flow of blood, dark glasses to hide my glance from others and to protect my eyes from the insupportable light. This bag also had money in it which I needed since I was out in the country. It was impossible, therefore, to take a bus, or a train, or a taxi. I had to find another way. I would find it. I would go to the village and call a friend. (They knew me at the post office. "The head of the hospital's niece... she'll pay tomorrow." I had done it before.) I would be lost if I asked for my bag, of this I was certain. They must not have the slightest suspicion. Fortunately, I knew the grounds where I came to play when I was little and where often since then I had taken my children for walks. I knew of openings in the fence I could slip through without being seen by the guards. They didn't know why I was there; this sanatorium was not reserved for the mentally ill. Only my uncle and aunt and the nurse were in on the secret. But the guards might have talked, and my uncle might learn of it. My whole plan would be ruined. It was different with the people at the post office. They were not in constant contact with the staff.

I'd start tomorrow. The day after tomorrow I'd be gone. Only my pulse could betray me. Would the effect of the medication go on long enough? For the twelve o'clock medication, I was sitting up in bed. The nurse came in.

"Good morning."

"Good morning. It looks as if you're feeling better today."

"Yes, I feel better."

The blood pressure, the pulse, the glass of water and the half a pill on a little tin tray. For several days, it was no longer worth the trouble to delay it. I swallowed normally. The half-moon wedged cleverly under my tongue against my teeth, while the water went down.

A smile, and she was gone. The pill in the gutter below.

Now it is afternoon. I am standing in the bathroom:

"It's a nice day."

"Yes, it's a beautiful day," the nurse said.

"I want to see my uncle, I feel like going out."

"Take it easy, I don't think it's possible. Not in the middle of the treatment."

"Could I see my uncle? I feel like reading."

"Certainly."

The blood pressure, the pulse, the pill down the gutter. Several minutes later my uncle appears: "Se it seems you're feeling better, you want to read! I brought you some magazines and detective stories."

"I'd like to get a little exercise. Could I go for a walk on the grounds tomorrow?"

"I have to ask the doctor who's treating you."

"Call him. I know it would do me good. I want to do it."

"I'll call him; anyway, he's supposed to come and see you the day after tomorrow.

"I'm not going to stay here all the time without moving. You know I'm feeling much better."

A big smile. He is sitting at the foot of my bed. He hardly dares to look at me.

To give himself something to do, he studies my chart on which every day they put down my blood pressure, my pulse and the doses of medicine that have been given me. He knows it by heart. The nurse takes it down to him every morning.

"You look better. I'm really happy. I'll let you know what your doctor thinks later on."

My doctor! I don't even know his name!

Waiting for my uncle to come back, I decide to freshen up. I brush my hair for a long time, front and back, then I brush my teeth. I'm exhausted, out of breath. I keep a close watch on the Thing, but it doesn't stir. I've installed myself on the bidet to watch the blood flow. Since I am here, it is a favorite activity. It makes me think of the sea and the waves lapping against the shore with a sigh. I think of the planets unchangingly spinning in their orbits.

At the first creaking step, I pull myself together and sit down on the chair in front of the table, a magazine open in front of me. In a low-cut dress, Gina Lollobrigida is smiling, her teeth revealed. My God, how can that woman be so happy!

My uncle comes in, still dressed in his white coat which tightens a bit across his stomach, and the small white hat he wears in the operating room.

"Your doctor has given his permission. You can go out for a walk tomorrow. He is very pleased that your condition is improving so rapidly. It seems this new treatment sometimes has the opposite effect on patients; it makes them listless, it gives them migraines. The nurse will go with you. Your aunt has asked if you would like to have dinner with us."

"No, not tonight thanks. I've already had dinner and I'm going to sleep. I would rather tomorrow if the walk goes well. Thank her for me. She'll understand, won't she, if I don't come?"

"Of course. You know, she never doubted for a second you'd come out of it in a hurry. It is not in the nature of the family. You were too exhausted to want to raise your children alone. That is all. Her chief concern is for your mother, who is wild with anxiety. You know how fond they are of each other. They spend the whole day on the telephone. Your poor mother doesn't even have the energy to go out. The children exhaust her."

"I'm going to feel better very soon. You must reassure her. It's not going to drag on."

"You know, what I'm going to say about it... it is mostly for your mother's sake. The poor woman has been through enough, she deserves a rest... I am talking to you like a... grown-up. You're not going to make a mountain out of a molehill."

"No. No. I understand what you're saying but I'm going to get over it, I know it. I really do feel like I'm getting better."

"Goodnight, my grown-up."

He kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

I don't want to think about my mother. I don't want to think about my children....

Then everything is confused. The Thing is taking hold of me with such ferocity. I don't think I am strong enough to fight it for very long without any drugs to help me, without anything; I am defenseless. And yet, I am getting past it.

I went out without the nurse. I ran in the fields (I try to remember if the wheat was high, but am unable to). I got my friend on the telephone: "Promise me to come tomorrow at this time? At the junction of the main road and the little one, where there's a sign for the sanatorium, one kilometer before the village on the left."

"You can count on me, I'll be there."

In the evening, sitting in front of the TV between my uncle and my aunt, for I had decided I would go there after all, it seemed to me that we were in an enormous aquarium. They were the gentle fish peacefully feeding on seaweed and I was an octopus.

Above all my aim was not to provoke them, not to do anything to displease them, not a word, not a gesture.

I didn't know that I was never going to see them again. I knew only that I was about to deceive them and that it upset me. Especially these two, who were the most successful branch of the family. In abandoning them, I was abandoning the Good. But that was the road I had decided on. Thinking about it, I had never been normal like them. I might just as well disappear and release them from having to deal with me.

The following day the car was there. We started up right away and I was able to let myself go, body trembling, teeth chattering.

"Are you sick? What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, Nothing. You can do nothing for me. Take me to Michele's. Don't worry, I'll get over it. Call the sanatorium later, tell them I am safe, that they mustn't look for me. But don't tell them where I am. I don't ever want to see them again."

The next day I entered the cul-de-sac for the first time. Who called the doctor? Did I call him? Was it Michele? I no longer know. She knew him and I had heard of him. I must have called him myself. (At Michele's place, I got hold of some tranquilizers and managed to stifle the Thing.) I just don't know.