En Gr\u00e8ce, \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque (1972), lorsqu\u2019une femme accouchait, elle devait obligatoirement rester dans la maison pendant 40\u00a0jours. Au quarante et uni\u00e8me lever du soleil, elle devait aller pr\u00e9senter son enfant au \u00ab\u00a0pope\u00a0\u00bb (le cur\u00e9 de la paroisse) et ainsi d\u00e9cr\u00e9ter la fin de sa quarantaine. J\u2019avais accouch\u00e9 du troisi\u00e8me enfant \u00e0 la fin juin et je restais \u00e0 la maison \u00e0 prendre soin de la marmaille tandis que le mari devait se trouver un emploi pour faire vivre sa famille.<\/p>\n
Le village de Krya Vrysi \u00e9tait si petit que tout le monde se connaissait. Le mari, je suppose, avait oubli\u00e9 ce d\u00e9tail. C\u2019est ainsi que son secret enflamma toute la rue principale comme une tra\u00een\u00e9e de poudre. L\u2019homme voulait voir du monde, aller vivre dans une grande ville o\u00f9 il pourrait devenir commer\u00e7ant. Qu\u2019allait-il vendre? Dieu seul le savait et le diable s\u2019en doutait.<\/p>\n
L\u2019ami Thanassis alla boire quelques caf\u00e9s sur la rue principale et apprit vite tout ce qu\u2019il y avait \u00e0 savoir\u00a0: le mari s\u2019\u00e9tait mis dans la t\u00eate de vendre des \u00ab\u00a0flokatis\u00a0\u00bb. Les flokatis sont des tapis \u00e0 m\u00e8ches longues (des tapis \u00ab\u00a0shaggy\u00a0\u00bb) fabriqu\u00e9s selon une tradition particuli\u00e8re et assembl\u00e9s \u00e0 la main dont le poids minimal est de 1800\u00a0grammes par m\u00e8tre carr\u00e9. La pure laine vierge de mouton de ces magnifiques tapis, jadis synonymes de douceur, de confort et de chaleur, \u00e9levait ces tapis, \u00e0 une certaine \u00e9poque, au rang des produits luxueux. Cependant, les flokatis\u00a0n\u2019\u00e9taient d\u00e9j\u00e0 plus populaires en Am\u00e9rique ni m\u00eame en Gr\u00e8ce tout simplement, je suppose, parce que les chaumi\u00e8res commen\u00e7aient \u00e0 \u00eatre chauff\u00e9es.<\/p>\n
Lorsqu\u2019enfin le mari se d\u00e9cida \u00e0 me parler de ce nouveau projet, je lui r\u00e9pondis que m\u00eame sa propre m\u00e8re et sa s\u0153ur n\u2019utilisaient plus de flokatis parce qu\u2019ils \u00e9taient trop lourds \u00e0 secouer, trop difficiles \u00e0 transporter, et trop dispendieux \u00e0 remplacer. Selon Thanassis, seuls les d\u00e9munis et les gitans de l\u2019\u00e9poque les appr\u00e9ciaient parce qu\u2019ils les recevaient gratuitement des nantis qui n\u2019en voulaient plus. Je ne le savais pas \u00e0 ce moment-l\u00e0, mais ce projet n\u2019irait nulle part, comme beaucoup d\u2019autres de ses aspirations bidon.<\/p>\n
Arriva enfin le 19\u00a0juillet, l\u2019anniversaire de ma fille portant le m\u00eame pr\u00e9nom que sa grand-m\u00e8re grecque\u00a0: Gets\u00e9manie. Ma belle-s\u0153ur Despina avait fait en cachette un g\u00e2teau aux cerises \u00e0 peine m\u00fbres avec trois petites chandelles roses. La coiffeuse du village m\u2019avait offert de couper un pouce des cheveux de la petite pour qu\u2019ils poussent mieux et plus vite. M\u00eame Thanassis avait apport\u00e9 une petite robe jaune pour la fillette. Le mari allait \u00e9videmment manquer la f\u00eate parce qu\u2019il \u00e9tait \u00e0 Thessalonique. J\u2019avais certes remarqu\u00e9 qu\u2019il y allait de plus en plus souvent et cela m\u2019intriguait. Cherchait-il encore une fa\u00e7on de gagner sa vie? Ou s\u2019offrait-il une distraction f\u00e9minine? Peut-\u00eatre. L\u2019homme avait toujours un quelconque projet secret; une excuse pour s\u2019absenter r\u00e9guli\u00e8rement du village. Pendant ce temps, je m\u2019occupais de l\u2019immense jardin et de remplir de l\u2019eau du puits six ou sept grosses cruches pour nos besoins quotidiens. La plupart des maisons du village n\u2019avaient pas l\u2019eau courante et cela enrageait la belle-m\u00e8re. Son grand gar\u00e7on ador\u00e9 ne pourrait-il point l\u2019installer au lieu de perdre son temps \u00e0 \u00e9laborer des plans?<\/p>\n
Heureusement, ma vaillante belle-s\u0153ur adorait prendre soin de mes b\u00e9b\u00e9s. Chaque matin, elle les d\u00e9barbouillait, les langeait, les nourrissait et amenait le tout petit \u00e0 mon sein.<\/p>\n
En ao\u00fbt, j\u2019avais fi\u00e8rement pr\u00e9sent\u00e9 mon b\u00e9b\u00e9 au \u00ab\u00a0pope\u00a0\u00bb du village. Je devais retourner \u00e0 l\u2019h\u00f4pital de Thessalonique pour un examen de routine \u00e0 la suite de l\u2019accouchement et qui marquait aussi la fin de ma quarantaine. Thanassis accepta de nous y conduire, l\u2019homme et moi. J\u2019\u00e9tais en pleine forme, je n\u2019avais pas pris un seul kilo malgr\u00e9 le pain que je savourais chaque jour et la mangeaille grecque qui trempait dans l\u2019huile d\u2019olive. \u00c0 notre arriv\u00e9e, un vieux docteur salua le mari, m\u2019ordonna d\u2019enlever mes dessous et de m\u2019\u00e9tendre sur une \u00e9troite table. L\u2019homme gant\u00e9 palpa mes seins, mon ventre et entra quelques doigts dans mon entrejambe presque gu\u00e9ri. Puis les deux hommes s\u2019exprim\u00e8rent dans un dialecte de montagne que je ne comprenais pas.<\/p>\n
Juste quelques mots et quelques regards suffirent pour que je comprenne que quelque chose allait de travers. Le docteur s\u2019absenta quelques minutes et revint avec une seringue dans les mains. \u00ab\u00a0Une petite piq\u00fbre calmante\u00a0\u00bb, dit le vieillard en me souriant. Le temps d\u2019interroger le mari et je tombais dans les vapes. \u00c0 mon r\u00e9veil, le vieux docteur avait quitt\u00e9 la pi\u00e8ce. La civi\u00e8re sur laquelle je reposais \u00e9tait tach\u00e9e de sang. En voyant l\u2019\u00e9paisse serviette sanitaire plac\u00e9e entre mes cuisses, j\u2019ai vite compris pourquoi on m\u2019avait endormie contre mon gr\u00e9. J\u2019avais peur, je pleurais. Le mari, qui s\u2019\u00e9tait empress\u00e9 de courir \u00e0 la pharmacie pour se procurer deux comprim\u00e9s prescrits que j\u2019allais devoir avaler sans les croquer, m\u2019aida \u00e0 remettre ma culotte, ma robe et mes sandales. Il prit mon bras pour descendre les escaliers et nous quitt\u00e2mes l\u2019endroit sans \u00e9changer un seul mot.<\/p>\n
\u00c0 SUIVRE\u2026<\/p>\n
Cora
\n\u2764\ufe0f<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
En Gr\u00e8ce, \u00e0 cette \u00e9poque (1972), lorsqu\u2019une femme accouchait, elle devait obligatoirement […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":414,"featured_media":50338,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[32],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-50335","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lettre-mme-cora"],"acf":{"img_en":"","contenu_en":"In 1972\u2019s Greece, when a woman gave birth, she was required to stay at home for 40 days. On the 41st<\/sup> sunrise, she would present her child to the \u201cpope\u201d, the parish priest. This marked the end of her quarantine. I\u2019d given birth to my third child in late June, and I was staying at home to care for my kids while Husband was ostensibly trying to find work to support his family.\r\n\r\nKrya Vrysi was so small that everyone knew each other. I guess Husband had forgotten that detail. That\u2019s how his secret spread like wildfire on the main street. He wanted to see the world, live in a big city where he could become a business owner. What would he sell? God only knew and the devil would\u2019ve bet money on it.\r\n\r\nOne day when my friend Thanassis was enjoying a few cups of coffee on the main street, he quickly learned of my husband\u2019s plan: he\u2019d gotten it into his head to start selling flokatis, or traditional, handmade shaggy rugs that weighed at least 1,800\u00a0grams a square metre. The pure virgin sheep wool of these magnificent rugs was exquisitely soft, fluffy and warm. At one point, they were even a sought-after luxury item. However, flokatis were no longer popular in America, let alone Greece, likely because homes were making the switch to electric heat.\r\n\r\nWhen Husband finally decided to tell me about his new project, I replied that even his own mother and sister didn\u2019t keep flokatis anymore because they were too heavy to shake out, too difficult to carry and too expensive to replace. According to Thanassis, only the poor and the gypsies appreciated them because they\u2019d get the rugs for free from the well-off who no longer wanted them. I didn\u2019t know it at the time, but that project would end up in a dead end, like many of his muddled aspirations.\r\n\r\nJuly 19 finally came around and it was my daughter\u2019s birthday. She shared her Greek grandmother\u2019s first name: Getsemani. Despina, my sister-in-law, had secretly made a cake using barely ripe cherries and topped it with 3 small pink candles. The village hairdresser had offered to cut the little one\u2019s hair by an inch so it would grow stronger and faster. Even Thanassis had bought a sweet yellow dress for the girl. Husband was obviously going to miss the celebration because he was in Thessaloniki. He\u2019d been going there more often now, and I couldn\u2019t help but wonder why. Was he still looking for a way to earn money? Or was he indulging in female company? He always had some secret project on the side, an excuse to leave the village regularly. In the meantime, I tended to the large garden and filled six or seven huge buckets at the well for our daily needs. Most of the village\u2019s homes didn\u2019t have running water and it enraged my mother-in-law. Couldn\u2019t her precious son fix the plumbing instead of wasting his time dreaming up plans?\r\n\r\nThankfully, his hard-working sister adored taking care of my children. Every morning, she\u2019d wash, dress and feed them, and bring me my baby to breastfeed.\r\n\r\nIn August, I proudly presented my baby to the village \u201cpope.\u201d I had to go back to the hospital in Thessaloniki for the routine postpartum exam at the end of my quarantine. Thanassis accepted to drive Husband and me there. I was in great shape; I hadn\u2019t gained a single pound although I devoured lots of bread each day and Greek delicacies dipped in olive oil. When we arrived, an old doctor greeted Husband, ordered me to remove my underwear and to lie down on a narrow table. The glove-clad man examined my breasts, belly and birth canal, which had almost completely healed. Then both men started talking in a foreign dialect I didn\u2019t understand.\r\n\r\nI only caught a few words and glimpses, but it was all I needed to understand that something wasn\u2019t right. The doctor left for a few minutes and came back with a syringe in hand. \u201cA small injection to calm you,\u201d he told me as he smiled. I didn\u2019t even have the time to ask Husband what was happening, I\u2019d fallen asleep. When I woke up, the old doctor was gone. The stretcher on which I was resting was stained with blood. When I saw the thick sanitary pad placed between my legs, I quickly realized why I\u2019d been anaesthetized against my will. I was afraid and crying. Husband, who\u2019d run off to the pharmacy to get the two tablets prescribed by the doctor, which I was to swallow without chewing, returned and helped me get dressed. He took my arm to help me down the stairs and we left the hospital without exchanging a single word.\r\n\r\nTO BE CONTINUED\u2026\r\n\r\nCora\r\n\u2764\ufe0f"},"yoast_head":"\n