Extract from Lessive by Victor Malzac (Le Castor Astral, 2026).
Translation from French by Eponine Howarth.

THE FIRST DAY

it’s a voice that begins, a single, a deep voice in the dark that sings alone something almost indecent, no air, it’s the first day, on the first day I see a wall, a huge wall, sand and bricks on the ground, cement, sacks, spades but still no air, fences, low walls cut through the gardens, fences, two grey green bins full, full of backhoe loaders lying idle, signs mar the tarmac and livestock, and then people, people are advancing, twenty, thirty, forty, a hundred people walking towards the hole that’s getting closer, the fire extinguisher, the lamps, the signs, the yellow buildings, it’s seven o’clock, the radio, the radio is still talking, hard soles, hordes of people arrive with yellow helmets, boots, keys, cigarettes, knives, hammers, they clear their throats, people surround a body, they surround it, suffocate it, I approach, it’s my mother’s body. it’s my mother’s body. I see my mother’s body in this unbearable cold, Saturday, Sunday, when, where, why, Sunday, lying in the crowd lifeless, dazed, the posts, the cranes, the daylight, I’m standing, I can taste my tooth in the street rising up and feeding me, it smells, it smells of, tastes of the car park, of breadcrumbs, of the sacred meat, strong, the taste of offerings, of her aching red body, people are carrying lanterns, axes, sticks, colours, chalk, black suits, there are thirty, almost a hundred people, they’re moving forward, she’s thirty, thirty years old and a hundred years old, forty closed doors, locks, ulcers, corridors, corridors stretching on and on, she’s moving forward with a child in her belly who was meant to come out, but he doesn’t want to come out, the child is me, it’s me and I don’t want to come out, I can see myself in her swollen belly, she’s in pain, she’s in pain because of me, who refuses to come out, so, so she stands there, she strains, she waits for me to come out and people are waiting for me at the door, they’re ringing the doorbell, people are drawing closer to me, to my mother, they’re touching, they’re pressing against the door, they’re moving forward, someone’s pushing, someone’s pushing her down the corridor all the way to the end, the force, the door, right to the very end I see the hole, the blood from her eyes, her teeth, the black keyhole, the weight of her body in the arms of the people, the crowd, and I never stop growing, widening the narrow door, the gate, I see him getting closer, yes, he opens it, closes it, come on, yes, there, and now all these people are against me, they’re waiting for me, they’re watching me, there’s nothing, nothing else to do, nothing, hatch, listen to the threats, the keys, the smell and then burst out, all at once, by force, and all of a sudden she explodes into the uphill street, my mother explodes, her belly explodes onto the street, the windows shatter, her belly falls, her body self-immolates and I open up, I open up and the walls come crashing down, and the buildings, all the bodies spill out onto the pavement, dozens of people die, thousands every second, still, all the genocides continue, others begin while I am being born