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It was a form of oblivion,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], a return to the womb. She was alone in the dark. There was no furniture in the cramped basement cell, only a thin, worn mattress thrown on the cold cement floor. A noisome hole in the floor served as a toilet. Tracy lay there in the blackness, humming folk songs to herself that her father had taught her long ago. She had no idea how close she was to the edge of insanity.
She was not sure where she was,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but it did not matter. Only the suffering of her brutalized body mattered. I must have fallen down and hurt myself,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but Mama will take care of it. She called out in a broken voice,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Mama...," and when there was no answer,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], she fell asleep again.
She slept for forty-eight hours,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and the agony finally receded to pain, and the pain gave way to soreness. Tracy opened her eyes. She was surrounded by nothingness. It was so dark that she could not even make out the outline of the cell. Memories came flooding back. They had carried her to the doctor. She could hear his voice: "...a broken rib and a fractured wrist. We'll tape them up.... The cuts and bruises are bad,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but they'll heal. She's lost the baby...."
"Oh,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], my baby," Tracy whispered. "They've murdered my baby."
And she wept. She wept for the loss of her baby. She wept for herself. She wept for the whole sick world.