This morning, self is reading a Jessica Zafra short story in The Best Philippine Short Stories of the Twentieth Century, edited by Isagani R. Cruz:
All morning I wondered whether I should ask Wilma for her abortionist’s address. She would give me the address, I knew, even accompany me to the place. Probably some decrepit wooden house in the fetid alleys of Tondo, where the gangs hunted each other down with homemade revolvers. Wilma hid nothing, she wore her brazen honesty like a soiled and rusty halo. She had had four abortions, she told me casually while I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom; the washerwoman down her street performed the operations, she owed Wilma money. I imagined Wilma’s insides, as torn and bloody as a battlefield. She said she’d regretted her last abortion: it was a girl, she’d always wanted a baby girl.
Stay tuned, dear blog readers. Stay tuned.