Breast Cancer

I ran among the women in the streets searching for breasts, surveying more and more women, expanding the sample and reducing the sampling error, and returning home breathless and hopeless. I could no longer deceive myself

Figure of the fertility goddess from Ephesus, whose temple was one of the Seven Wonders of the World (Source)

When the blacks began to arrive in the city, nothing changed for me, except for one thing, which at first glance seemed rather small, and not really related to the black men, but to the black women. As the number of blacks increased, many left and the last ones hurried to leave, but I didn't care who was walking on the street, since I don't talk to anyone anyway. Only one problem bothered me: the breast problem.

Since my childhood, I made it a habit to examine the breasts of every woman passing by me on the street, in the giant breast survey conducted throughout my life, whose purpose was almost mathematical, or at least not sexual at all. In fact, I would describe its purpose as metaphysical. I walk down the street, and large breasts pass by me, and the thought rises in my head: there is still hope in the world. Maybe you too will have such ones one day, for they are not rare. There is still a chance. After all, the wonderful thing can happen, and why not to you? On the other hand, if small breasts pass by, I think to myself: this is what there is, reality is disappointing, not everyone gets a woman with breasts, you should be content with the world as it is, and not live in a dream. And so I would sway between two opposite philosophical consciousnesses, hence the critical importance of the statistics I collected from countless women who passed by me, which would decide the question of my life.

I never felt that I was harassing anyone - for it was an almost scientific study of the nature of reality, and women are used to glances - until the black women arrived. Black women never walk alone. Either they are with their offspring, and then I glance at the children, check that they are not grown, and then look at the mother's chest, knowing that she is looking at me, and judging me harshly, but I have no choice, and I console myself that she understands that the children don't understand and therefore there is no meaning to my gaze (the black woman, not only is she completely covered, but by her very color requires a very long look). The second possibility is that she is with her husband, and then I am forced to look at him for a long time, as if promising him that I am not looking at his wife, and then I am still forced to look at his wife, hoping that he shows understanding for my situation, and even if it's contempt, I have no choice, for the hopes of my life and its disappointments depend on it, and why should he be angry at a wretch like me, who didn't merit a wife.

All this was unpleasant, but tolerable. But later, a further serious development occurred, which concerned not only black women, and with it I could no longer cope. As if inadvertently, and at first even I doubted it myself, and attributed it to measurement errors stemming from my ongoing life disappointment, it seemed that there was a certain decline in the statistics. At first, I lived in the space of denial, but the decline was already noticeable to the eye, and could not be ignored. The breast sizes of women were decreasing.

It was already very rare to encounter large breasts, and even they shrank, while the small breasts became even smaller, until finally they all aspired to perfect flattening, like men, and only rarely would you see a remnant of breasts, small hills that are remnants of giant mountains that have been eroded. To my shock, women lost their breasts, and all the difference between them and men was concentrated in a place that didn't attract me at all. But instead of this filling my spirit finally with the serenity of acceptance and reconciliation with the world, and solving the dilemma of my life, this decline of physical femininity caused me a sense of enormous injustice, to cry at night into the pillow.

I had nothing left in the world, not even women! Who caused this? Is it the pollution, is it the spreading cancer, is it the feminist movement, or decrees of a cruel king, or some other devil, that I couldn't describe? Or maybe it's just erosion? Do the glances erode the breasts? I dismissed this thought with a wave of the hand, no doubt depression had distorted my logic. I ran among the women in the streets searching for breasts, surveying more and more women, expanding the sample and reducing the sampling error, and returning home breathless and hopeless. I could no longer deceive myself.

For the first time in my life, I went to a prostitute, I looked for a prostitute with breasts, and it became very difficult, the prices of breasts skyrocketed, and in the end it turned out that even prostitutes no longer have breasts. But the prostitutes took pity on me, and told me that there are still last breasts left, just that I should know that they belong to someone worse than a prostitute, and I should go to her only if I have lost all hope, because no one returns from there. I didn't believe the prostitutes, I thought they were afraid of competition, and therefore refuse to tell me, and I begged them to do me a true kindness and tell me where to find her, despite their warnings that it would lead to my demise. Finally, I was told that the woman is in the temple at the edge of the city, and there she is a sacred prostitute [Translator's note: "kedesha" in Hebrew, a term for temple prostitutes in ancient times].

I ran there, but they wouldn't let me in. A crowd of desperate men besieged the entrance. Finally, after I bribed the guard at night, who seemed to be guarding the crowd more than the sanctity, he let me in under the cover of darkness. I entered among the sleeping priests, all castrated eunuchs and naked, to the holy of holies, where the sacred prostitute lay naked on a bed. The sacred prostitute embraced my head, and buried it between her enormous, monstrous breasts. Deep, deep she buried me inside her, my face blinded within the infinite black pink pressing against them, fluttering and choking in my entire being, until death.