Dragoslav ČUpić

"My name isn't really Clara, but Thea. That's not in my passport. My religious upbringing, as I've told you, has been strictly orthodox and I'm sure I correspond to what my mother and father think a good daughter ought to be.
I have suffered a great many bodily ills, the worst an irritation which has persecuted me like a waking nightmare for two years. Another torment is my over-developed sensitivity. I react violently to sudden noises, intense light (I'm blind in one eye) or unpleasant smells. The normal pressure of a dress, for instance, can drive me mad with pain. When I was fifteen, I married a young Austrian actor. I wanted to start in the theatre, but the marriage was unhappy, I had a child who died, and I went back to the school in Switzerland. Now the dry twilight rattles above the child's head. I can't go on. I cry now.
My glass eye also weeps.
I pretend I am a saint or a martyr. I can sit for hours at the big table in the closed room (where we played the forbidden records). I can sit for hours gazing at the palms of my hands. Once a redness appeared out of my left palm, but no blood. I pretend I am sacrificing myself for my brothers. I am saving them from mortal danger. I pretend ecstasy and speak to the Holy Virgin...