The Enslaved Queen by Wendy Hoffman

Author:Wendy Hoffman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Karnac Books

The last days at the brothel

After the feast, my father parked the car in the Bronx slum. My mother got out of the car, took my arm, and dragged me out to the brothel. She had probably been told that if I didn't return to the brothel, Marlene or I would be killed.

Run, run, I thought, but there was nowhere to run. Overflowing trashcans were on the dark corners. No one was around. Mother shoved me to Mrs. Twartski, who took me inside the heavy, squeaky door and pushed me up many flights of wooden wide steps. I looked frantically for an escape route. On the sixth floor, we went into a large dingy room with a cot, chair, and lamp that had a dirty lampshade. Pale green paint peeled off the walls. The filthy wooden floors rocked. It was like an oversized cell without a single comfortable or pleasant thing to look at. There was a hanger for my coat, a hook for my hat, and a dresser for my clothes.

My second daughter was rushed away from me on December 14, 1955. From the glimpse that I got, I saw that she was delicate, serious, and Asian looking. I don't know what happened to my children. I was more numb when the other children were born but not completely. I suffered severe chest pains and waited to die from a heart attack, but it was just grief playing with me. I had given these babies all the pent-up love I stored in myself. They were purity among foulness.

Parts of my mind have kept records of everything that happened to me. These parts or personalities were self-created, not affected by the concussions, and my programmers didn't know about them. I think this self-recording started in infancy. I imagine all survivors of these kinds of abuses have this recording mechanism in their brains.

On the last days at the brothel, the supervisor took the girls to the basement. “When you get in your father's car, you will dissolve in a million pieces and no piece will know of the other. Once you are home, you will remember nothing of your experience. You will be a silent child, a quiet child. If you say one word, this is what will happen to you.” They showed us images of girls with black eyes and missing front teeth being thrown off a cliff, and crows and vultures eating them as they said, “If you ever tell even one little bit, the tiniest little bit, or give a hint, then this will happen to you.” They also showed us pictures of mountain lions devouring children. Sometimes now I awake in a panic attack with these images. “This program starts when you hear the bell ring for the next girl to leave. Whenever you see a yellow bow or any kind of bow, you will remember to forget us here.”

They checked us out by number. They returned our small valises and coats. We put on our street clothes, which we had arrived in.

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