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custom. I always lean towards the left. Even my body leans to the left. Like the Tower of Pisa. Too bad I had to become right-handed, I could have been such a straight-up guy. But because of the bad break of my left wrist when I fell off a cherry tree, I became right-handed. That does not mean I can do everything with my right hand. There are certain things I can do, and do better, with my left hand. But I’m digressing. I think I was eight years old when I broke my left wrist. It happened in Le Poitou where my sisters and I were sent on colonies de vacances .
    [Concerning les colonies de vacances consult The Farm. ]
    You may not believe this, but the doctor who fixed my arm was Michel Foucault’s father. Foucault himself confirmed this to me when I told him how and where I broke my left wrist when I was on vacation in Le Poitou. He confirmed this during a dinner at my house in his honor when he was a visiting professor at the university where I was writer-in-residence.
    During the dinner someone remarked that I seem to be ambidextrous in the way I used my fork and knife to cut the meat on my plate. So I told the story of how I fell off a cherry tree and broke my left wrist during vacation in Le Poitou, and when I specified the place, Foucault exclaimed, The only doctor in the region who could fix your arm was my father. I know exactly where you broke your arm . Foucault didn’t say that in English. I am translating here for the commodity of the story. But Foucault said it in such an assured and positive way that everyone present was convinced, as I was too, that my broken arm had definitely been repaired by Michel Foucault’s father, so that indirectly, Michel Foucault was responsible for my having become right-handed in spite of myself. Thus betraying my mother’s decision to make me left-handed.
    I apologize for this detour. I didn’t mean to digress into the politics of my toes. It’s just that I thought it would be appropriate to mention at this time that I was born left-handed, and that the accident that caused me to become right-handed may be the reason for the difference of character and personality between my left toes and my right toes.
    One could say that my left toes are congenial, even though they often argue with one another. Whereas the right toes are more independent one from the other. They act like strangers towards each other. But they each have certain qualities, and certain deficiencies.
    The little one on the right is always playful. He bounces. He wanders. He even laughs when I cut its nail. But his laughter is full of sadness because of his shape. He’s like a little hill. A mound. A rounded monticule. Une colline . In other words, it’s all crooked. The nail seems happy on this little crooked toe. Though I think it fakes it. Actually, there is barely a nail on that toe. The nail is almost non-existent. I have to search for it when I have to cut it. The toe itself never touches the ground. He is permanently elevated.
    Suspended above the other toes.
    Yes, I know, what you’re going to tell me, I can see it coming, Federman you’re not going to tell us again why your little toes are atrophied. We heard that story so many times before.
    Your claim that you are a mutant simply because both your left and right little toes have only one phalange each, and are so curled up and crooked, that they don’t even touch the ground any more when you walk. And the reason for that, according to you, is because we humans walk less and less, therefore our feet are in the process of evolving towards total flatness, and eventually toes will disappear. Soon our feet will become toeless. And of course, nails will become obsolete. Unless one single large nail covers the entire front flatness of the foot. But one cannot speculate at this point. Feet evolution can take decades.
    That’s why you believe yourself to be a mutant. Because your little toes have only one phalange,