Meryl Schmalz meryllynn.tumblr.com La Vogue I was nine years old when my mother took me to the village votive festival. A lottery advertises a pig as a prize. With two francs, I buy a random number in the middle of the pages of a notebook already blackened by the attracted farmers in the area. The chance is mine, I win the pig.This autobiographical childhood story is an initiatory journey through the fields of memory. The different levels of narration follow parallel paths to tell and celebrate the story of a life saved.