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Out of Character:
No one will ever understand. Someday I will write about life and death here, and thereby help demonstrate how absolute evil is never extinguished from the world. The Maw itself remains inexplicable. The most profound statement yet made about this place of unspeakable evil was not a statement at all, but a response.
The query: "At the Maw, tell me, where were the gods?"
And the answer: "Where was man?"
August 31st
We might have been able to get out of it, but we didn’t want to. Since we’re in it, we’re going. In this case it’s best to leave things as you find them. We’ve been allowed to take all our luggage—a good sign. Maybe they were right and we’re following the men. I’m looking forward to it; perhaps I’ll see Dad by the end of the day.
It’s twelve o’clock; the train has left the station. We were lucky to get on. We’re in the last carriage. It’s a good thing we went out to the courtyard early; there was a mêlée at the gate. I feel as if my back’s broken. It wasn’t easy pushing my way through starting at 4 four a.m. with a rucksack on my back. It’s never happened in a transport before that people fought so hard to get on the train.
Today’s transport is different from the others. We’re following our men. I’m following Dad and Otta.
I wonder if a Garah city guard will come and help us with our luggage, like when we arrived at Terre? Maybe Dad or Otta will be at the station. They’ll be surprised to see us. We should be there soon—Kratas, they said, it must be close already. We’ve been traveling about six hours.
Aren’t we there yet? We’ve been traveling all night. That’s not possible. Kratas isn’t even that far away. What’s happened—the train’s stopped for a while. No, now it’s flying onward—there was shouting and the guards whistled, there must be a raid somewhere. What if it hits here? We’re in Telgradia now, there are raids here all the time. Why is the train going so horribly fast?
It’s getting light out. Where are we now? We’ve just passed through a station. Myrhiandia. My God, that’s the Telgradian border. Where are they taking us? We're nowhere near Kratas now. Could it be to Othello? But we heard it had been wound up after the revolution, that transports weren’t going there anymore. So where are we headed? Are our men there? If so, then it doesn’t matter where we go, so long as we stay together.
We’ve been traveling for twenty-four hours. Where, only God knows. We’re all starting to get nervous. People were saying all sorts of things; listen to them and the front must be far behind us, and yet we’ve been traveling across Myrhiandia for half a day now and there’s no sign of it. Now the train has started to slow. Could we finally be there? I don’t want to believe it—I’d started to think this trip would never end. We’re getting close, definitely—you can see buildings over there. And so many of them—it’s a huge camp. I can see people, but what are they wearing? It looks like pajamas, and they’ve all got the same ones.
By the gods, those are prisoners’ clothes! Where have they taken us?! This is a labour camp! There are some men working over there, stacking boards. Why is that man beating them so hard? It must hurt horribly, he took a cudgel to them. How can he be so cruel? He isn’t even a Telgradian—he’s also in a striped jumper, but he’s got a band on his arm.
I must have been wrong; we can’t be stopping here. Why would they take us to a labour camp? It’s not as if we’ve done anything. It’s horrible how they treat people here. I can’t watch; it makes me ill. He’s walloped another one, an old man. What a stinker; he’s barely twenty. Shame on him; that man could be his father and to treat him that way. He kicked him again till the poor old man staggered.
So that’s what a camp looks like; I could never imagine it. People have been living this way for several years. And we complained about Terre. That was an absolute paradise compared to this.
What’s this? The train has stopped. A whole group of striped people is running toward us. Is there anyone among them from Terre? Maybe they’ve come to help with our baggage. Perhaps Dad’s among them. But no, they’ve probably just come to see what sort of train this is. We’re not getting off here, surely? Or—why didn’t it occur to me earlier?—this is Othello, of course. The Maw is nearby, maybe the trains don’t go there, so we’ll have to walk that bit. Definitely, that’s the way it is. This is Othello, the concentration camp, and we’re going to the Maw.
By the gods, what is happening?