Moi qui n'ai pas connu les hommes

The fact is that none of us seems to have any coherent memories that would enable us to piece together what happened.

I was the youngest, the only one who’d still been a child when we were locked up.

None of the women remembered actually being hit, but Anthea told me about it later. It must have happened in the hazy period in the early days of our captivity for such a deep fear to have taken hold of us. No one ever disobeyed the whip, and the women sometimes described the bloody marks that the thongs made on bare skin, the searing pain that lasted for days.

As soon as I looked down, I saw the bus. I say bus, but of course, initially, I didn’t know what I was looking at. First of all, it was half an hour away and all I could make out was a rectangular shape in the middle of the plain; and then, naturally, I’d never seen a bus. All I had to go on was what the women had told me, and none of them had given me precise descriptions of things that they took for granted. I only knew that it was a vehicle that could carry a lot of people.

I was amazed. I’d never heard music before, I was barely aware of its existence. ‘Look how beautiful the sky is!’ Annabel exclaimed, and everyone turned to watch the sunset.

We quickly organised ourselves into teams: some women went on ahead and removed the stones while others followed, scraping the ground with a shovel. At the slightest obstruction, we halted the trolley to clear the way. Because it was heavily laden, it took several of us to get it moving again. When we arrived, the fires were burning and grilled meat awaited us.

I felt a surge of happiness: whatever happened, I had left the bunker, and, like the others, I knew I’d rather die than go back there. Already, I no longer understood how I’d been able to bear living there. I said to myself that if it hadn’t killed the women, it was because a person can’t die of sorrow.

There were forty of us living in that big underground room where no one could hide from the others.

When I think back on it now, what a horrid little prig I was! I prided myself and revelled in having found a distraction that I thought was extraordinary. I felt as if I was being hounded by a mob, whereas we were all equally helpless prisoners. Isolated due to my young age and the constraints imposed on us, perhaps like the others I needed to create an illusion to enable me to cope with the misery.

‘We’re human again,’ declared Dorothy. ‘We can do our business in private, sheltered from view.’

If you do something that is forbidden, it is the action that is the target. If you do something that isn’t forbidden, and they intervene, then it’s not the activity that’s attracting attention, it’s you yourself.

Иные говорят, что были красивыми для себя. Но что им делать со своей красотой? Лично я могла бы полюбить себя горбатой или колченогой, а чтобы тебя любили другие, нужна красота.

The reader and I thus mingled will constitute something living, that will not be me, because I will be dead, and will not be that person as they were before reading, because my story, added to their mind, will then become part of their thinking.

As long as the sheets of paper covered in my handwriting lie on this table, I can become a reality in someone’s mind.

Then I understood that, alone and terrified, anger was my only weapon against the horror.

Але людина мусить розмовляти, інакше вона перестане бути людиною.

... здригаючись від ридань, зрозуміла, що опинилась у глухому куті, й пізно, надто пізно усвідомила, що я також любила, що також здатна страждати, інакше кажучи, я —людина.

My memory begins with my anger.