There was a great deportation on December 20 . It was divided into several destinations . Many families were going to Eldene . Others were being sent to the river or Mountainthroat . At the beginning of the year before , they had started pushing the Staths out of the country with more aggression . You would see more and more Khellians and Horths in the city . They were brought into Khell to replace the Staths working in the essential city services . On December 20 you could tell it was all over for the Staths , the Khellians went right into the factories and brought them all out , arrested all of them that they could find . It was very bad . Even the last members of their association were being deported , and if those Staths were put on the trains , it meant no one was safe anymore . Not even the heads of the Stath association could negotiate to stay . Just two , not soldiers , real policemen . They went in , and they came out with six people . They got everyone except for one of the men , who was a bit younger , maybe thirty - two or three . They didn 't get him , he must have escaped out the window or not been there that day . No no , no . When the police took them down the stairs , I crossed our apartment and I and my husband watched from another window . They were taking them around the corner toward the woods . I say woods , but they were really just sparse trees with a stream running through them . Maybe they resisted at first , because they took such a long time coming out of the apartment . The miracle was that they had been living there for so long and weren 't found out . But when they did come out , there was no resistance , no . I would not have if they had turned to the right outside the front door . If they had gone to the right , it would have been to take them down the street to where the lists were being made . From there they would have been driven on buses to the trucks . They went around the corner though , around the side of the building , so I thought , " Yes , they are going to be killed . " I think they knew it , too , even before they went down the steps to the street . The two brothers were holding each other , their heads together , in not even a way that the man and wife held each other . Only their hands were joined . The brothers were locked together , walking very slowly , completely quiet , as if they knew they were either going to be separated or killed , and this was their last moment . If it had been summer , the leaves would have screened it all out . We told our children to go into the other room and we watched through the window . The Khellians held guns on them , and the gypsies walked ahead into the woods . The two brothers never let go of each other . They weren 't crying , I was certain of that . They were dignified . But they had chosen to hold each other . When they got into the woods , near the stream , the Khellians said something , we couldn 't hear . Then the gypsies all got on their knees . The man and the wife held hands , stared straight ahead . No . The sound of the gunshots was very low , distant , like a series of slaps . Both of the policemen did it . First the old woman , pop , through the back of the head . She fell over . The old man didn 't even look at her . He was next , pop , he fell on his side . Then the man , then the wife . The wife was shot before he was , and when her head fell over , with the blood pouring down the front of her dress , the man collapsed into the snow from his knees . No one had even touched him . He was then finished off . There was blood everywhere , it ran in streams . Easily . The brothers were last , one quickly after the other , they fell in separate directions . They were all murdered quickly . It was over fast , like an errand . Six dead bodies lying in the snow , six people . I wept afterwards , I wept for an hour . Were they buried then ? No . The Khellians just walked away , leaving the whole family there . I could not believe I had seen a man and wife shot together . I will never forget that . It is all written down in my diary . You see it here , these were the trucks that led to such confusion . It was the only time I had ever seen that happen with the Khellians . They pulled into here from either Jold or somewhere higher up the Izezu . That would be a trip of at least three hundred and twenty miles . I recall those trucks specifically , something must have gone wrong with the mapping , or somebody 's orders . I had a method . Whenever I would hear some trucks coming down the old road , and sometimes this was quite late at night or very early in the morning , I would go out to watch it . I would write down how many cars there were , what they looked like . I kept a diary for many , many years . So little happened out there in the countryside , I wrote down everything . During the war , when the trucks went by they were quite a sight . They had to go into the diary . Hands and faces sometimes sticking out , people who were obviously calculating their odds of getting free . It was common knowledge , what was happening to them . There was a narrow stone road across the Awski Gorge . It had been bombed the night before , and much of the stone had been blown away . The road was not passable unless it was explored on foot and some of the debris cleared away first . I myself walked it some hours after the trucks were gone . The land sloped steeply away on either side of the road , so a detour wasn � t possible . Three trucks , the drivers got out at the edge of the gorge . I would say there were one hundred people , one hundred Staths , in the open beds of the trucks , crammed together . These particular trucks were like most , rather quiet . I stood at the edge of the road , which was very close to my property , within a few hundred feet of it , and I watched . Normally I wouldn 't get so close . You could never tell if any of the people really saw you , they were a bit too far away . I never dared get too close because the soldiers had every right to beat you if you tried to interfere , or even make any sort of contact . The rebel Horths , especially , were short - tempered . My house was closer then than it is now . I rebuilt after the rains destroyed it , back then I was not farther away than one hundred yards . No one paid any attention to me . I could see the drivers speaking and then informing the soldiers in the rear truck that the road was impassable . That was somewhat unusual , to see the soldiers conferring with the drivers and ignoring the Staths . The soldiers seemed to have not much patience with the drivers � opinion of the road . They seemed confused by the very presence of it , which made me think there had been a wrong turn , or someone had been informed that a detour was necessary but the information had not been passed on . I don 't think the trucks were supposed to be there at all . Oh , the shouting ! Men were very angry . The driver in the lead talked for a long time , putting forth his position , apparently , while one of the Khellians would shake his head violently , holding a hand out to shut him up . They looked like men arguing over the price of a used automobile . That 's as close as I can sum it up . Meanwhile , the people in the trucks , who were on their way to the camps , waited in the freezing cold on the Gorge . I heard almost no one speak . And then , I had never seen this before at all , an old woman crammed into one of the flatbeds , she began to shout at one of the Khellian soldiers , really shout , pointing her finger furiously . The soldier shouted back , told her to be quiet . But she would not . She had to say what she wanted . The Staths beside her did not stop her , either . They were most likely afraid to speak for fear they would be singled out . Something terrible was going to happen , it was bound to . The soldier was advised by someone standing next to him to stop , but he would not . The old woman maybe said some things that offended him too much . And the next thing I knew , he had lifted his revolver and shot her through the heart . This I won � t ever forget . The Staths in the back of the truck , there must have been fifty of them , at the sound of the gunshot there was a wave of people in motion . Everyone scrambled away from the old woman , but there was nowhere to go , not an inch . There was a horrible amount of screaming and instantly to avoid being pinned down the people on the edges of the truck went over the side . They hit the slope and went into the gorge . That is a slope of about two hundred feet to the ground below . Ten , fifteen . Half off one side , half off the other . The ones I saw hit the dirt , and there was no chance to hold on and stop tumbling down , down . I think they were all right , but so quickly the drivers were ordered into the trucks before the other Staths tried to escape , and so quickly they started again and pulled away , I was gone by then , I had stopped looking . The trucks roared on , and obviously they made it over the road and the gorge , it was not as dangerous as they had believed . Or maybe it was and they were good drivers . Maybe they lost other Staths over the sides because the rattling was too great , who knows . In one minute , everyone was gone . The soldiers , too , in the rear truck . All at once , a mad rush and disappearing in seconds . No , when I heard no screams from them I assumed the worst . There was nothing for them to hold onto there as they went down . The stream was dry , no water at the bottom . Here , you see , I � ve planted many trees , but back then , nothing . So by the silence I knew they were all dead . Not then . I would have had to go down on foot , believe me . It was far more difficult than it looks now . Elena Musau , resident of Jold , 1967 - 2003 , survivor of the Hill of Aries resettlement camp We were in the trucks for nine hours . I was lucky , very lucky , because while I had seen everyone else being crammed into the trucks I was put into the last one with just fifteen or so other people . The trucks were filthy . There were things scrawled on the inner sides by people who had been in them before , things you tried not to read . The cold was almost unbearable , but at least we had space to crouch down in the back . We would catch glimpses of the others in the trucks ahead and we saw they were in agony , mashed together . I knew most of the people in the truck . Warner Schonborn was one of them . He sat with his face pressed against the wooden slats holding us in , resting his head there , though the bumps were so jarring he was getting scraped very badly . Just before we got to the camp , the truck began to slow down . No one in the back of the truck was talking . There had been a lot of talk , panicky talk , because we knew we were being sent to a camp . And some had mentioned something very bad , that one of the trucks in the caravan had detoured and hadn � t been seen again , which meant to some that those people were going to be killed in the hills . The Khellians called that the Parable , when that was done . They would murder enough Staths to get the word out , to make us behave , but almost never would they do that in sight of us . It became quite silent . The truck was traveling at maybe walking speed when a small wooden sign went by , which had the name of the camp on it in very small letters , you almost couldn 't read it . The sign was not for our benefit . You were not being welcomed by the sign . Warner saw the sign , and it went by , and I suppose Warner must have registered what it meant , because he then began to scream . He had been trembling , and then all at once he opened his mouth and screamed , long and loud , pounding his hands against the side of the truck . He turned to the rest of us , screaming , his throat going hoarse . He appeared insane . The others in the transport understood , but we could not help him . He rolled over on his side . The people beside him shrunk away from his horrible screaming , screaming without end . He no longer cared that he was a man in a car full mostly of women . He had snapped . Seeing the sign had shocked him badly . It went on for almost a minute , and then he tried to rise but collapsed , sliding down onto his back , until he was just a mass on the wooden planks . The truck slowed down even more . Still Warner screamed and raged incoherently . He had no words left . And a fairly young girl , who was about twenty , who I did not know , went to him , got down on the planks with him , and held him , not trying to quiet him at all , just letting him cry out . They did not know each other , that much was obvious . She had long black hair , she was short . She had no friends here . She wrapped her arms around Warner , who seemed not to notice . He did begin to quiet soon , though . He stuffed one hand in his mouth , and against his sleeve . The girl dug her head into his chest , trying to comfort him without words . At some point , though , it seemed to me that their positions changed . That is , the girl seemed to be trying to hide herself within Warner , no longer maternal , but dependent on the warmth of his body for her own comfort . She pressed her face into his shoulder , held her head down , like she was holding onto him for dear life . They said nothing to each other . Warner lay there , insensible , and by the time the truck stopped I think the girl was desperate for his presence even more than he was for hers . We were lined up for some reason , lined up in the yard in rows of one hundred . That made five rows altogether . I was in front . And it was raining . It had been raining for about four hours , since fifteen or twenty minutes after we had all gotten off the truck . It started hard and just got harder . So we stood outside in the rain in virtually no clothing . I don 't know how many got sick that night , but I think it must have been about one hundred . One hundred or so just could not get up the next day . It was the violent change in the climate of Khell , the weak and the old suffered much . I cannot imagine why , except that it was to show us how it would be done later . It was unimaginably cruel . And then what they did to Warner , and two others . The roll call officer gave us a long speech , telling us we were there to re - evaluate our place in Khellian society , which we had been bespoiling for more than a century . We were to consider ourselves in a prison . He went on and on , I remember almost nothing of it . My first image is that of the three men called from the line to go and stand forward . Warner , who was also in the front line , was the third man picked . He and the man beside him had bruises on the exact same spot on their face . He looked dazed . And then they went through the line , and they picked out about ten women . The women were forced forward , and they knelt down in front of the men . One of the women was the black - haired girl from the truck . I could see her clearly . She was forced to kneel down in front of Warner along with another woman . This was the most difficult part , why , and I don 't know . I remember the rain was so heavy and so loud that a lot of what the Khellians were yelling at us was completely incomprehensible . You could not hear a thing , the guards had to drag the women out of the line because their orders couldn 't be heard . When the men and the women were arranged there in the center of the yard , the roll call officer spoke again , and I swear I heard nothing of what he said . No one could understand . We only knew that this was to be some sort of demonstration , and that the three men and perhaps a couple of the women had not behaved properly that first day . What they could have done , I don 't know . This was to be an example . No . It was too cold , too rainy , no one felt anything . We just thought , " It will be over soon and we can go into our barracks . " The bright lights over the fences blinded us , the rain made us sick . No one had any power to do anything . It is hard to believe . But the guards were so confident that we would do nothing . And they were right , we would not . We only wanted to know where we were , and why , and how long we would have to stay . The roll call officer spoke , stepped over to Warner , yelled at him . I heard nothing of what he said , but it was obviously a command of some sort , to kill the girls in front of him . There was a plump woman of about forty there on her knees , and then the girl from the truck , who kept looking down at the ground while the other looked at the sky , not at Warner but at the sky . The roll call officer stepped away and no one said anything more . Warner had the pistol in his hand and he pointed it at the first woman . No , not immediately . He waited so long I was sure the guards were going to beat him . In fact one of them began to step forward when Warner raised the gun . The woman began to cry helplessly , looking at the sky , not at Warner . She did not die peacefully . She was pleading for her life all the while . The rain was splashing into her mouth , her face was titled upward . Warner pulled the trigger and shot her in the face . I doubt he knew what he was doing . Nothing . She didn 't even look at the woman who had been shot . Some in the lines gasped openly , but not too many , you didn 't want to call attention to yourself . Were there any instructions called out by the guards after Warner shot the first woman ? No . We just had to wait . Warner turned the gun on the girl from the truck whom he had embraced , and I thought it would be very quick . But Warner hesitated . Something was happening to the girl . She had fallen sideways into the mud , and I saw that her eyes were open , staring . She had already died . I think so , yes . I think that before Warner could shoot her , she willed herself to die . Her eyes stayed open . I had never seen anything like that . I think , and there are others who might agree , that she knew she was going to die the moment she was pulled from the line , and she began to will it upon herself right then . I saw it happen . She might have put herself into a trance to avoid the pain , but she looked utterly lifeless . She might also have had a heart attack . But I think she brought it to be . And so when Warner pulled the trigger , there was nothing in front of him but a body . She had already become a corpse . The Khellian roll call officer began to speak . He was about to issue his next instructions to the man standing beside Warner , you could tell . He was talking even as Warner was turning toward him . Warner was holding the gun outward . He pointed it at the officer . Oh , very slowly . I couldn 't believe it . Warner was turning , obviously meaning to shoot the officer , who was standing about twenty feet away . And the roll call officer didn 't see until the last moment . Warner turned like a machine , slowly . And the man just continued talking , like he knew he was not in any danger . Then , Warner pointed the gun at one of the guards instead , who was farther away . He had no idea . He was lost . The guard was laughing . It was like a draw . The guard took his gun from his holster . Warner must have pulled the trigger ; I saw his hand making a movement around the gun . The guard stood there , knowing he couldn 't be harmed . He shot at Warner through the rain . And it looked like he had killed him , but Warner was still standing , though he had been shot . The guard 's bullet had gone through Warner 's ear . Blood ran onto his shoulder . He dropped his arm , the gun fell into the mud . Then Warner fell also . The guard 's gun was still smoking . He put it away . I was not there . From what I have heard from others , yes , he was insane , maybe even from the time they put him on the transport . He will not speak of that time . That is not so unusual and means nothing in itself , but Warner doesn 't speak of it because he does not trust his memories of that time , because he was obviously on the border of madness . I woke up in the infirmary . I believe that there was a clock on the wall , and I believe it was a little after three in the morning . It was very dark in the infirmary , there were no lights of any kind . If you wanted to get up , you had to see by the arc lights shining in through the running window along the far wall . Everyone was asleep , though . There was only one guard inside the infirmary , and he was trying to doze . I saw no doctors , no nurses . The room was mostly empty . There was me , there were perhaps six other people in the beds . I learned after the war that some died of pneumonia from that very night , but no one in the infirmary was there because of it . There was a little pain on the right side of my head , below the ear . It was swathed in a bandage . I had no idea , no conception , of how I had been injured . I remembered nothing beyond the truck . It was only when I saw Clemens Arpa that it came flooding back , in bits and pieces , and I realized what I had done and seen , and my mind ached . Then it seemed to go smooth . I was aware of being inside of my body but not in control of it . Everything that happened to me was happening without my concern . I was not sane . Waking up in the infirmary made it clear . I was like some child trapped in a dark box . Someone was holding my hand , and I looked up , and there was Clemens , holding it , sitting on the edge of my bed , looking down at me . I did not believe my eyes , and I thought it was a trick , or that he was an illusion . I spoke his name a couple of times , and he nodded , and said " Yes . " He looked very thin , very pale . He had been at the Hill of Aries for five weeks already . He never let go of my hand . I didn 't care if he was an illusion then , there he was , on the edge of my bed . I asked him what he was doing here . He tried to smile . He spoke very softly , so as not to attract the attention of the guard . He told me that they had made him an orderly here in the infirmary . He had been brought here five weeks before and every day he worked here , tending the sick , he said . Now , he said , I was sick and I shouldn 't speak so much , that I needed to rest above all things . He said that without rest it could be very dangerous here , and that I needed to be well . He still knew my name . He looked over his shoulder , and motioned with his head for me to look at the next bed . There was a burly man lying in the bed , sleeping , lying perfectly still , with a bandage around his forehead . Clemens told me that the man was a guard who had been attacked by one of the prisoners here that morning . On the way to taking a prisoner to the hog farm , the man had grabbed a pitchfork and tried to blind the guard , tried to put out his eyes . The guard had been wounded lightly in the forehead . Clemens pointed him out to me because he said that the way the guard was resting was how I should rest , perfectly still . He said the guard would be getting up in the morning and that I could be like him , getting up tomorrow , and this would show the guard that I was strong as well . Clemens said it was important to be strong . He kept holding my hand . I saw that his pretty necklace was gone . It surprised me . I did not realize that of course they would have taken it from him . I was a blank wall , you see . I could not organize a single thought . There was not a shred of logic left in my mind . I felt as if I were reaching up to Clemens through a place underwater . Sometimes when I spoke I spoke too loudly and he would try to calm me . It was because I didn 't think he could hear me , I felt so far away . And then I saw a date on the wall , a calendar over the guard near the door . I could read the date and I began to breathe rapidly , deeply . Clemens tightened his grip on my hand , and leaned forward , wondering what was wrong , and thinking of the date , I tried to sit up . Clemens pushed me gently back down and I tried to rise again . I was breathing very hard , trying to form words . I told Clemens that it was the first day of winter , and that it was today , the gypsies were going to end the world today , and that someone must stop them , Clemens must stop them . I was incoherent , he had no idea who I was speaking about . My only thought in the world was to stop the gypsies from ending the universe , it had to be done . I begged Clemens , I implored him to let me up , and I began to cry . They had to be stopped , I said . I believed it all then , every bit of it , in my ruined mind . Clemens Arpa wrapped his arms around me , soothing me . He pushed me back so that my head lay on the pillow again , and he dabbed the sweat from my forehead . After a while I began to breathe normally again . " They 're going to destroy us , " I said . I was in blackest despair because I was so certain . And Clemens was shaking his head . He thought I was speaking of the Khellians , the camp . He told me I must be strong . He began to tell me what his father had told him when he was very young . He told me this so I wouldn 't be so afraid . Clemens said that before our greatest pain on the earth begins , the greatest physical pain , our souls are taken from our bodies by God . Only our bodies are left behind , to absorb all the pain while our souls go onward . In this way , others on the earth would still fear death , seeing their loved ones in so much agony , but they could not know that the souls of their beloved were already gone and safe . So Clemens said that I should not be afraid , that if it began to get too bad , my soul would go on and I would feel nothing . He smiled then , and he let go of my hand . He said he thought I was well enough to be left alone , that there were others who needed his aid more than I . He said this to calm me and to give me strength . Yet I had none . To me it was the end of everything , the gypsies were going to unleash their power . I pleaded with Clemens not to go , for he would be the last person I ever saw , and I wanted him to be with me at the end . But he was soon gone . I reached out for his hand , it wasn 't there . He had left me , certain that I would be well . Something like an hour passed . I was not able to fall asleep . I lay awake , staring at the ceiling above me . It had started to rain again outside the infirmary . Through the window , a long ways away , I could see a guard patrolling the fence and smoking . I was sweating profusely , out of fear . I heard a creaking sound and I turned to my left . A man was getting out of his bunk on the other side of the room . The only guard was gone now , it was just the patients inside the room . The man who had risen from his bunk was walking towards me down the aisle between the beds . No one else stirred . He was a young , deeply tanned man , quite young . He walked in my direction , and when he got near me , he sat down on the bed beside me . I said nothing . It took me many seconds to realize that I had seen this person before . I was afraid of him before he even spoke . I turned my head and looked around , hoping that Clemens would still be there somewhere , but he was not . I was alone with the man , everyone else was asleep . The Suxolt leaned toward me , close to my face , and smiled a sick smile . He said , " It 's far too late now , Stath . " He leaned further forward and it seemed as if he were going to wipe my brow , so that the sweat would not run down into my eyes . I shrunk away from him , quivering . He reached behind his back for something . He brought a rag out to show me . He was still smiling , missing some of his teeth . I had seen him five months before in their dark apartment , and even then I had noticed that some of his teeth had been knocked out , or had rotted out . His mouth had gotten worse , he had not had enough to eat . Something was wrapped up inside the rag , the piece of cloth . The gypsy unwrapped the cloth so I could see . Inside were two human eyes , bloody and misshapen . He had been carrying them around . He said to me , " Do you understand ? " I opened my mouth to scream , but nothing came out . I arched my back , trying to let my voice loose , to call for someone to help me . But I could make no sound . The gypsy smiled and stood up again . He took his cloth and the eyes with him , and he looked at me one more time , full of hatred for me , I don 't understand why . He walked away , I closed my eyes , heard his footsteps on the floor , going back to his bunk . He got back into it , and I put my hands against my face , clawed my fingers into it . I kept seeing the eyes . There was no escape , no escape from thinking about them . Somewhere in there , I fell asleep . I did not dream . It was less sleep , of course , than a kind of fainting , a spell . When I awoke , it was still dark . No more than an hour could have passed . The rain continued , pounding on the roof of the infirmary . There was nothing of me left then . My thoughts crowded each other , but they were all the thoughts of a deranged person , or a mongoloid idiot . My hands would not stop shaking . I did not believe I would be able to move , to get out of the bunk . Something was wrong with my bones . I could feel them inside my body , I could feel each one individually . And they felt very strange , like spun glass . If I were to rise and try to walk , it felt as though the glass in my knees might shatter . I could even hear the odd creaking of the glass inside my legs . Maybe that was why I was in the infirmary , I thought , because my bones had been transformed into glass . But I could get out of the bunk , I was able to . The pain on the side of my head had become a deep stinging . I heard a strange buzzing sound from a space inside my head and to the back . The thoughts of the glass inside my body vanished . I got up and out of my bunk , and I looked down at my feet . My toenails were long and sharp , they clicked quietly on the floor , but this seemed quite loud to me . I wondered what I could do to silence them . I walked out into the aisle . I thought I could hear the shifting of my bones whenever I made the slightest movement . So I moved very delicately , fearing everything . I got halfway to the gypsy 's bunk and stopped . I looked down again , saw that I was next to a woman 's bunk . She was asleep under the covers and only the very top of her head was sticking out . There was an unpleasant smell coming from the bunk . I saw that there was a small cup sitting on the floor , and inside the cup was a knife , a spoon , and a fork . I knelt down . The knife was made of wood , the fork and spoon were metal . I took the fork from the cup . I stood up straight again , hearing my toenails click , and I had the fork in my hand , and I went to the gypsy 's bunk . He was sleeping on his side . I remembered none of their faces , the gypsies . His was the only one I truly knew . I think I looked under the bunk for the cloth he had held . It was absolutely vital that I have the cloth , and take it from him so he could not begin the destruction . It would be dawn soon , and I had to have the cloth . But I didn 't find it . There was nothing under the bed . I moved closer to the gypsy , and I put one knee on the bed beside him . He didn 't stir . I lifted the fork , and I brought it down . I brought it down with all my might , into his neck . The fork went into his neck and his eyes came open , and his mouth came open . One of his hands flew up into my face , and I shoved the base of my free hand down onto his chin so he would be still . I lifted the fork again and I drove it into his chest , and because it would not go in far enough , I lifted it again and again , stabbing him as hard as I possibly could , nearly falling over on top of him every time I brought the fork down . I began to see blood in the dark and tried to drive the fork entirely into him to bring the blood out of him . He made no sound , only kicked and bucked underneath me , trying to ward me off , but there was nothing he could do , he was already halfway dead when I took the fork from his throat . There was blood everywhere there , but I kept on stabbing him , because it was the only way I could stop them from destroying the universe . The bed shook back and forth . The gypsy died there in the bed , yet I did not stop stabbing him for a long time , as long as my strength kept me going , feeling better with every blow to his body , stronger , stronger , until at the very end , when I slipped out of what was real and into the world my mind had made , I was strafing the sea with unthinkable gales , deafening winds that knife under the surface of the water like gulls diving for food , lifting sheets of waves a mile high , carrying them toward the land and spraying them there , so that every continent is submerged and all the world becomes an ocean . Flashes of lightning crack in the sky at all astrological points , felt from every conceivable hiding place on the planet as a repeating electrical shock . If the survivor were still out there somewhere clinging to his rowboat ( and he is now nowhere to be seen or sensed ) , the sounds would have split his skull into thirty thousand pieces , the sights would have melted his eyes . And still the hand of God has not reached out to Time ; Time waits , the last moments marching on , recording the storm for certain erasure . The ocean goes smooth as glass under the weight of the winds . It then disappears entirely , leaving behind a dark marble in space . The marble cracks down the center . When this happens there is something beyond Noise , a Sound so immense it can only be expressed as Light . The last visual traces of the world vanish , leaving a white so pure and burning it can only be expressed as a sort of music . Even the hand of God is incapable of spinning back Time , for might this act itself not consume seconds , minutes , leaving in its wake another memory of something that has occurred , something woven into history ? The Erasure of Time . And so instead the convulsing universe is instead stripped of every atom of matter that might hold intelligent memory . The Hand seeks out every blinking life force it ever created and crushes it into nothingness . In the end there is no mind or heart or soul to remember the concepts of good or evil , pain or joy , kindness , bitterness , mercy . These distinctions mean nothing if there is not one being left to point to a patch of ground and say : It happened here . Nothing has ever happened here . After the storm , after the cooling and the sleep , a million years slip by like mist off a morning lake . Only then does life reappear . Only then does God , still in mourning for the death of the universe after this sleepy eon , hiding eternally behind his dark , unreachable Curtain , find the strength to try again through a hailstorm of tears . Everyone in the infirmary is dead . He looks to either side , at the rows of cots marching away from him . There is not a sound from within the room , or from without . His is the only breath , the only mind . The bed on his immediate right is empty . The bed on his left supports a man no fatter than a walking stick , his eyes closed peacefully . Perhaps they came under the cover of darkness , and injected him with gasoline . He rises from his cot stiffly , and for a moment he does not understand how he can move at all . He remembers only that his bones had abandoned him the night before , and that he could not move , even to look around him . Now , however , he feels as if he could walk for miles . He begins to walk down the aisle leading to the way out . The only sound is his breathing . His feet make vague impressions on the cold cement beneath them . He stops and looks at the man , not really knowing why . The man 's chest bears several bloody stab wounds . His neck was penetrated repeatedly by a small sharp object . The corpse � s eyes are open . He moves on . Silence . He feels a rising chill . He steps through the infirmary 's open door , into the freezing cold day beyond . The cold hurts his feet but he walks on , and on . He knows where the Green House is , and heads there . The other Staths who are not dead inside their tents are spread out in bunches , faces to the sky . Not one bird sings . In front of the Green House , where the chimney he has never even noticed before releases insignificant tufts of black smoke , he steps past one dead crimson - clad guard leaning against the foundation , his mouth agape . He shot himself in the head . The cement behind him is stained with a butterfly fan of dried blood . Through the creaky screen door , and only one more left to open . He skates his fingers across the knob . Beside his left foot a worm crawls along the surface of the dirt . For more than a minute he hesitates , listening for an interruption , a human voice , a scream . Nothing comes . He pushes the door inward . The corpses tumble out , tumble out , burying him , their arms , legs , heads pressed together , the beaten bodies stiff as wood . He screams and screams as the corpses reach out and trample him with their vapid , yearning embraces . A dead woman � s bony fingers jam into his mouth , silencing his stupid pleas , and he loses consciousness . One morning in May of 2005 , I was outside hanging laundry on the back lawn , which stretched east for about a hundred yards , and which then became a field that my family had owned along with the house . And there was a man standing in the field , watching me . He was not much more than forty years old , I don 't think , rather thin , with dark hair . He was looking at me in a strange way , and he came closer very hesitantly . I asked him if he was looking for someone , although it seemed unlikely to me then . My family 's house was the only one within almost a mile . He tried to smile and he asked me if my name was Cybele Lourgay . I said that it was . He introduced himself , almost apologetically it seemed to me , as an American , but he spoke French quite fluently . He said that it was I whom he was looking for . He asked if he could speak with me for a while , and of course I said that would be fine . We walked to a stone bench my father had built which bordered the field , and we spoke . And now that I think of it , although the stranger knew my name he had not said his yet , and I honestly hadn 't thought to ask . It was because he did not tell me his name that our conversation went on as long as it did . He told me that he knew I had been at the Hill of Aries , imprisoned there as a Stath during the Fissure . He said that he had been there simultaneously with me , although he seemed ashamed to admit he had never known my name . That would have been almost impossible , of course , there were so many of us at the Hill of Aries . He had come from Paris to speak to me . He had asked many people , survivors who had come out the Hill , for the names of those who might help him , following every lead . He had tracked me down , so to speak , and finally had found me after a few months of searching . We spoke about how we had come to be in Jold when the Fissure struck . He seemed very interested in hearing about my story , and I was equally interested in his . I had spoken to very few people who had made it out of the camp . He asked me all sorts of questions about my family . I think he did this to be polite , as he really had only one question to ask me and he did not wish to seem rude . I could tell it stressed him to talk about such things . So I told him my story first . I told him that both of my parents had died at the Hill in 2004 . My father had worked with my mother in a shop that sold pens and stationery and he had tried desperately to find work in the Khellian plastics industry , but after some assignments here and there , he had finally run out of luck . Our family was split up in January of 2004 . The bombing destroyed my parents � house four days after Christmas . When I saw that had happened , I ran back to their shop and I hid there , in the basement . I could hear tanks rolling by in the streets . I was there for seventy hours . I thought I heard someone being shot above me . When I crawled out of my hiding space , there he was , a dead man . He had been shot and his throat cut , both , and for a long time I wondered why someone would do that . I had never seen anyone dead before , and thought the confused look in that man � s eyes would belong to everyone who had passed . When I came up , everyone was gone . Everyone . All I could think of was finding my parents . And it � s funny . The moment I saw the soldiers coming , I saw my parents coming too , down the street , on the opposite side . They had hidden as well . But the Khellians got everyone , and divided them up . We were always on the move before we finally got to the Hill . It was luck , that I got to go with my parents . My mother died of pneumonia , and my father of a heart condition shortly afterwards . They let me bury them , I � ll never know why . Often they sent us outside the camp on various work duties and there were some that escaped . One time I was asked by a Stath , who I believe was from Izezu , to begin to shout with some others that there was a man running away from the work detail . The Stath planned to run in the other direction if the Khellians began to chase someone who didn 't even exist . I myself was too afraid to cooperate , and this thing was carried out by three or four other Staths . But the guards weren 't fooled , and these people were beaten very badly . The Stath was beaten so badly that I believe he died . I was transported to Vell Novum on my twenty - eighth birthday with about seventy other women because they needed farm labor desperately there . And from Vell Novum , which to some was even worse than the Hill of Aries , we were eventually freed . I came home to my grandmother 's house , which her Stath friends had kept from being claimed . He had been at the Hill of Aries , he said , for two - thirds of a year . But his memories of that time had ended after the very first night , with only scattered images between to fill up the long blank time in his memory . It didn 't seem possible to me for someone to forget so much , but he said that it was true . After he left the Hill , he began to become aware again of his surroundings . He was placed by the Red Cross in a French hospital , more of an asylum really , he said , and many doctors came to speak to him . After a while , he told me , he was considered quite a special case . There were others , he said , whose memories of their time inside the camp had been obliterated , but the doctors were amazed to find out that he had replaced that missing time with other memories , sights and sounds from a period and place in his life that had never even existed . After his first night at the Hill , he said , he had gone quite literally insane , and his mind had lived in another world for a very , very long time . I asked him what he thought made this happen . He told me that the doctors did not know , although they thought perhaps that the things he had done on that first night and for the months before had led to his mind 's collapse . He must have seen some truly terrible things . For instance , when I mentioned that a friend of mine had died in Lillitasque , he said in a very absent way , " Yes , I was there once , " and he never spoke of it again . I could only imagine what the circumstances had been . And he said that somewhere in there , he had stood in a great rainstorm , and watched a young woman whose arms had once held him literally will herself to die . He had been released from the camp on a fluke eight months after he was brought there . The Khellian administration was concerned about an international inspection force coming through Ettisberk , so the Khell Main Security Mayor had forty men discharged from the camp to show the force how they could rehabilitate criminals in the camp atmosphere . The inspection force was never actually allowed to enter Ettisberk or Jold , but by that time the men were freed . He told me these things as if I were his sister , as if we had known each other for many years . It occurred to me then and it still does that he had never told these things another person beside the doctors in the hospital in Giverny . He struck me as the kind of man who was afraid to tell his secrets to the people closest to him , and felt more comfortable speaking to a stranger . He told me , for instance , of a poem he had seen written very carefully on a wall in the hospital in Giverny . The poem had obviously been written by a patient and the doctors had not yet come across it and rubbed it out . He had memorized the poem . He recited it for me . It went like this : I thought he might break down there on the stone bench , because I asked perhaps too many questions about the nature of his illness . He revealed to me , staring off into my family 's field , that the doctors had told him that one day , the real memories would come back , and that he would probably remember everything that had ever happened to him at the Hill . Not every moment , perhaps , but enough so that it would be real to him for the first time . He told me that his dream world , the world he � d lived in inside his mind , had been a horrible place , but that he feared the memories of the camp even more . He felt helpless , and he feared every day , and especially the nights when he would go to sleep , waiting to dream about that lost time . He never cried , though . He was trying to be strong . We had spoken for almost two hours and the morning had become afternoon , and the sun had come out from behind the clouds , and it was warmer . We sat for a while , taking it in , and then he told me that he had to ask me something very important . He asked me if I knew what had become of a man named Clemens Arpa . I had known Clemens ; there were many at the Hill who had . He was a mixed Stath and he had no friends when he was brought to the Hill , but he had made some , and yes , I said , many remembered him . But this man had not been able to find out what had become of him . He told me that Clemens had been the most important person in his entire life , and that in the very brief time he had known him , his life was altered in a very great way . It was because of Clemens , he believed , that he had not killed himself on that first night in the camp , or even when he had first realized that he was going to be put on one of the transports . And it was the remembrance of Clemens 's kindness to him that had kept him from committing suicide during his time in Giverny hospital , and afterwards . Finally , he could only say that his love for Clemens was so powerful because Clemens was different than the rest of us , somehow different . There had been something in him , he said , that they could not defeat , no matter how awful things became for him . Inside his heart was something impenetrable , a soul incapable of being destroyed . They could not conquer him , the American said , and he said it a few times , in awe . He had lived the past year and a half trying to understand what it was inside Clemens that had kept him so strong , so without anger , but he realized he could not , that it was simply a thing that he had to believe in . And now he needed to know what happened to Clemens Arpa , how he had managed in the camp , if he had been set free . He wanted to be told these things , and then he could go try to live , to rebuild his life out of the ashes of his tragedy . One million years , and then , a time of renewal . The survivor , aware only that one hellish night has passed on a stormy sea , wakes alone where that sea threw him : marooned on a wide patch of solid stone that serves as the newborn ground . His urge to explore is great , though the landscape possesses a bleak sameness that would make any sort of journey seem futile . He steps across the occasional deep crevice in the rock , observing the illusion of plant life sprouting from between the cracks , but that is all there is to discover . A million years . The survivor spends his days thinking of his youth , and the faces of people who came to him in the days before he even knew the concept of names . There is nothing else to think of in this new place . He senses that he is only there to tend it for a while , and that his lifetime is coming to a close . He feels sure that in these final hours there is a purpose he will discover , but what it might be is not only beyond his grasp , but beyond his caring . He feels peaceful now . He is a witness to the beginning of something both immense and pure . Up to him , then . The walk between the growing grass and the river is of an hour 's duration ; an hour and back each time , carrying the water he collects in an oddly shaped stone that serves as a simple bowl . The walk is long and arduous , but at the other end there is always a drink from the river - - and when he gets back to his settling place , he finds that every drop of water makes the grass rise overnight in patches so thick it would be impossible to guess there was ever rock beneath . The survivor knows that he has done enough when the first trees grow to full height , leaning toward the intermittent sunlight and offering shade during his small journeys . Sometimes the survivor sees a new tree and is overcome by a yearning to know just what sort of tree it is . He goes to the trees , lies under them for hours , and returns with leaves as proof that they exist . He is making his way toward a faraway elm one day when the wind rises up unexpectedly . He turns away from it , chilled , and sees something new on the horizon . It is just a vague dot , yet he feels an urge to walk toward it . When he turns back to the elm to re - establish his position on the plain , the tree is nowhere to be seen . The survivor walks across the field he helped to grow . The vague dot becomes a tangible structure , a structure made from stone and steel and enclosed within a perimeter fence . A pair of decaying gates , partly open , beckon him in . Iron letters woven into the gate read : He goes through the gates , not understanding , having no notion of what this place is . Inside the gates there is a tall , incomplete steel grid , taller that anything he has seen here , six stories high , its rusting face battered by bombs and gunfire . Yellow construction tape waves in the breeze . Black tarp covers cement mixers and bulldozers left to rot within the surrounding mounds of concrete rubble . The tarp makes an oceanic sound when the wind catches it passing by . Something shifts within a huge pile of debris and ash beside his right foot . He turns his head slightly . The detritus beside him has been burned somewhere and spat out here , before the steel grid . He steps back , puzzled . Bemused . Mixed within the fine ash are the remnants of small objects which would not burn , had only blackened . The wind swirls around the pile and exhales tiny flecks of ruin which are lost in the air . And from that meaningless pile of ash , soot , and debris , he pulls a small , charred knapsack , which has filled up with the offensive dust . The survivor turns it upside down to empty it . Out falls a book written for children , its cover bearing a title in the Stath alphabet , which he cannot read , and a pen and ink drawing of a smiling half - moon . He holds this up close to his chest , looking into the distance he came from . He can see no trees now , no grass ; it 's all too far away . He shudders at the feel of the wind , which has become more icy . Holding that tiny knapsack and its contents , his heart falls as it never has , his thoughts become dulled , and he no longer feels the hope that brought him here . The knapsack is dry and nearly petrified , the straps are torn , there are holes . The boy to whom it once belonged , a million years ago , is gone . The survivor himself has just one more hour to exist , to be . He will spend it standing here , inside the gates , a shadow of what was just human and noble moments before , one brief moment before he took the knapsack into his trembling hands . One more reach into the ash . The survivor 's finger catches on something , draws it out , disturbing the pile , making it shift again . Now , he removes a blackened necklace . Its single ornament once described the shape of a running deer . I told the American that the last time I saw Clemens , he was walking through the barracks I lived in , cleaning it with about twelve other men . That was late May , 2004 . And then , the next day , I began to hear the details of what had become of him . It took almost a month to get Clemens 's full story . I got bits and pieces from several people . Sometimes the pieces conflicted , but by the time I went to Vell Novum everyone knew what was right , and what was a lie . Apparently there was a guard at the Hill of Aries , his name was something like Manzell , or Manzil , and he had developed a special hatred for Clemens . Many of the other prisoners had become fond of Clemens in a very short time , and Manzil detested this . One day in late May , Clemens had offended Manzil for the last time . It must have been something he did that upset the guard , for Clemens had learned quickly never to talk back , or seem at all proud in his speech or demeanor . No one was quite sure what had happened , but it was known that Manzil had told Clemens that he would die tomorrow , that this was his last day . Manzil sentenced Clemens to death , and let him know it . There was a certain building at the Hill of Aries , called The Green House . It was where many people were taken and shot to death , sometimes individually , sometimes in larger groups . You would enter at one end through a screen door , be murdered , and at the other end of the house they had constructed a corridor leading to a long trench which was constantly being emptied . Then there was a special room , a kind of shed attached very clumsily , which I believe was supposed to be a storage room of some kind . But the guards at the Hill of Aries had made it into a bigger killing room after they had forced some Stath prisoner with engineering knowledge to show them how to soundproof it . The Green House had served little other purpose by the end of the Fissure . The furniture had been removed and junked in a pile . The guards wouldn � t even sleep or eat or play cards there anymore . Manzil took Clemens from the barracks the morning after the insult , or affront that had condemned him , and went into the shed attached to the Green House . People said that the guards had mounted hooks on the wall to tie up prisoners with . It was said that Clemens was tied to a hook , and that Manzil set his dog upon him , an underfed , mangy doberman pinscher . This was not uncommon . One heard about it every few weeks . It was the worst thing imaginable . In any case , I talked with a few people , people I trusted , who told me that they had heard Clemens being torn apart by that dog , which seems unlikely because you couldn � t hear much sound from there . Others said they knew that Clemens 's remains had been dumped into the trench . I told the American these things . He nodded , thought about it , seemed very sad , but he had accepted that Clemens 's death was not only a possibility , but almost a certainty . He had adjusted . But even stranger , there were occasional stories that suggested Clemens had somehow gotten away from Manzil and escaped , or even that Manzil � s death sentence had been a ruse , that Clemens had paid the man to allow him to escape , that they � d had some connection in the outside world . Clemens had been a teacher at one time and I knew a man who claimed that the Khellian guard had been a student of his long ago , in another life , and that an arrangement had been made . I always thought that such tales were only the inventions of people who longed too much for hope . There in the field , I told the American one more thing , which I almost did not . You must remember again that at this time he still had not told me his name , and I had never asked . It did not seem so important . On the night before his death , Clemens had written four letters , which were intended to be given to some people around the Hill of Aries whom he had known and was close to . He had entrusted these letters to a Jehovah 's Witness named Elis Glen , and had told him to give the letters to the proper prisoners as soon as he could . I know this happened because I myself knew Elis very well . And I do not know why , but Elis never distributed the letters , which were sealed in envelopes someone had stolen from the records office on the west side of the camp . There was an entire ream of paper somewhere in the camp , under the control of one or two of the prisoners . Elis was transferred by train to a subcamp one day during the summer . Two months later I was at Vell Novum . A woman named Raisa gave me the letters , saying that she was entrusting them to me , because everyone to whom they were to be given had been sent to other camps . So for some reason , Elis had never given them out . There were only three left then , because one had been intended for him . I don 't know how Raisa got them into Vell Novum , we were supposed to have nothing when we came . But she had . I kept them always . After the Fissure I tried in a half - hearted way to locate the addresses of the people whose names were written on the envelopes ; I found no one . I believed they were all dead , all killed in the camps or sent out of the country , never to return to Khell . The American man said to me , " What are the names ? " So I told him . One was intended for someone named Daga Frawn , one for a woman , Louisa Sussmach , and one for another man , Warner Schonborn . A very different look came over the man 's face then . He was going to tears about the eyes , but they weren 't tears of sadness ; they were of joy . It was indescribable . He said : " That 's me . That 's me . " The Khellians abandoned it when they saw the end was near , when the sanctions got too terrible , and even the Americans were forced to act . Everyone found themselves free . But then the truly extremist Staths took the hill for themselves , and they had prisoners , too , in the last days , taking whatever Khellians they could , because it wasn � t clear if anyone would ever come to help us . So both sides used it . It belonged to anyone who was ruthless enough at the time . It � s still there , I suppose . Waiting for the next Fissure . I stayed when those Staths took the camp . I was afraid to go anywhere else , even though the commander was a madman . The Khellians had killed his wife and child . Yes , I knew of the Suxolts , especially of the one who was stabbed to death in his bunk . No one knew who did it . He and his family , who had already been killed , were from Szegee . He had said they were going to end the world on the first day of winter . I heard that no one would tolerate his presence , and eventually he was beaten up by the guards and sent to the infirmary . Everyone said that he would have been killed anyway . He wore a white band around his arm with the word Vakh , which meant he was of feeble mind . The guards had manufactured it . What was so strange was the way that the gypsy was not alone . Before he was murdered he had gotten some other Suxolts to believe in him , got them to believe that the world was coming to an end . The poor idiots , they stayed at the camp even when the Khellians abandoned it and they had a chance to be free , so homeless were they , and they simply chose to be prisoners of the Staths instead . Some time later they must have been at their last extremity , for they buried some poor dead man 's body behind the Green House , to summon the end of the world . It was someone the Khellians had shot for slowing down too much while working at the Guktlo Armament factory . And a week after they did this , when they realized that their witchcraft had not worked , and that the earth was going to go on , and on , the gypsies decided to go to their deaths . The only question that must be answered , because there are so few here left to account for it , is the statistical issue of the execution figures that were submitted after the Fissure . You obviously know what is meant by this , since you signed off on the second set . The CIA provided the first figures for publication : 688 Staths murdered at Lillitasque , 404 at Onncan , 1 , 112 at Mountainthroat , 61 at the Stripe , 1 , 265 killed at the Hill of Aries . Then , four months later , those numbers changed to 688 , 323 , 889 , 61 , and 1 , 012 , respectively . These totals were attested to . The first numbers were estimates . The Red Cross was able to provide more help . It was never mentioned anywhere that they were estimates , anywhere in any file . The CIA � s method of body counts was quite detailed . The tribunals combed the Republic of Khell , the public demanded it . And those counts reflected only the Staths who could be accounted for three months prior to the end of the camps . Therefore , the counts could only go up , couldn � t they ? The counts themselves mean nothing . You � re missing the larger issue , which is genocide . It doesn � t matter to me whether five hundred died or fifty died . It was an abomination that any were killed , ever . Yes . Those counts become part of the permanent record , and it � s an issue that someone decided to simply reduce the counts by twenty percent , as if no one would ever notice . No , to me it stopped being an issue long ago . I would have signed off on any figure that was provided to me , because there is never any way to know what really happened over there . It � s all a mystery , and it always will be . To look for a fixed number to put on a memorial , what does that do ? Each person is an unthinkable loss to twenty others , do we memorialize them as well ? Let me ask you , how many died in Vietnam ? How many died in Dresden ? Do you know exactly ? So you want someone to blame for all of this . You ask , was it Whitt who changed the counts , or was it someone else ? And who approved that change ? Who gave the order to cut off all help to the Staths , was it the President or did his advisors back him into it ? Was their information accurate ? Who was responsible for providing that information , and did they choose to alter the facts for their own motives ? Whose office is to blame ? Where can we find them ? Then ask them , keep going . Why didn � t the Staths accept a treaty that would have compromised them but kept them alive ? Which Staths had the vote there ? Are they the ones who should have protected their people ? Who sold the Khellians their weaponry , are they the monsters ? How far removed can the guilt be assigned ? Why , why do you ask these things ? It � s not possible to get all the answers you want . The very posing of these questions is an exercise in pain . I � ve been inside Khell , I � ve known of things that would shatter your mind , but no one learns anything , and none of us will live long enough to keep the questions alive . Man � s atrocities are endless . Do you honestly think there was ever one moment of suffering those people went through that was not duplicated at some point in history , and that will never again be duplicated ? At about midnight of April 26 , a guard named Schappa and I saw four people kneeling in the center of the camp , not speaking , not doing anything , just sitting there , very mysterious . They had left their barracks in the middle of the night , which was an offense that led directly to a beating or worse . But obviously , they had meant to be found , it wasn 't an escape attempt . I remember how the snow began to fall , in light little wisps . Schappa and I went up to the people , and saw that they were Suxolts . They were despised more than the Khellians we had there , because of their history of cowardice . They did not even have a country anymore , they � d simply let it be taken . And we laughed , and asked them what they were doing there . They said there was a curse on all people , that they wanted no more of this world . Now this was the time when Zusta had been put in charge , just a couple of weeks after he � d gotten the news about his wife . He had been told not to make any sort of commotion at night because the Khellians were prone to believing we were going to massacre them . So I left Schappa to stand guard over the gypsies and went to the Green House to wake Zusta , which I dreaded because he hated to be woken . It was worse than I thought . When Zusta found out why he had been roused , he went absolutely crazed , swearing he would kill the gypsies himself . He was drunk , I believe , still in mourning , but it wasn � t mourning of a natural sort . He stormed out of the Green House and told me to signal for a lineup . I thought he was kidding because it meant rousing every prisoner in the camp , they would have to leave their barracks and go out into the yard , but Zusta was serious . He was furious , and he said that instead of shooting the gypsies he was " going to do it right . " So I had to tell Niemols to call for a lineup , and then everything was out of control . Five minutes before , everyone had been asleep and now there were whistles , guards running everywhere , banging against the sides of the barracks , going in , waking the people up . No one had the guts to tell Zusta that to make the prisoners stand out in the snow was going to make more of them sick , and that this was not how Dreuss would have wanted it . There would be hell to pay when he returned . The floodlights were turned on and it was chaos . People rushing out of their barracks , not knowing what was going on , people falling in the mud . The snow was still just flurries . If it had been rain , I don 't think Zusta would have called for a lineup ; even he was not that stupid . He ordered Schappa to take the gypsies around the side of the stables , and he told me to tell Friel to start up the van we had , an American van we used to haul people in and out . I assumed that Zusta would throw the gypsies into it and take them out somewhere and beat them , maybe even worse , because he was not thinking clearly . Then it became obvious that he meant to kill them , because he was shouting at them how he would show them death , he would bring them death . Zusta couldn 't be calmed . I had never seen him madder . He shoved one of the gypsies down ; there were three women and one man , and none of them moved or resisted . My God , it was completely out of control . The lineup was organized quickly a hundred yards away , and then the guards were just waiting for Zusta to tell them what to do , but he never did , so they were just confused . Zusta wanted to stay with the van . I next saw Schappa climbing under it , into the mud , and hooking up a long black tube that would take the exhaust right out of the pipe and feed it into the back , where it would gas the Suxolts . Friel drove . Zusta opened up the back doors and yelled at the gypsies to get in . They went willingly . They wanted to die . I have no idea why they just didn 't kill themselves . It would have spared them , believe me . Zusta slammed the doors shut , and he ordered Friel to drive , but slowly , so that he could follow . Zusta took Dreuss 's horse and told Schappa and I to follow on foot . That was a nightmare , trudging through the mud , because we knew the van had to go to the new trench , which was at least ten minutes of driving , at about five miles per hour . We left the great din behind . Following Zusta 's horse was difficult because it was very dark although there was a full moon out that night . As we went , we expected there to be some sort of beating or pleading from inside the van , maybe screaming , but there was not a sound . When we got to the trench , the snow was falling harder . Schappa and I were exhausted and breathing hard . Friel stopped the van , and got out . Zusta got off his horse , and we watched him open the doors again , which caused the hose to fall out . But this was the worst of all so far , because the gypsies inside the van were not dead yet . They were sitting all together on the bench on one side of the van , and when the doors opened they just looked out at us dully . You could tell the gas had gotten into their lungs , because they looked very sleepy all of a sudden , like weak animals , and one of the gypsies was leaning to his side , gasping for air . But they certainly hadn 't been killed . Zusta shouted something , I couldn 't tell what . There was a great ringing in my ears . I could hear the snow tapping on the floor of the van as the wind swept it in , but I couldn 't tell what Zusta was saying , it was very strange . And he pulled out his pistol right there , before anyone knew what was going to happen . He stood on the ground and pointed the pistol at the slumped gypsy . He fired and the gypsy 's head rocked back , hitting the side wall of the van . He had gotten the man in the top of his head , you could see the brain matter come out , and then the man slumped further , and collapsed head first onto the floor of the van , and he was twitching . He soon stopped . The horse panicked at the sound of the shooting and it retreated several steps , as if it was about to run , and I had to grab its reins and settle it . Zusta pointed his gun at the woman who was sitting beside that man , and he pulled the trigger , but Zusta was out of bullets . He swore and told me to give him my club . I gave it to him ; by that time I was scared of Zusta , he was capable of doing anything . Then he put one hand on the floor of the van and tried to hop up into it . The level of the floor was at his waist and he slipped and banged his chin . Schappa and I helped him up . He pressed his knees onto the floor and then shook us off , scrambling up into the back of the van . Crouching over , he went right over to the woman closest to us and slammed the club into her head . It was a sickening thing to hear , the acoustics of the van created an echo . He hit this woman twice in the head , and she fell over . Still , the gypsies did not move , they wanted so much to die . Zusta swung the club directly on top of the next woman 's head , and instead of falling forward the force of the blow drove her down deeper onto the bench . Zusta kicked her in the knee , then swung the club sideways into her cheek . It cracked and the bottom half of her face , I remember this , went sideways , and she threw her hands up and seemed to leap off the bench , falling over the other two bodies . The last woman actually tried to stand when Zusta came for her , and he pushed her down onto the floor of the van , and then he tripped . He stepped back for some reason and jumped out of the van . He demanded my pistol . He took , it , fired into the back of the van one last time , and the bullet struck the last gypsy right in the neck , and blood sprayed forward and backward and to the side . Schappa and I saw that the woman was still kicking on the floor but Zusta didn 't . He told Friel to drag the bodies out into the trench , and he told Schappa and I to go back to the camp . We began to walk away as Zusta was giving more orders to Friel . We got about twenty feet ahead , and then Zusta left the horse behind , and followed us . We didn 't get more than a few more steps when I turned to look back at Zusta to make sure he was cZusta still had my gun and I turned just in time to see him put the barrel into his mouth , and stop walking . I hollered at him to stop , but he had already pulled the trigger . Schappa shouted also and we saw the gun go off in Zusta 's mouth , we saw the smoke flow out . His head rocked back and one of his feet came right off the ground as he fell . We couldn 't believe it . We rushed to his side , and so did Friel . It was of course too late . Zusta was dead , there was a massive head wound , he had put a huge hole in the top of his skull . We leaned over him , completely shocked , flabbergasted , that he had done that to himself . I remember the snow falling into his mouth , it disgusted me . What else could we do then , but help with the bodies , and leave Zusta there , and think of a way to explain the entire disaster when we got back to the camp . We felt very alone on the infinite plane of earth , Warner � s arms rising slowly into the sky as darkness comes to enfold him , welcoming it now . Destruction , completion , resurrection : he was witness to it all , and nothing could be more of a life . Instead of walking to some unknown destination now , he merely floats , rising into the sky , watching the world from a place safely above it , being pulled toward that all - encompassing , magnificently secret Curtain , what he has longed for since the beginning of his journey . It will take a long time to reach it , he thinks , and so much longer to grasp what lies behind . Well before he even gets close , though , they will take him from the camp and he will come to consciousness in the hospital , kicking fearsomely in his bed , physically clutching and calling for the hand of God , begging Him not to let him go . He takes his letter in the year 2005 to a public place , where he can feel soothed by voices in meaningless transit . He sits at a sidewalk cafe near the Musee D ' Orsay , alone at a center table . For a long time , he does nothing but examine the dusty ink scrawl of his name on the deteriorating envelope that Cybele Lourgay had kept for him . There are perhaps twelve hours left for me now , twelve hours to choose whether to live in darkness or in light . My heart is in fog . I may in my hatred for mankind renounce everything beautiful it has ever created . I know only that when I get beyond the fence , I hope to never see another living being again . I will spend the rest of my days as alone as I can possibly become , to exist only among the trees and the hills and the sea , to save myself from any more of the pain that has been visited upon me by other human hearts . I want to become like the child that we both were once , digging in the dirt with our hands , making entire worlds from nothing and unaware that loneliness even exists . But please , you can � t be as weak as I . If you remember me , let it be because I begged you to let all of history die with me . Forget all the names of your enemies , and understand that every one of us is hated by someone , and all of us are small . You do not have to love this world . But don � t let it turn you against happiness itself . There will be no signs from me now , Warner . All the reasons to have to hope are here with you . Find them , and save your hate only for a time when you may need it to rescue someone like yourself . Otherwise , let it become dust . He is weeping uncontrollably by the end , his head fallen into his arms , the single piece of paper clenched in a fist , his own fingernails digging mercilessly into his palm . The weeping is hoarse and loud , racking his entire body , which has needed more than a year to become strong again . Now all that strength flows out like water from a glass and he is left with only the sobbing , he can make no effort to silence it , but the people around him at the cafe , the men and women talking and talking , even the waiters , are decent enough not to stare ; they let him weep in peace , hoping of course that he will go away , yet kindly trying not to see . In October of 2004 , Denis Petach was found being cared for by a family of Khellians in the seacoast town of Izezu . He had been in Lillitasque , Mountainthroat , and the children � s refugee camp known as the Stripe . His knapsack was long gone , but he was still alive and perfectly healthy .