Termush

by Sven Holm

Her outburst seems to me more natural than our self-control. It means that neither her imagination nor her sensibility is gagged and bound, as ours are.

He cast a few unpleasant remarks in my direction; he insisted that I didn’t know what I was talking about and maintained that it was in fact essential to conceal what could be concealed; indeed, an inspired lie could be preferred to a malignant truth.

Often someone in the room gets up to go out to the lavatory. The lavatory is the only place where we can find protection from other people. The ventilation is poor and there is damp on the rough walls. But for a moment it is completely quiet; we meet no one’s eye and therefore do not need to think about ourselves.

No one thought about protecting himself against the survivors or their demands on us. We paid money to go on living in the same way that one once paid health insurance; we bought the commodity called survival, and according to all existing contracts no one has the right to take it from us or make demands upon it.

“I do have some faith in democracy,” I replied, “but I don’t think that this vote can be regarded as a matter of course as democratic. The voters knew too little about the alternatives.” “They are always ill-informed,” said the doctor.

The chairman’s total lack of consideration seemed to have silenced his opponents. But his powerful obstinacy, his primitive blend of cunning and stupidity attracts supporters to rally round behind him.

He had not wished to or had not been in a position to resume the interrupted game of make-believe that nothing had happened.

Our fear is no longer a fear of death but of change and mutilation. We have not thought this through and cannot talk about it, but in those moments when we are able to escape from our own personal needs the picture becomes clear to us.