Excerpts from
I'm Counting the Hours
By Stig Dalager
Twenty days ago our water ran out. Weīve had no electricity for seven days. Do you get me? We were here for four days, without a break, twenty-six people. We had two hot-plates and all twenty-six of us had to cook our food on them. Survival is a question of imagination and ingenuity. You get to know all sorts of people and then theyīre just there with you all the time. One person suddenly starts screaming, another moans, a third throws up, a fourth turns up the transistor and numbs himself with music. Others, like me, stand in the corridor, smoking. Some exchange recipes and pass the time discussing their deep-freezers. Weīre nothing but cattle awaiting our sentence. Often Iīm disgusted by them, and yet I need them. I have to behave on their terms. I donīt exist any longer.
And I couldnīt even go out to pee. My kidneys were hurting. I slept in the easy chair and it made my back hurt. But what does a backache matter? In this place? I got my period, but there were neither napkins nor tampons. And I couldnīt run upstairs to get some, could I? (Smiles fainty) Finally they let me go to the bathroom with a flashlight which someone or other was holding onto and wouldnīt let go of until I begged him. I held it in my mouth and pulled my panties down. The toilet stank repulsively and was overflowing; my feet smelled of shit, piss, and vomit. I closed my eyes and returned to the others and they pretended theyīd lost their sense of smell. Or perhaps they just didnīt care. I donīt know, some days I canīt make any sense out of people. One person smiles and steps on your foot at the same time. Someone else throws you a look of such bitterness and then puts his arm around your shoulders as though he were your oldest friend. And you donīt even know him. The neighbourhood sticks together. (Laughs a little) We cling to each other like frightened ghosts!
Translated by Lone Thygesen Blecher and Jane Mushabac
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