A lot of houses are empty. The residents have left for good or are hiding in the forest. These uninhabited houses are searched just like the others, along with all the stores and shops.

After the soldiers have gone, thieves invade the abandoned shops and houses. The thieves are mainly children and old men, and a few women too, those who are fearless or those who are poor.

We meet Harelip. Her arms are full of clothes and shoes. She says to us:

"Hurry up while there's still something left. This is the third time I've done my shopping."

We go into the Booksellers and Stationers, whose door is smashed in. There are only a few children inside, younger than us. They are taking pencils and colored chalk, erasers, pencil sharpeners, and schoolbags.

We take our time choosing what we need: a complete encyclopedia in several volumes, pencils, and paper.

In the street, an old man and an old woman are fighting over a smoked ham. They are surrounded by people laughing and urging them on. The woman scratches the old man's face, and in the end she goes off with the ham.

The thieves are guzzling stolen alcohol, picking fights with each another, smashing the windows of the houses and shops they've looted, breaking crockery, flinging to the floor whatever they don't need or can't carry off with them.

The soldiers are also drinking and returning to the houses, but this time to find women.

Everywhere we hear gunshots and the cries of women being raped.

On the Town Square, a soldier plays the accordion. Other soldiers dance and sing.

The Fire

For several days now, we haven't seen our neighbor in her garden. Nor have we met Harelip. We go and investigate.

The door of the shack is open. We enter. The windows are small. It is dark in the room, even though the sun is shining outside.

When our eyes get used to the darkness, we can make out our neighbor lying on the kitchen table. Her legs are dangling, her arms are covering her face. She doesn't move.

Harelip is lying on the bed. She is naked. Between her spread legs there is a dried pool of blood and sperm. Her eyelashes are stuck together forever, her lips are curled up over her black teeth in an eternal smile; Harelip is dead.

Our neighbor says:

"Go away."

We approach her and ask:

"You aren't deaf?"

"No. And I'm not blind either. Go away."

We say:

"We want to help you."

She says:

"I don't need help. I don't need anything. Go away."

We ask:

"What happened here?"

"You can see for yourself. She's dead, isn't she?"

"Yes. It was the new foreigners?"

"Yes. She called them. She went out on the road and waved at them to come in. There were twelve or fifteen of them. And as they took her, she kept shouting: 'Oh, I'm so happy, I'm so happy! Come, all of you, come on, another one, again, another one!' She died happy, fucked to death. But I'm not dead! I've been lying here without eating or drinking for I don't know how long. And death hasn't come. It never does come when you call it. It enjoys torturing us. I've been calling it for years and it pays no attention."

We ask:

"Do you really want to die?"

"What else could I want? If you'd like to do something for me, set fire to the house. I don't want anyone to find us like this."

We say:

"But you'll suffer terribly."

"Don't worry about that. Just set the fire, if you're capable of it."

"Yes, madam, we are capable of it. You can depend on us."

We slit her throat with a stroke of the razor, then we go and siphon some gasoline from an army vehicle. We pour the gasoline over both bodies and on the walls of the shack. We set fire to it and go home.

In the morning, Grandmother says: "The neighbor's house burned down. They were both inside, her daughter and her. The girl must have left something on the fire, ninny that she is."

We go back to get the hens and the rabbits, but other neighbors have already taken them during the night.

The End of the War

For weeks now, we have seen them marching past Grandmother's house, the victorious army of the new foreigners, which we now call the army of the Liberators.

Tanks, cannons, armored cars, and trucks cross the frontier day and night. The front is moving further and further into the neighboring country.

In the opposite direction comes another procession: the prisoners of war, the conquered. Among them are many men from our own country. They are still wearing their uniforms, but they have been stripped of weapons and rank. They march, heads down, to the station, where they are sent off in trains. Where and for how long, nobody knows.

Grandmother says they are being taken very far away, to a cold, uninhabited country where they will be forced to work so hard that none of them will come back. They will all die of cold, exhaustion, hunger, and all kinds of diseases.

A month after our country has been liberated, the war is over everywhere, and the Liberators move into our country, for good, people say. So we ask Grandmother to teach us their language. She says:

"How can I teach it to you? I'm not a teacher."

We say:

"It's simple, Grandmother. All you have to do is talk to us in that language all day, and in the end we'll understand."

Soon we know enough to act as interpreters between the local inhabitants and the Liberators. We take advantage of the fact to trade in articles that the army has plenty of, like cigarettes, tobacco, and chocolate, which we exchange for what the civilians have: wine, brandy, and fruit.

Money has no value anymore; everyone barters.

Girls sleep with soldiers in exchange for silk stockings, jewelry, perfume, watches, and other articles that the soldiers have stolen in the towns along their way.

Grandmother doesn't go to market with her wheelbarrow anymore. Instead well-dressed ladies come to Grandmother's and beg her to trade a chicken or a sausage for a ring or a pair of earrings.

Ration coupons are distributed. People start lining up in front of the butcher's and baker's as early as four in the morning. The other shops stay closed because they have nothing to sell.

Everybody is short of everything.

As for Grandmother and us, we have everything we need.

Later, we have our own army and government again, but our army and our government are controlled by our Liberators. Their flag flies over all the public buildings. Their leader's picture is displayed everywhere. They teach us their songs and their dances, they show us their films in our cinemas. In the schools, the language of our Liberators is compulsory, other foreign languages are forbidden.

It is strictly forbidden to criticize or make jokes about our Liberators or our new government. On the strength of a mere denunciation, anyone at all can be thrown into prison without trial, without sentence. Men and women disappear without anyone knowing why, and their families will never hear from them again.

The frontier has been rebuilt. It is now impassable.

Our country is surrounded by barbed wire; we are completely cut off from the rest of the world.