The last day, p.1
The Last Day, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Prologue : 01
Prologue : 02
Part 1
Marc’s Early Diary 1.
OFFICIAL DOCUMENT: 01
Marc’s Early Diary 2.
Letter from Anna 1.
Letter from Aunt Bodo 1.
OFFICIAL DOCUMENT: 02
Marc’s Early Diary 3.
Marc’s Last Diary : 03
Letter from Marc’s Mother 1.
Marc’s Early Diary 4.
Letter from Anna 2.
Marc’s Last Diary : 02
Letter from Pedr 1.
Marc’s Last Diary : 03
OFFICIAL DOCUMENT: 03
Letter from Siwsan 1.
Marc’s Early Diary 5.
Marc’s Last Diary : 04
Marc’s Last Diary : 05
Marc’s Last Diary : 06
Letter from Anna 3.
Marc’s Early Diary 6.
Letter from Aunt Bodo 2.
Letter from Siwsan 2.
Marc’s Last Diary : 07
Marc’s Last Diary : 08
Marc’s Last Diary : 09
Marc’s Early Diary 7.
Letter from Anna 4.
Marc’s Early Diary 8.
Letter from Marc’s Mother 2.
Marc’s Last Diary : 10
Part 2
Marc’s Midlife Diary 1.
Marc’s Midlife Diary 2.
Letter from Pedr 2.
Marc’s Last Diary : 11
Marc’s Last Diary : 12
Letter from Pedr 3.
Marc’s Midlife Diary 3.
Letter from Pedr 4.
Letter from Anna 5.
Marc’s Midlife Diary 4.
Marc’s Last Diary : 13
Marc’s Last Diary : 14
Marc’s Last Diary : 15
About the Authors
Copyright
PROLOGUE : 01
We are sure the reader already knows the story of the final days of the previous century (then known as the ‘Twentieth Century’) and how they heralded the present age on Earth. Now, ten years after those events, we release the documents you have before you. They are as unusual as they are important, for there is no way to truly comprehend them; there is a scarcity of information on the Lost Century, and we have no other primary sources to bridge us, the people of the present century, to those of the last. The reasons for which should be obvious.
Two works are frequently mentioned in the main body of these documents: Brave New World and Nineteen Eighty-Four. If our interpretation of the few references made to these books is correct, then we may consider their loss one of the great tragedies of the Lost Century, especially in light of our efforts to establish its events.
The survival of these documents, compiled and bound anonymously, is nothing short of miraculous, and the rarest of gifts to us, believing as we do, the story behind their preservation. We have endeavoured to release them in the order they were found (we advise the reader to pay attention to the dates):
Entries from the Last Diary of subject Marc;
Miscellaneous documents from the final six months of the Twentieth Century;
Entries from Marc’s Early and Midlife Diaries;
Miscellaneous correspondences from the mid century
All documents in this edition have been placed in chronological order. We, the Higher Committee of the New Few have not altered them in any way. However, for reasons that will become clear, we judged it wise to place the final entry of Marc’s Last Diary in the second part of this prologue, keeping earlier entries from the same day in correct chronological order.
As previously mentioned, the original publisher of these documents remains anonymous. We also must disclose that they made three major alterations: firstly, by including a translation; secondly, by placing them in the order described above and dividing them into two parts; finally, by including these words at the end:
Marc:
in praise and condemnation;
forgiveness, persecution;
for honour and derision.
With love and hate I do this
I knew; I never knew.
PROLOGUE : 02
Final Diary Entry of Subject Marc
31/12/99 : PM
The Last Day: of this short century, my long life.
The Last Day, as there is no tomorrow – neither for me nor the residents of Lv.3. There’s a tomorrow for someone. And on that tomorrow, the first day of the new century, the residents of Lv.4 will be the ones who receive their ‘utmost honour’.
Yesterday was the end of an era for Lv.2 – that is, except for the hundred pairs of eyes glistening blindly in storage deep underground, the half-hundred pairs of testicles frozen solid somewhere else, and the thousands of tiny DNA cubes awaiting chemical resurrection in their plastic tombs even further below.
Our ex-hallmates on Lv.2 are now as still and lifeless as the sacks of pellets they feed us. Whose idea was it to sustain human lives with cattle feed? Tomorrow – but not my tomorrow – it’ll be Lv.4’s turn. The beginning of a century, the end of an era … for some reason, I’d rather go today than tomorrow. And if superstition is the reason for this twisted logic, then rejoice! For isn’t this kernel of superstition deep inside my being proof of their failure to assimilate me completely?
I never imagined I’d be writing my final entry like this, though I’d known before coming that here at the Sunset House was where I’d be writing it. I knew I would have to … just not like this. They’re very clever, I’ll give Them that. Perhaps He is as well. Or should I say that thing? A clever oddity. By now I’m almost convinced that this really is the way, that I really am about to be granted the ‘utmost honour’ and fulfil my ultimate duty within the next three hours. Fratolish hiang perpetshki!
Yes, They are very clever, but that cleverness is how I got away with writing my diary like this. They’re as cold as the storage basements, as lifeless as the residents of Lv.2 in the hereafter as of yesterday. Fratolish hiang perpetshki …
I never did learn why They made us keep diaries. Nor why they’re microfilmed and fed to the Computer-General. Something to do with social studies, I think. Discovering weaknesses in the system, the failures of Their assimilation regime.
Very clever, but not clever enough, because They forgot one little thing: the part of the Computer-General’s translation programme that deals with sub-languages was deleted ages ago – and They don’t know I know. The all-knowing Computer-General doesn’t speak my little language! This diary will be digested by his electronic stomach without so much as a hiccup. He’ll find nothing forbidden here because he doesn’t understand a word of this trivial language, and everything, forbidden or not, will be microfilmed and safely stored in his electronic memory.
That’s right: the whole diary as well as instructions on how to find the other documents, the letters and all, stored in the Final Diaries section, subsection: Unintelligible, sub-subsection: Semi-logical. Brilliant!
I’m lucky the electromagnetic messages from outer space, from ΩΔ, cause Them trouble, haunt Them. I’m lucky the Computer-General’s competence is finite after all, as he strains under the weight of responding effectively to ΩΔ’s ambiguous messages, demanding the utmost from his computational programmes, those which replaced the sub-programmes that are now, according to Them, obsolete.
Those poor sods – a translation programme the Computer-General doesn’t need anymore. It’s the funniest thing! When will people – if that’s what They are – be able to tell the difference between big and small, important and trivial?
Everything will be made available for the coming ages, if they ever come – if they haven’t been cut short by Them. But for what purpose? If there are people left to read this diary, who will those readers be? Who will understand it? Treasure it?
It doesn’t matter who. To me, right now, that’s not what matters. Perhaps no one needs to read and understand it to find value in it. Isn’t the making and the writing, what’s important? Doesn’t acceptance – or rejection – come later?
Only one thing has mattered to me over the last six months in the Sunset House: doing everything in my power (as little as that may be) to subvert the Great Untruth. For my own sake? Absolutely. For the sake of the world? Perhaps. I must keep the truth under wraps, protect it from their devices. The effectiveness of my means is not what’s important. Complete success isn’t either. What was – is – important is that I, a slave to my environment, have done and continue to do everything that can be done.
Six minutes left. Then comes the three hours of treatment. Three hours!
A whole tablespoonful of vinegar, says Joseff the barber from another lifetime, down the rooster’s throat, three hours before the slaughter. You’ve never had better, tastier, more tender meat in all your life, no, myn diawl, he used to say, a lifetime ago.
Three hours and five minutes. Before the heavenly realms, the freezing stores and the unspoken hallways and basements …
Five minutes until the march. Like Lv.2 yesterday. Like Lv.4 tomorrow. And every other tomorrow for someone – there’s no end to the arithmetic sequence.
Five minutes – now four – before They put an end to the little individuality left in this fleshy entity of mine. Four minutes before receiving the Council of Fraternity’s ‘utmost honour’.
Four short minutes. I have the right to sentimentality for some of these minutes. For what was. For Anna. For Mam and Aunt Bodo. For the hazy memory of my father. And for Siwsan (yeah, why not?). And even Pedr.
Three minutes. Why didn’t they do a better job assimilating me? Why didn’t any of them discover our little secret: our half-centimetre of platinum, our very own silver lining against the assimilation? They who are oh-so-clever?
Why am I leaving these fragments of tortured sentimentality? I could always just take out the platinum. It’d be easy; I could melt into the pattern, turn the soul into a sigh, the self into part of everyone. The eternal three hours in store for me would be acceptable then.
No – I’ve kept it in so far, so I’ll keep it till the end. I will die a free man.
Two minutes. My name is Marc. I almost forgot to mention that. Seventy years and three weeks old. I was born seven decades ago. Before the assimilation. When you could see seagulls flying above the shore and hear the curlews crying out for rain. In The Winllan, where blackberries grew among the brambles and there were real leaves on the trees.
Before the assimilation? What assimilation? Isn’t the assimilation as old as I am? As old as society? As old as the creation of Eve?
One minute – the gift of my last few breaths as a free man.
I’m appealing to you – yes, you! It’s all here: programme number five-three-seven, sub-programme two-three-five. The Computer-General won’t be able to read these forbidden digits in my little language – all his transistors would blow if he found out!
Please read what you’ve stumbled upon – I paid dearly for it. Use it. Bydd wych!
One minute. To Anna. To God.
Part 1
MARC’S EARLY DIARY
01 / 09 / 48 – 15 / 10 / 49
Alongside miscellaneous correspondences from the same period.
– interspersed with –
MARC’S LAST DIARY
01 / 07 / 99 – 01 / 09 / 99
Alongside miscellaneous documents from the same period.
Marc’s Early Diary 1.
01/09/48: evening
September’s begun. Next month I’ll be at university.
Got a letter from Aunt Bodo. She wants to drop by before the month’s out. Just finished wallpapering her kitchen, apparently. Pink and orange – blimey!
Mam’s making blackberry jam. Pedr and I picked them in The Winllan yesterday. Got a chance to chat about university and the future. Both of us were lucky – full scholarships to study the same subject! Going to university together is going to be great for us, I reckon.
Went to the library, borrowed three books. An interesting novel called Brave New World. Also Electronics: Alphabet of the Future. Going to be useful, really visionary. Also, a book that gives a simple account of the war: Theirs is the Glory. That’s one thing I like about books – they make the past and future part of the present.
Haven’t seen Anna in town for days.
Cont.: bedtime
Saw Anna in town, just before tea. She was on her way home, just having tea with Rebeca. Had to go straight home, but was happy to walk with me to the end of the street.
Asked her if Pedr’s story was true. She laughed and said she’d rather spend time with me than Pedr.
But she never did. I wonder why?
Cont.
Can’t sleep. Sea is loud tonight, curlews louder. I remember Dad saying they cry out for rain around this time. He was always good at spotting omens.
House still full of blackberry jam smell. I can smell it from up here, even. Don’t really feel like reading the new library books. Don’t really feel like writing either.
Will try sleep again. Nos da, Anna!
OFFICIAL DOCUMENT: 01
01/07/99
The Council of Fraternities
[Department of Health]
«»
–« Fratolish hiang perpetshki »–
Voluntary Disclosure:
I hereby accept the invitation issued by the Computer-General to reside at the Sunset House for a period of six months from the date set out below, in order to ensure the necessary reduction of the general population.
I permit the relevant authorities, acting on instruction from the Computer-General, to make the most use possible of my assets once the period of six months has concluded, in order to aid in the completion of the objectives set out by the Council of Fraternity. To this end, I welcome all treatments during the subsequent six months considered to be for the enrichment of said assets on instruction from the Computer-General.
Signature Marc 35/278/29/516
Date 1 September, 1999
Left shoulder serial code 100010100110
fratolish hiang perpetshki
OFFICE PERSONNEL ONLY
Welcoming date
01/07/1999
Date of storage
31/12/1999
Hall
B7/895/2068/L3
Diary No.
L3/29/516
RECORD OF TREATMENTS
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.
SUNSET HOUSE
left hand: left leg: right:
misc. organs:
DNA: units. remainders: kg.
Marc’s Early Diary 2.
30/09/48
Went to buy more things for university today. Mam came with me to buy the suit. Got a nice one for a reasonable price from Siop y Bont. Then got a haircut at Joseff’s. Old Joseff in good spirits – had the whole shop laughing. His banter’s as sharp as his razors!
Planned to meet up with Pedr after lunch – no sign of him, as usual. Gone to The Twb, probably. Didn’t feel like wasting time at The Twb with so much to do.
Aunt Bodo called by for a visit and to have tea with us. She was glad I was ready for university. Bright future and all that. She wanted to know all the details of the course, but clearly had trouble understanding the scientific terms. She’s extraordinary, really – an old hand. Full of advice as usual, and she liked the suit.
After Aunt Bodo left, Mam said she’d asked if I’d ‘carry her when the end comes’. What a thing to ask! I never thought someone with her views would care that much about what happens to bodies when they die.
Got a chance to read tonight. Finished Brave New World for the second time. Amazing – but also scary. Is it possible to fear something you don’t believe in? I had two questions once I’d finished it again: if Huxley’s prediction is correct, when will it happen? I probably won’t see the day when human beings stop being human. And the second question: if he’s incorrect, what kind of world will it be instead of the one described in the book? Impossible to answer.
Went through the cupboards before bed – stamps and cigarette cards and whatnot. Childish things which I’d stashed away. Thought about giving them to my cousin, but maybe I’ll keep them a bit longer. It’s hard letting them go, even if they’re not very useful to me right now.
Saw Anna on the way back from town before tea, but she never saw me. At least, I’d like to think she didn’t. Did she see me too, I wonder? Should I have gone after her? I’ll write to her. The holiday will be over soon. Looking forward to the future. Just a few more days. It’ll be here before I know it.
Think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. Quite tired. Hope the curlews won’t be too loud.
Nos da, Anna!
Letter from Anna 1.
02/10/48
Dear Marc,
Thank you so much for your letter – it came today. I wasn’t expecting it, but am grateful to you for writing to me.
I didn’t see you in the High Street the other day. I would have said hello if I’d seen you, of course. Why wouldn’t I? I was at The Twb. It’s a pity you weren’t there. We had fun chatting and drinking too much coffee, as usual!
I’m sorry I can’t meet you before you leave for university. Did you forget I’m still at school? One of us still has to go during the day!
