The women worried a great deal about the return of the guards, but they never came back. It took a long time for them to shake off their fear, and I couldn’t really understand why they weren’t reassured sooner. The guards had disappeared in moments, leaving no trace, as if they’d evaporated. They’d appeared from nowhere and now they had gone back there and I was less surprised than the others, who had lived in a world where things used to make sense. But I had known only the absurd, and I think that made me profoundly different from them, as I gradually began to realise. We were free.

In fact, we’d merely moved to a new prison.

Anthea and I made several trips down to fetch everything we needed. The women waited for us outside the cabin and relieved us of our load, then we went straight back down again. The third time, they grabbed us, pleased and excited.

‘Come and see! Come and see! Look what we’ve made!’

A few paces from where we’d sat to eat was a clump of bushes, not very thick, but fairly high. They’d uprooted the bushes in the centre, scratching their hands, and thrown blankets over the sides. We’d brought up two shovels which they’d used to dig a hole. I didn’t understand.

‘This is the toilet,’ they announced triumphantly.

‘We’re human again,’ declared Dorothy. ‘We can do our business in private, sheltered from view.’

I was used to the toilet in the prison, and I didn’t immediately understand Anthea’s delight. There were tears in her eyes. She went over to the makeshift construction, stopped, smiled and asked:

‘Is anyone in there?’

They all laughed.

‘No, it’s free, you can go.’

‘This way,’ said one of the women, raising a blanket to reveal the entrance.

Anthea went in, lowered the blanket behind her and stood there for a moment. When she reappeared, she told me it was my turn.

The women’s complaints about having to defecate in public had taught me a lot, and finally I appreciated the importance of the occasion. I sensed I was being invited to participate in the life of the past, in that world they spoke of together and which I now saw they no longer intended to exclude me from, even though I already knew that I’d never be able to enter it. And so I walked towards the little area staked out by blankets while they watched me with bated breath. I could see they were giving me something very precious, and my lack of enthusiasm bothered me. I drew aside the coarse, stiff fabric, went through and let it fall back into place. At once I had a curious impression of strangeness. My heart thumped, I felt light-headed. I glanced around: I could only see the thorny branches and the folds of the brown-coloured blankets that created a screen between the others and myself. I shivered. But I soon understood: this was the first time that I’d ever found myself alone. No woman could see me, and I couldn’t see any of them. I found that very disturbing. I stood there at a loss, contemplating my situation. I discovered physical solitude, something so ordinary for all the others, but which I had never experienced. It immediately appealed to me.