Level 7

SEPTEMBER 13

Yesterday part of my diary was destroyed. P, in a fit of temper, grabbed a sizeable chunk and tore it to bits. I did not bother to stop her. Why should I? The world went to pieces: should I care what happens to my diary?

P cannot understand me—or rather, the change in me since that couple from Level 3 went up. She says she could put up with me when I was gloomy, depressed, mentally ill. “But,” to quote her, “in this saintly shape of yours I just can’t stand you.”

What seems to enrage her most is the fact that I do not retaliate by storming back at her. My meekness makes her more furious than ever, though it is not intended to. I just do not find in myself any anger against her—or against anybody else, for that matter.

This is neither saintly nor vicious. Something in me has changed, that is all. I do not undergo the mental ups and downs which troubled me before; my mood is on one level. I have no need of company and entertainment. Nor even the speculation I used to indulge in. My thoughts often ramble through the world that is gone, though, and I think a good deal about humanity—the humanity that disappeared during those few hours of button-pushing.

I think about all these things calmly, in a detached way, yet sympathetically. I feel no pangs of conscience or remorse, though. I do not know why.

P does not understand this mood of mine. I suppose she cannot classify it according to the psychology she has learnt. She was waiting patiently in the hope that it would change, I think, until yesterday’s incident, which made her lose her temper. It happened during her visit to my room. (Such visits have been allowed since hostilities ended.) She must have thought that tearing my diary would be some kind of shock to me, for when I failed to react she shouted: “Oh, if that didn’t shake you, nothing will!” Then she spun on her heel and left the room without giving me another glance.

The last entry in the diary to survive P’s assault was the one for July 2. More than two months have elapsed since then. I am not going to rewrite what I wrote during that time. Not much happened, anyway, and my inner changes—well, I doubt if they would interest my prospective readers (if I have any).

Perhaps one thing should be mentioned, though it was already clear back in June. The living world has shrunk, shrunk incredibly, into a few holes. But these holes—Levels 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7, with an estimated 622,500 people—go on living. I do not know what precisely is the situation in the enemy’s country, the number of levels and people surviving there; but probably the population of the whole world is now somewhere between one and two millions. Incredibly small, but also extremely dense, if one remembers the limited space available underground.

Still, it is amazing how people can adjust themselves to the new conditions. Now, three months after A-Day (‘A’ for Atomic War), life seems to be smoothly regulated even on the civilian levels.

How flexible human beings are! And yet how rigid!