Discrimination

As we stepped off Nessus’s boat and onto land,

My eyes cast a glance upon an endless row

Of shacks that sat along the fiery river.

The places were in no better care than were

The many shantytowns that came plenty

After the darkest Tuesday: old wood made me deter

Myself from deciding to enter any

Of these ugly houses. They were together

Packed inward, with the space of just one body

Separating one dwelling from another.

The denizens of this unsightly area

Were cloaked in nothing but simple attires

That once covered their bodies from the neck down.

Now the garments were tattered, torn, singed, soiled,

And any combination of the four looks

Of a wanderer. An unknown action had

Burned the bodies of these helpless wretched souls,

While the brothers of Nessus lashed their backs

With metal hook whips dipped into the river.

A large wave from the molten Phlegethon

Struck one of the homes, setting the shack alight.

The fire spread to the other shacks in the

Instant that a horsefly takes to flap its wings.

The centaurs whipped the souls of the condemned and,

With the lack of water apparent, ordered

Them to destroy their own places so as to

Halt the spread of the fire. The blaze caught

The denizens as they took down their own quarters,

Charring their flesh even as they continued

To take down the scorching embers of old wood

.

“It appears that we have come not at the right

Time, master,” I say. “Everyone seems to be

In a panic regarding this fervent blaze.”

 “The fires here are a constant occurrence,”

My guide explained. “More are by the horizon.

This place holds many persons of prominence

Who violently rejects people unlike himself.

It is not wise to linger; the fire will cease

Only at the gate that holds the suicides.”

With that, my great master ushered me to turn,

Towards the forest that grew at the black edge

Of the community that forever burns.

As the poets step off of Nessus’s boat after crossing the Phlegethon, they arrive at a large decrepit village, comprised of wooden shanties. The people here are charred to various degrees, and are whipped with molten hooks. A wave of fire causes a blaze to erupt. With no water available, the souls are ordered to take down their shacks to stop the blaze. Those closest to the fire are burned alive, but are forced to continue to demolish their burning homes.

This is the QUARTERS OF THE DISCRIMINANT, which houses the souls of those who judged people based on their beliefs or skin color. The souls are forced to live in the shacks of slavehouses, with only a simple cloth as their personal belongings. The fire is the rejection that the souls emanated in their lifetime: no matter how much they tried to stop it, they could never put it out completely before it burned them. This is only heightened by the presence of the overseeing centaurs.

Virgil states that the fire will engulf their area soon, so they do not speak to anyone, and walk into the next ring of level seven.