The SAMU came to our fifth-floor apartment on 5, rue du 29 Juillet in the middle of the night a few days before the feast of St Valentine. It was the same unlucky two men, even more nervous this time because my waters had broken. I had gone into labour, but I still had the metal stitch, and the baby’s head now pushed against it, trying fiercely to break out. This time I was not crying, I was screaming. I leaned against the french windows overlooking the Musée d’Orsay and howled. ‘Madame, please,’ pleaded the Antillean SAMU, trying to take my arm. ‘Please don’t scream.’ The two of them led me into the lift, bent over. They got me down the lift, into the ambulance and to the hospital, screaming the whole way. It was near dawn and they drove like Frenchmen: brutally fast, occasionally bumping me up in the air, and I would have fallen off the cot in the back had they not strapped me down with old-fashioned leather straps and a buckle. One drove, and the unfortunate one, the soft-spoken Antillean, had to stay in the back and hold my hand, trying to comfort me, and failing.
What do You think about Ghosts By Daylight (2011)?
