I'm Still Here (Je Suis Là) (13 page)

I
couldn't resist. I kissed her.

I thought she would feel cold. My first mistake.

I thought she would feel stiff. My second mistake.

Of course, she didn't exactly respond to my kiss, but she felt supple. Supple enough that it was like kissing someone who was asleep. The sort of kiss you might give someone in the middle of the night, maybe to wake them up. Or maybe to make sure they are still there, in one of those moments when the night seems to have given everything a different tint. It might just be a sentimental thing, or it might be physical, or maybe a mixture of the two—I can't remember the last time I shared that kind of moment with someone.

But there it is: I don't know what came over me.

Some people might say something like: “It was stronger than I was.” I can't stand that expression. I'd say…

It was inevitable.

I kissed her.

I bite my knuckle to release the tension. I've been back at Gaëlle and Julien's for two hours and I still feel overexcited. It must be the adrenaline, or maybe it's the hormones that shoot around your system when you have that kind of contact with someone. I was bathed in a sort of euphoria earlier, I got back to the apartment almost on autopilot. How absurdly we behave when we're in love…

A cry from Clara brings me back down to earth. It must be time for me to get her evening bottle ready.

When I got in I put the television on, out of habit, but I've kept the volume very low. I suppose it's for the company, or as a distraction. But it hasn't worked. Not even Clara can take my mind off this afternoon.

When the bottle's ready, I lie her across me and she sucks happily. My eyes wander around the living room and eventually land on their target. The stroller manual. I do have a project for tomorrow, and I need to learn how to unfold this stupid contraption. But another book on the coffee table catches my attention.

It's strange that I even saw it, it's so well hidden among the magazines. It was me who left it there the last time, deliberately stashed so that I would forget it when I left. I hesitate for a minute. I wonder why Julien really bought me this book, even as he was telling me all week to be careful of what I thought and felt for Elsa. Perhaps he thought it would deter me from going to visit her. Either that or he's trying to advance my medical education. I have my doubts about that theory, though.

I don't move, on the cusp of a decision until Clara finishes her bottle. It's as though the book and I are staring each other down. I look over at it as though I might be able to make it levitate toward me, and it seems to be daring me to come over and pick it up. Luckily for the book, it wins some extra time while I go and put Clara to bed. But after dinner and a shower, I come in ready to tackle it at about nine o'clock, as though I am a soldier who's been ritually prepared for battle.

The book starts with a preface, which I skip most of. It seems like a fairly good summary, but I only skim it to get to the introduction. Five seconds later, I have already worked my way through about ten pages and I feel as though I'm getting to the heart of the matter.

The explanations begin quite simply, with only a few technical phrases. But the language soon gets more scientific. When I eventually lift my head out of the book to look at the clock, it is… ten past nine. No, that's impossible—I feel as though I've been wrestling with this thing for several hours. I think perhaps it belongs under the magazines for now. I know when I've been beaten.

There's also a part of me that doesn't actually want to know when a person who's in a coma starts running out of chances to wake up.

I have no idea what state Elsa is in, and nobody seems to want to tell me. And I realize that I prefer it that way. Staying in the dark, living in ignorance, means that I can keep on hoping. And hope is what keeps me going on a day like today.

At nine fifteen, I pick up the stroller instructions and creep back into Clara's room to retrieve the object of my disaffection. In the living room I push aside the coffee table so that I've got a bit more room to maneuver. The movements that follow resemble an extremely bad ballet. I turn into a terrible dancer, the unskilled partner of a reluctant stroller who refuses to bend, or unbend rather, to any of my requirements. It's a sad excuse for a duet.

I eventually retire from the spectacle, victorious, at ten o'clock, leaving the stroller open in the hallway. Although I have folded and unfolded it at least five times in a row to make sure that I have learned how it's done, I'm still a little frightened of not being able to do it again in the morning.

I get everything ready for Clara, who will wake me up in the middle of the night, and then I lie myself carefully out on the bed. The battle with the stroller must have tired me out more than I realized, because I am asleep quickly. At four in the morning, a foggy-minded creature gives the baby her bottle before plunging back into a deep sleep.

The alarm goes off at seven. Or, rather, my phone vibrates at seven. I get up quickly so as not to disturb Clara.

It's funny how much a situation can remind you of another completely separate one. I remember waking up quietly like this for several years, so as not to disturb Cindy, who always slept for a quarter of an hour longer than me. I would creep out and get her breakfast ready, at first out of love, and later out of habit. On reflection, I think she only thanked me for doing this during the first few weeks. I didn't mind, though; I was in love, and then later I was used to it. Today, I'm just devoted to my miraculous little companion. And I know that Clara isn't going to abandon me.

I get everything organized, so that when she wakes up I am completely ready to look after her. I wrap her up in plenty of clothes to make sure she's warm enough, as Gaëlle instructed. I also remember to look for the pink hat I gave her when she was born. I find it put neatly away with the rest of her “outings clothes,” as Julien calls them, which seems appropriate as it is an “outing” that I have in mind. A bit of a strange one, though. It will be a new experience for my goddaughter. And a new experience for me as well. I've never been jogging with a stroller. I know that the model of stroller Julien has is suitable for jogging. Still, I feel a little apprehensive, although I think it's more excitement than anxiety. For the first time since the beginning of December, I don't look quite so much like a cosmonaut. My jacket stays on the dresser when I close the door behind me.

Getting into the elevator with the stroller is not as complicated as I had thought, unlike the seemingly simple task of getting out of the building. At nine on a Sunday morning there aren't many people around to hold the door open—none, in fact. I instruct Clara to cover her ears while I swear profusely at the possibility that, after all this preparation, we may not even make it out of the door. When we do eventually get outside, I feel instantly revitalized.

I can't fully comprehend my mixture of feelings, but I enjoy the simple fact of seeing the rays of sunlight filter through the clouds. Supposedly, it isn't going to rain, but I've brought the plastic covering for the stroller anyway. I don't want Clara to get cold.

I head toward the park at a good pace. After a few hundred meters I have settled into the running shoes that I have borrowed from Julien. If the stroller is as well adapted to jogging as I seem to be, this is going to be more fun than I expected. As soon as we arrive at the paved walkways that crisscross through the park, I gather speed. I find myself trotting along behind it quite awkwardly at first, and then with greater assurance as we make our way around the park. In the stroller, Clara seems more alert than ever. The new experience delights her. I was skeptical about attempting this a few days ago, but now that I'm here I am fully convinced. In my head I even start planning for future sessions. I'll have to talk to Julien about it, but perhaps
we
could go running like this, together, from time to time. I even wonder if Gaëlle would enjoy it, too.

By about ten o'clock the park has more people in it, but still fewer than I had imagined. The sun is beginning to hide behind the clouds, so I head back to the apartment just in the nick of time, running for the last part as the rain begins to fall.

I arrive soaked, both from sweat and from rain, but first I have to look after the sleeping beauty in the stroller. I undress her and change her, after which she refuses categorically to let me put her down. We wander into the living room to play but my mood sinks as the light drains from the sky. It's not even midday yet, and you'd think that night was falling. It looks strangely like what my brother was watching from his wheelchair yesterday afternoon.

When a ray of sunlight pierces the clouds, I go to the window to try and recapture the mood of our outing this morning. But nothing comes back. It's as though my body has lost its memory.

In the distance rain is falling. There's just one little spot with sun shining onto it, making a pale rainbow overhead. For some reason it reminds me of the indicator lights on a screen in that room at the hospital. I pick out the colors one by one and point them out to Clara, though I know that she won't remember, as I will, this particular Sunday in which her soon-to-be godfather tried to help her understand this miracle.

I sigh as I gaze at the rainbow. I feel apathetic again. It's as though I'm imitating my brother's new attitude. Clara must notice because she starts wriggling and wanting to be put down. I put her into her bed and go back to the window, as though I am being beckoned by it.

The driving rain at the end of the rainbow looks like the state of my heart. I suddenly want to cry out in misery, but I know that I shouldn't. I've already cried enough. I've made my decisions. I hate storms, but this rainbow gives me some hope in spite of it.

Storms must be good for something.

I
can hear the repulsive sound of the languorous kiss that my sister and her boyfriend are currently engaged in. How dare she do that in my bedroom? She has never had to think about boys or how to behave around them; she's always just picked one from the long line of them that constantly follows her around.

If my ears don't deceive me, I think this boy may even have his hands up her shirt. She laughs, but obviously thinks better of whatever she was about to do, because the hungry lip noises eventually stop.

A mental sigh of relief. I was sick of listening to them kiss, yes, but I was also jealous. Not because my sister hasn't spoken to me as much as usual today, but because I haven't had any contact of that kind for what seems like an eternity.

When I woke up this morning I had lost all sense of time, but then Pauline and her companion arrived, so I knew it must be Wednesday. I couldn't work out what the date was until she answered the phone. I think it's the tenth, but I'm not completely sure. At least I know that Christmas is in a couple of weeks. I wonder what exciting presents will be coming my way.

None, presumably.

What do you give a girl in a coma? Especially when she's just had her birthday. And when all the doctors want to unplug her.

I think back to Christmas last year. I was bored out of my mind, stuck at one of those interminable gatherings where you always see exactly the same people and eat exactly the same food. All I could think about was grabbing my skis and making a dash for it, to make the most of the one day of the year when there would be hardly anyone on the slopes, and no queue for the chairlifts. My mother told me off several times that day, I remember, for my lack of festive spirit. She said that I was being antisocial, but I dodged the criticism by complaining that I didn't understand how my sister had been allowed to bring a boyfriend she had only known for two weeks, when I hadn't been allowed to invite one of my oldest friends.

The friend I wanted to invite was Steve. My whole family already knew him, but they still said no. My father had hated him ever since he became my climbing buddy. And my mother ignored him as soon as she realized that he was only my climbing buddy, and not something more. My sister…

I have no idea what my sister thought about it actually—for once I don't think she made any comment—but suddenly I have a feeling I'm about to find out. Outside my bedroom door I hear several people talking and one of them sounds like Steve. I am overcome with joy, truly overcome. Submerged in joy even, because my victory for this week has been that I am now able to perceive my emotions.

I can feel whatever is circulating in my blood. I feel the chemical messages running through me, bringing messages from my brain and later returning there, charged with new information. Disgust, followed by joy, are the two that I have experienced so far today. Yesterday it was grief and anger.

Yesterday's were because my consultant and Loris came to pay me a visit. In fact, they came to stand over me and talk about my situation. It was as though they needed me there, in front of them, to be better able to argue their cases for the relative hopelessness of my plight. The consultant gave the junior a massive talking-to when he learned that he had told my parents about the seizure on Saturday. Loris was defending himself by reminding his boss that it was correct procedure to let them know. The consultant insisted that, once the “minus X” had been written in the notes, it was normal practice to overlook insignificant details. The seizure had just been a reflex, a message from the autonomic nervous system, and definitely not via my brain. I let some of the medical terms go over my head, even though I was curious to hear what the consultant's arguments were. When I came back to myself there was no one left in my room.

But now I find myself in the midst of five people, and they're making a monumental noise.

“Pauline!” squeals Rebecca. “I hadn't realized you'd be here, how wonderful to see you. How are you?”

My sister's reply is enthusiastic. I can just imagine the look of suffering on her boyfriend's face, in flagrante one minute and then finding himself among three strangers the next. She introduces everyone. He emits a pained little grunt in place of a hello. I don't think he stays more than six seconds before making a beeline for the exit.

Steve and Alex snigger in the corner while Rebecca worries as usual.

“Do you think we frightened him off?”

“Oh relax, Rebecca!” answers my sister. “He's just a bit wild. I haven't tamed him yet.”

“Judging by the way he had you around the waist a minute ago, ‘wild' is definitely the word,” laughs Alex.

“Alex!” shout both girls simultaneously.

“Oh, come on, we're allowed to laugh in here, aren't we?”

“I agree with Alex,” adds Steve.

“Uh… I'm sorry.”

Intriguing. That was definitely my sister's voice, but not a version of my sister's voice that I have ever heard before. It was an embarrassed murmur of an apology that didn't sound convincing at all, as though it was directed toward someone in particular. That really wasn't like her… Then suddenly, I understand.

My sister and Steve. Oh help… Can my sister actually be in love with Steve?

Now that this theory has crossed my mind, I wonder why I didn't think of it sooner. It seems so obvious! Or maybe not—perhaps you have to be in a coma to pick up on these signals. All these things I've never noticed. That must be why I could never quite put my finger on what my sister thought of him.

This idea gives me an opportunity to experience my newest feeling of the moment, compassion. Because I find myself hoping very strongly that my sister manages to show him how she feels. Maybe not in this hospital room though, please. Steve is not the sort to waste any time on small talk, not even with girls.

I think it's only with me that he has really tried to get in touch with his sensitive side and, unfortunately for him, it didn't work out romantically, even if sensitivity is a characteristic that I like in a man.

I paint a mental picture of Steve and my sister together. It makes me smile inside. I imagine smiling in real life.

“She looks happy today,” says Rebecca.

I know that she's talking about me because her footsteps come over to my bed. I want to scream with joy when I feel the contact of her hand on my left arm, my second victory since Thibault's visit.

“Well, I don't see why she should.” My sister's voice makes my blood run cold. New emotion: apprehension. I haven't reached fear yet. And, to tell the truth, it's the first time that I wish I couldn't feel anything at all.

“What are you saying, Pauline?” asks Steve.

“No, nothing.”

“Do you think we're going to let you leave it at that without an explanation?”

What was I saying, about Steve and sensitivity? They just don't go together.

“I'm not allowed to talk about it,” begins my sister.

“What do you mean, not allowed?”

“Because you're not family.”

Steve must be reaching boiling point. I think Rebecca moves closer to my sister.

“Pauline, you must know that, for Elsa, we are part of her family, even if we aren't actually related. You can't leave it at that, after what you've just said. What's going on?”

I silently thank Rebecca for her firm but gentle intervention. It is wonderful to hear someone speak about me as though I am still actually alive, and in such a tactful, sympathetic way. My beloved friends want an answer and they won't leave until they get it.

“Really, do you really need me to explain?”

My sister's voice breaks my heart. I think she's going to cry.

“She's not going to wake up, is that it?”

Steve's voice is as cold as the glaciers we used to walk on together. In my head his colors have just gone from red to the iciest blue I can imagine. Too much emotion for me. I almost want to duck out of this conversation.

“The doctors say not.”

The tone of my sister's voice indicates that she has concluded her explanation. Nobody speaks, at least not straight away.

Predictably, it is Alex who steps in first. “Thank you, Pauline. I'm sure Elsa would have wanted you to tell us.”

“I have no idea what Elsa would have wanted, and now I don't think I ever will,” retorts my sister angrily.

“Calm down, Pauline. It won't do any good to get yourself in a state.”

“What do you mean, won't do any good? I'll get in any kind of state I want to!”

I don't think I've ever heard my sister speak like that.

At that moment I hear the door handle squeak again. It's so quiet I can hear the breathing of all four of the people in the room. Is it the boyfriend coming back?

“Uh… It looks like I've come at a bad time.”

Thibault. My rainbow. He is going to have a challenge on his hands, dissipating the electric atmosphere in this room.

“Yes, it looks like it!” replies my sister. “Who are you?”

“Calm down, Pauline.”

This time the instruction comes from Steve. I'm touched and surprised.

“Come with me,” he says.

“Where?” she practically spits.

“Outside. You need to breathe.”

I think he takes her arm and leads her out to the corridor. The door clicks behind them and a heavy silence takes over the room. It's exactly as I thought. Even with Steve and my sister outside, the storm rages on in here.

“Hello, you two…” says Thibault, coming over. “It really seems like I've come at the wrong moment. Or have I done something I shouldn't have?”

I imagine my rainbow feeling awkward, and not knowing how to behave. That's how his voice sounds, anyway. I have more desire than ever to turn my head and open my eyes. I am so desperate to see him.

“No, it's just that Elsa's sister is a little bit… uncomfortable,” says Alex carefully.

“I wouldn't have called that uncomfortable,” says Thibault.

Nobody answers him. I hear him come over to me. I put all the working parts of my brain on full systems alert. By concentrating, I feel contact on my forehead, in my hair and on my cheek at the same time as I hear his hand pass over. I feel as though I could drift away, even drown, in his gentle warmth, vast as an ocean. But the sensation is so light and fragile, it's almost like a butterfly's wing moving.

Thibault's breathing is very close, as close as on the days when he has slept next to me.

“I won't stay today, Elsa,” he says, as quietly as possible. “Lots of people have come to visit you, so I can't be selfish and try to keep you all to myself.”

Confused emotions. A chaotic mixture of jealousy, desire, sadness and something else that I can't quite identify.

I feel one thing clearly. Thibault kisses my cheek. It's like an explosion of flavors. I focus every bit of my brain, even the inactive parts, on what I can feel. I think I could describe the exact shape of his lips, the roundness of his mouth, every crease on that pink flesh that I dream of kissing.

More than ever I want to turn my head and open my eyes.

The warmth goes away before I manage it.

Instead of drowning in the contact, I am drowning in my own misery as I listen to Thibault say good-bye to Rebecca and Alex. He leaves the room and I am a world away again. Even my friends' voices don't bring me back to them. I do manage to catch a few words, but it's as though the sounds are muffled by clouds.

“Do you think we should talk to him? He seems so close to her now…”

“No, leave him. At least one person can still dream.”