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Monday, 17 January 2011

17 Janvier 2011

Remembering an exhausted firefigther in the subway.
Covered in dust from head to toe and equipment, he's my only compagnon on the deserted wagon, almost lying on the bench, not able to stay much awake.
Still scared, I avoid his eye contact. Then, after changing lines, we find ourselves alone again in another wagon. He's too exhausted to flirt overtly, but the spirit is there, floating between us. A bit chocked, still guarded and much too raw, I stare back with disbelief.
As well as tears, and the incommensurable and shameful relief of still being alive. Why?
Seeing my state of mind, he does nothing, but the atmosphere is now real compassion and unreal understanding. We were there. But he fought. And I ran.
He was a real life heroe, and I thanked him when I got off, just for that. He understood, and slightly bowed in gratitude, like a very dusty and old English gentleman.

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