Our journey back to rebirth stretched out over two days. We were numbed by fatigue and hunger. The Paris of which we dreamed was still far off. Here was Namur.8 Curiosity, the delicious smell of bread, sharp and smooth, pulled us out of our numbness. We got off, we ate, and we stayed.
Bread … Sun … Life … The light was stunning. We were happy and worried. What were we going to do with this new life? We still had no path.
Having barely had our fill, there we were already being mixed up, counted, and passed around. Astonished or blank looks—whatever expression was appropriate; we were surrounded by superficial pity and easy emotion. We wanted to run away. But we had to talk, to justify our presence. “Name? Age?” Memory gap, silence. “Come on, speed up. You’re not the only one …” We had to remember at all costs. Come back to our senses quickly. Say something, at any rate.
It was tiring to come back to life in a world that was already moving on. The speed was dizzying. I was out of breath. No sooner had my eyes opened than I wanted to close them again.
The advantage of my age—seventeen years—and my rundown state earned me some rest and individual care along with four of my companions. We had three months ahead of us in the beautiful countryside around Namur. I was neither happy nor sad. I let myself sink into a protective half-consciousness. Come on, we’ll see later …