Satine [ONGOING]

SATINE (III)

Satine was no stranger to fleeing. She had fled countless places and situations, most notably her home eight years ago, in the dead of the night, walking along the train tracks until the morning train was up and running to take her away without a single question. However, she never thought she would flee Paris in this way, Paris was big enough one could disappear without a trace within its walls. There were few circumstances under which she would ever have to leave that city behind. Imminent invasion was one of those. After Jean had woken her up she just packed all the belongings that could fit into her suitcase, and layered her two favourite dresses and her nightgown despite the sweltering June sunshine. She wore a scarf because she wanted to take it with her. the same went for her long blue coat which felt desperately inappropriate for the season. Sweat dripped down her figure and though it was uncomfortable, she gritted her teeth and accepted this near-desperate situation. Only after about an hour of being awake amidst this carnage, she was at the train station la gare du Nord suffocated by a crowd of exiles such as herself. She was hoping to catch a train east, but soon she had been there for hours amidst the chaos, the crying babies, the shouting old men and nothing was happening. There were trains at one point, but now there were none. The tracks were deserted, but the platforms were lined by hundreds of parisians. She had tried to be patient, it had never been her strong suit, but the hot summer air made her inexplicably tired and apathetic. (there was no opportunity to take any of her layers off) She also told herself some people were more desperate to get away than she was, she would not stand in the way of a family with young children or sickly looking members. She could wait. Eventually, her turn had to come, or so she thought, but as the big clock ticked away, the air cooled and the sunlight retracted from the station. She was starting to wonder. Her patience had finally run out after the chime of eight o'clock echoed through the air. Satine looked around, jumping up on her toes in an attempt to find someone official looking, after pushing past a good chunk of the crowd she noticed a group of young men arguing with a controller, he held his dark blue hat against his chest as he spoke to them. She recognised one of the men grouped around him. Her neighbour, Jean Thenardier, still very much in Paris, stuck like her, though she was sure he and his wife had made it out already. "What's going on, jean?" She asked him as she came up behind him. The older man turned around in shock. "Oh Mademoiselle Dumont! Mon dieu You're not out yet?" The young woman scoffed and gestured to herself, present on the grounds of this platform.
'Evidently, no." She said, turning on the spot theatrically to highlight the anxious crowd of the station. "And neither are all these people, what is going on?" She quickly directed her gaze toward the controller, who seemed to be on the edge of tears, his head bowed down in shame. Jean put a hand on Satine's shoulder as she stared at the stranger with wide eyes, awaiting an answer. He gulped visibly.
"There will be no more trains today." The man said, "there has been an excessive amount-"
Satine couldn't quite believe her ears; she almost laughed. "Mh? An excessive amount of people, well yeah," her bitter tone perfected over the years in show business glazed right over her words like icing would on an excellent cake. "The Germans could walk in any minute! There are children, elders, should they just be left here at their mercy, monsieur?" His puppy-like eyes made her blood boil. How else would everyone get out like the news was telling them to?

"Mademoiselle, I understand but-"
'But what? What do you suggest we do? Walk?"

She chuckled bitterly. There was an uncomfortable silence. The four men around the controller all exchanged a few stiff glances, clearly Satine had not been here for the vital parts of the conversation. Her face fell. "Walk?" She repeated, thinking of all of these people, walking out of the city all across France to wherever they thought they could be safe and taken care of. It seemed absurd. Though it explained the strange commotion outside her apartment "Have you all lost your goddamn mind!" She exclaimed, Jean tried to hold her back but she managed to hit the man with her purse. She did instantly regret it, because in the end, it probably was not his fault, but after hours of waiting, in fear biting her nails, the sound of children wailing for their mothers in her ears she could not contain herself anymore. She had to find someone to blame. She broke free of Monsieur Thenardier's arms eventually and pushed her way past the crowd toward the exit. To anyone that asked, she informed them there would be no more trains that day in a monotonous voice. Hoards of people made their way out of the station in the next hour and once she felt the fresh taste of the air outside, Satine witnessed one of the most surreal scenes of her life unfold: People all over the streets, carrying their belongings, as much as they could pack, making their way down toward rue du Havre. There was nothing but a sea of people from the wall of one building to the next. It was worse than what she had seen in the morning, it was suffocating, ever-growing. The sheer confusion and desperation in the air was enough to make her spiral, but she did her best not to think too much. To counteract her destructive thoughts she hummed the tune of one of her old choir songs: Les Anges Dans Nos Campagnes, a somewhat upbeat tune to keep her walking, it felt strange to sing in June, as it very much was a Christmas carol but it kept her together for a while, sadly not for very long as it soon made her tear up, because it reminded her that she didn't want to be here amongst this sea of desperate people. Her feet were blistered, her face was flushed red, all she wanted was to be with her mother, singing by her piano in their living room 500 kilometres away. She had not longed for it in so long and the weight of her emotions was crushing her. 

KEY:

mon dieu : my god