16th, March, 2019
It was Saturday, I was not supposed to work, but here I was, in one of the stores on Champs-Elysée, digging out some old files in the back office. Apparently Madame de Blois needed them for Monday. Why they were not transferred into the computer system was beyond my comprehension. I had to stop asking 'why' in France. There was no logic in France, there were rules, but came with one thousand exceptions beneath them. Suddenly I heard noises from a huge crowd outside the door, people were shouting and chanting. It was strange, Saturday before noon should not be busy, and customers would not shout in a luxurious boutique either. I could hear the sound of breaking glasses and objects falling. Shit, please, not another terrorist attacks! I opened slightly the office door and left a tiny gap to peep what's going on, a crowd of men wearing black masks were inside the boutique, they were breaking all the glass display boxes and threw all the stuffs on the floor. They ransacked the shop and trashed everything they could. Fuck! All the employees left the shop already.
I quickly closed the door. And fuck! It had no locked. I hoped they wouldn't come to the office. I looked around and pushed the chair to block the door. My hands were shaking and my legs were trembling terribly.
I did not know why, but I took out my phone and texted Aurélien.
I was in the back office of the boutique M in Champs-Elysée, there were crowds ransacking the shops right now. What should I do?
Thank god Aurélien saw the message, I could see that he was typing it.
Listen through the door, once the crowd left, you ran outside.
Don't stay in the shop, it is not safe.
Once you were outside, ran to the alley or any small streets, text me where you are.
I will come to pick you up. Wait for me.
All I could type was:
OK.
I put my ears on the door, the noises diminished gradually. I removed the chair and opened the door slightly. The crowd was gone. I put the files in my bag and grabbed my phone, ran out of the shop. There were glasses everywhere on the floor, I almost tripped. I could see many masked people dressed in black were marching and shouting. The streets was covered in smoke, the burning smell filled in the air. I saw several shops caught on fire, many of the display windows of shops were damaged. It was like Paris was at war and Champs-Elysée was a battlefield. It was so surreal.When I reached the intersection between Rue de Berri and Rue d'Artois, I texted him my location.
He replied, "Wait for me at the intersection of Rue de Berri and Blvd Haussmann. I will be there in 5 minutes."
I fastened my pace. My heartbeats were fast, my palms were sweating. I was never so scared in my life.
"In 5 minutes, he would be here, and I would be safe." I kept telling myself.
When I reached Boulevard Haussmann, I texted to tell him that I would wait at the gas station. It was the longest five minutes in my life
At last, I saw him in the car pulling over. He gestured me to get in.
I started sobbing and tears streaming down my cheeks. I was relieved to see him.
He grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly. "Shhhhh.....it is ok now. Everything is ok."
"Thank you. Thank you for coming." That was all I managed to say.
He drove the car away, before the crowds trashed his brand new Maserati.
He handed me a cup of tea when we were sitting in his kitchen. I looked down and sipped it quietly.
"I was so scared that I almost peed in my pants. I was glad that I didn't drink too much coffee this morning," I said.
He held my head, looked me into the eyes and said it calmly, "It is too soon to make a joke. You are safe here, it is ok now. Nobody can hurt you here." He then hugged me tightly and gently stroked my hair.
"Thank you for coming to pick me up. I started to panic and I didn't know who to call. I am sorry if I disturbed you," I said.
"I was glad that you called me first. I figured that no Uber driver would pick you fast enough. I was at my home anyway," he laughed.
His phone was buzzing nonstop.
I released from his hug and said, "I am better now. You should answer your phone."
He stood up, took his phone and left the room. After half an hour and he returned and said, "You can stay here for now, it is not yet safe outside. I have to go to handle some urgent matters. It shouldn't take long."
"Where are you going? It is not safe for you too!"
"I won't be long, I promise. I have some security guards with me. Don't worry," he said and left immediately.
I turned on the TV. I couldn't concentrate, my head kept replaying those terrible moments. The streets were filled with smokes, the shops were burning. Masked mobs were shouting. People were running.
After several terrorist attacks in France, every Parisian must had PTSD to some extent. Most of the French believed that we had to carry on living like normal, we could not live in fear and let them win. But whenever we heard some unusual noises in public, everyone was in high alert
and was ready to flee the scene. The tragedies changed us subtlety and nothing was normal as before. The memory was too raw to forget. All we could say was: Oh for fuck's sake, not again! (Because, to be honest, there are not many French who truly believe in God.) French children learnt in school on how to hide or to evacuate. Adults moved out of the city to remote countryside if they could, hoping that the terrorists would not find the village with the GPS. Those who stayed could just cross the fingers and hoped that it would not happen to themselves one day. Running didn't increase our chance of survival, they had guns to hunt everyone down like shooting scared deers. It would be more fun for those psychopaths.
Before it was the terrorist attacks, now it was the gilets jaunes movements. Couldn't they give us a break? Why couldn't we live in France for an uneventful year or two, when the eight o' clock news only talked about the weather or the epic traffic jams on the first day of school vacation? I preferred hearing about the early blossoming of flowers or frustrations of parents in their cars. Instead, we had these war-like violent protests from the French people within. When could we feel safe to walk on the Parisian streets again? These mobs were not simply protesting for their rights in a peaceful way. They were mobs who broke in shops and stole whatever they found, some burnt trash bins and cars. Today they burnt whatever shops they found. They used the protest as an excuse to vent out their needs to ruin and destroy. 'If I can't have it, I will destroy it.' They kept blaming the others for their personal failures. It was always the fault of the others. Whatever they wanted the society to know, nobody was willing to listen or to support them, because senseless violence and destruction were not the answer.
For me, these people were not protesters, they were no different from the terrorists. They both used violence to make the others fear, they used terror to make the others hear. They threatened everyone to make their demands. Yet they were not called terrorists because they were not muslims, because they were White French people who were racists and anti-immigration?
"Delphine, wake up, I am back. Do you want to eat something?" Aurélien said.
I woke up in confusion. Why was I here? Oh.....right, this morning.
"What time is it?"I asked with my broken dry voice.
"Almost 7 pm. It took me longer than I expected, but I am here now."
"I should head home now. I don't want to take more of your time."
"Just have dinner here, I will drive you home after. Ok?"
"What did you do this afternoon."
"I had to go to check on some shops."
"What? Are you crazy? The mobs would jump on you if they recognized you!"
"I had bodyguards with me. Those people didn't recognize me. I came back in one piece, didn't I? My dad couldn't go there because he was out of town, so I had to go," he shrugged.
"Aurélien, don't be so stupid next time."
"There were things that needed to be done. It is my job and my responsibility. I can't run away from it. Everything was under my control."
I said nothing. I was not in a position that I could worry about his safety. I was nobody to him.
Since the day he was born, his life was almost planned ahead for him. He was hardworking, smart and self-disciplined. He would go to places and make his dad very proud, and he certainly wanted to make his dad proud.
"Why did you choose the same Grand École like your dad?" I once asked him.
"Because I knew it would make my dad very happy."
"If you did not join your dad's business, what would you do now?"
"A professional pianist, I guess. My mom told me that I could do anything I wanted. I could have a music career and she would fully support me, but I knew my dad wouldn't agree. I enjoy these privileges of the family, and I have all the responsibilities that came with it. Besides, I did want to help my dad, and I can always play piano during the weekends," he shrugged.