Even though right now their help is what’s needed . . .
Stop it! They don’t know what to do any more than we do . . .
No one knows what to do.
At least I don’t.
Nina, little Ninjuška . . .
What if we take you by the hands and pull . . .
Or lift your legs?
Or maybe you could all shove me in the back!
Don’t get angry now.
This isn’t our fault!
Nina, if I were you, I’d close my eyes and let go.
Let go . . . ?
Don’t think too much. Just let go.
So you know what I should do. Is that it? Well, would you like to come over here and take my place?
Stop it, Nina.
Come on and jump for me! Since you know so much!
Wlibgis and Nina, stop it both of you.
At this rate, Nina’s going to miss her moment . . .
Nina, little Ninjuška, what if we sing to you?
Polina, don’t promise too much. Do you have a song in mind you think is appropriate for this situation?
That we all know how to sing?
Does everyone need to sing?
I don’t want to sing at least.
Then Rosa Imaculada squeezes her eyes tight shut. She reaches back into her memory for a tune and the low, slightly wheezing voice that is her own. The song rasps and skips, coming to Rosa’s mind as if drawn by a steel needle from a 1940s shellac record. This is the lullaby that her grandmother sang to her when she was small, fatherless and motherless; this is the lullaby that she sang to her own small son as she lay in her bed recovering with her new heart.
And thus Rosa’s voice begins to ring out. It resonates in the ambulance but really somewhere else. It resonates as they move, but not in the vehicle approaching the hospital. It resonates in a rhythm that makes Nina, Wlibgis, Shlomith, Ulrike, Polina, and Rosa Imaculada begin to sway. The pulse joins the delicate melody and injects its own syncopations, but it doesn’t destroy the song, doesn’t spoil the sound that had once long ago comforted little Rosa, then little Davi, and now would comfort Nina, little Ninjuška. Nina who must gather all her courage and find the strength to leave.
Nigue, nigue, ninhas
tão bonitinhas
Macamba viola di pari e ganguinhas
Ê ê ê ê, imbê, tumbelá!
Musangolá quina quinê . . .
Nina squeezes her eyes shut tight and finally pulls her hands out of her hair. The familiar rhythm, a pulse like the beating of a heart multiplies a thousand times, begins to make them sway faster. They surrender, and no one says anything about raising arms. The terror has disappeared from Nina’s face. She knows, just as naturally as Maimuna had known, what she has to do.
She bends down and, eyes still shut, kisses her own lips.
Farewell, Nina!
We’ll be coming too.
I feel like I’ll be next . . .
Was that why you sang?
I feel that way.
You have a very unique voice, Rosa.
Thank you.
It fit this situation perfectly.
Thank you. But I don’t believe we disappear completely.
I hope you’re right!
So not farewell but until we meet again, Nina!
Au revoir, Nina!
Brain-dead mother gives birth to twins
Nina Pignard of Marseilles, who was pronounced brain dead a month ago, gave birth to twins two days ago. Thirty-five-yearold Pignard was kept on life support for more than a month in order to give the fetuses sufficient time to develop for life outside the womb.
On the day of her accident, October 27, Pignard was on her way to Saint-Joseph Hospital. She was changing from the tram to the metro at Gare de Noailles when she appeared to trip and hit her head on the side of the oncoming train.
According to eyewitnesses, she had been running even though the metro hadn’t arrived at the platform yet. “People noticed because of her condition,” said Marseilles traffic police commissar, Christophe Benoit. “Metro trains arrive at platforms going 40 kilometers an hour. If you stick your head in front of one, something bad is going to happen.”
The babies, a girl and a boy, were born at twenty-five weeks by Caesarian section, each weighing less than 900 grams. They are currently receiving treatment in the neonatal intensive care unit at Saint-Joseph Hospital. According to Charlotte Vermette, a neonatologist specializing in premature births, their chances of survival without injury are good.
The Pignard family have recently been subjected to another tragedy when the brain-dead woman’s brother-in-law was abducted in Mali. “The kidnapping happened the day after Nina died,” said Pignard’s mother-in-law, Michelle Pignard. The family has been receiving professional help to weather these crises.
The fate of the abducted brother remains unclear, but the French Foreign Ministry is working overtime to resolve the situation. The father of the abducted man, Julien Pignard, CEO of the Sodexo Group, numbers among the richest men in France with total assets exceeding 5.3 billion euros.
However, according to information received by Le Monde, the abduction seems to have no connection to the Pignard family fortune. “My son was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like Nina,” says Michelle Pignard.
At the moment, the family is focused on the welfare of the babies.
“We used to rub Nina’s belly and talk to the babies. That caused very conflicting feelings. We were always keenly aware that the babies’ birth would mean the end of her life,” said Nina’s husband, Jean-Philippe Pignard. “But life has to go on. We’re making funeral arrangements, getting the house ready for the babies, and waiting for my brother to be freed. What else can we do?”
Natalie Bacqué
ELECTRIC BLUE: IF YOU COULD DIE OF ANGER
Vaarwel, Wlibgis!
This isn’t where I thought we’d be next.
No!
So this is where our campfire came from . . .
‘Our’!?
Your hair, Wlibgis.
Wlibgis lies in a hospital bed with the wig on her head. The artificial hair is askew, the parting off center, the bangs straggly. Wlibgis’s mouth hangs slightly open, jerky breaths, small wheezes, involuntary coughs, and odd squeaks coming
