That was when I screamed, I think. Or was it when he said the word I’d been refusing to say to myself for eleven days? Dead. Louis could die. I asked how much longer we’d have to wait until we knew. He was loath to reply. I repeated the question once, and then again, raising my voice each time. My breathing was irregular, I was crying, I ran my hands over my face, through my hair, repeating tirelessly that it wasn’t possible. I was going mad. Alexandre Beaugrand kept saying, ‘I’m very sorry, madame, I can’t answer that.’ I demanded that he reply, he couldn’t leave me like that, he must have an idea of how long it would be until they knew. They would have to monitor the progress of his body and, most importantly, his brain, day by day. Each time there was a new development, they would be able to reassess his condition. Yes, but what if there were no new developments? If nothing happens, after how long will you decide that there’s no hope? Answer me, for fuck’s sake! Answer me, I beg you, I need to know. I need to find out.

I found out. I sat down. My heart in pieces. Alexandre Beaugrand placed his hand on my shoulder. I wasn’t able to cry. One month. In one month, if there was no change in Louis’s condition, the doctors would discuss whether they should continue treating him and might come to the conclusion that they should stop keeping my son artificially alive. If, in a month’s time, they felt there was no hope of neurological recovery, they would decide not to subject him to further suffering, not to pursue an unreasonable and unjustifiable course. Then they would turn off the machines. One month. One long month. One tiny month. But we weren’t at that point yet. Be brave. Patience. I thanked him, and he asked me once again if I’d be all right, and I replied, ‘Yes, of course.’

*

I left the hospital in a daze. I distinctly heard a whistle recognizable among hundreds. A cowboy whistle, the dry whistle of the shepherd calling his dogs, a whistle that I’ve always loathed. I turned around and saw her standing there, one fist on her hip, her expression hard. My mother. That was the last thing I needed. Not tonight. Especially not tonight.