After the Fire by Henning Mankell

Author:Henning Mankell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2017-10-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

In reception I asked Monsieur Pierre if I could borrow the Paris telephone directories. He immediately offered to look up the number I wanted on his computer, but I declined; I didn’t want to tell him that I was going to make a list of all the prisons and police stations in the city.

He gave me the heavy directories; I also asked him for a pen and some paper, then settled down in the closed bar. I spent almost an hour jotting down addresses and phone numbers. I also found the name of the prison where I had spent an afternoon, a night and several hours the following morning in the spring of 1968.

I had realised that my visit coincided with the student riots only when I was looking for cheap accommodation around the Latin Quarter. I ended up right in the middle of utter chaos – burning cars, tear gas, riot police, a boiling sea of people. Of course I was aware of the student movement in Europe, but I had never been a part of it. I had just started training to be a doctor and never joined in the political discussions over lunch or at break time. I distrusted those who became doctors in order to travel to poor countries. I wanted to be a doctor so that I could earn a good salary and have the freedom to choose where I worked. The thought of going off to Africa or Asia was complete anathema to me. I regarded my colleagues who were contemplating such a course of action as naive; I had no doubt that they would change their minds or regret their decision. Today I think I was probably wrong.

I had gone to Paris for a week because my exams were over. I went alone, looking forward to strolling along the boulevards. I had no plans other than to immerse myself in the anonymity of the city.

I found a small, shabby boarding house not far from the Sorbonne, then went out for something to eat. There were no demonstrations, no burning cars, no ranks of riot police. I turned into a side street where I knew there were a number of restaurants. It was a very short street, and in seconds two police cars arrived and blocked off both ends. A large number of officers poured out and arrested everyone in sight. There was no explanation; I was simply thrown in the back of a dark blue police van with barred windows and driven away. We were an odd mixture of men and women, French workers, students and foreign tourists. Nobody knew what was going on. One of the women started to cry. I don’t remember whether I was afraid or merely surprised. However, I do recall that I was very hungry.

I didn’t get any food until the following day. We were delivered to the police station on the Île de la Cité and bundled into a gigantic windowless cellar. I counted over two hundred people sitting on the stone floor or on the benches lining the whitewashed walls.

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