I’m struggling. Pushing Amy along the narrow passage. In the dark foyer, we settle. Commandeer a table. I soothe. “Soon, baby.” Last to leave the ferry, every driver, every car, every deck disembarks before us.

Noises. Outside. Bangs. Metallic clanks on the hull. Interminable, the sounds become louder, closer, more frequent. A hatch opens into a doorway. A sliver of daylight levers in.

We labour down the gantry, finally reach the terminal. More waiting; a reluctant gendarme appears at last. Finally satisfied, he stamps our passports and waves us on, indifferent. One last passage, a door, and… “Papa!”, wails Amy.

[100]