They took my passport, the seaman's book and put me in police custody, so they called it. Then I was sent back.
That was a long way back in various stages, with different police cars and overnight stays at various police stations. But all journeys have an end, mine as well. In Frankfurt they took me up to my wife to our apartment.
I would not have thought it possible that our State was so caring. Chitra said that this circus was kick-started by the neighbor. She only wanted to borrow some money and he had said that I would most probably not come back.
What that would have meant for her would have been that she would have been sent away from Germany.
Fearing that, she had agreed to call the police. She begged me not to be angry with her.
And was I angry! Immediately I went to the neighbor to confront him but he was not there for his luck. Residents from other houses said he was on holiday.
I explained to Chitra again about our situation and that was not the rosiest. We did not have a penny and the rent was due.
I knew that the owner would not hesitate to show us the door. At least he would turn off the water. Or turn the floor heating off. Or may be pull out the fuse for the light. Or altogether. In such an apartment, preparations were made for all such circumstances and only the landlord knew where these storage facilities were. I wanted to move from there anyway since the noise of the street car was too much. The squeaking sound in the tracks already started in the morning. Also I had heard that a prostitute was murdered in the apartment some time ago. A certain Rosemarie, this was probably her name.
After going to the social security office in Frankfurt, an "apartment" was provided for me in the Großen Seestraße in Bockenheim.
It was a real horror shed.
No, it was not a shed, it was a garage in the backyard - and not even converted for residential purposes. Whitewashed, only cold water, a steel sink, no windows, only glass blocks with dimensions of 40 × 60 cm as a source of light. There was a light bulb on a cord, as it is sold in hardware stores. There was a playpen and a cot for our daughter and an iron frame as a bed for us adults. There was an electric plate with two heating elements on a stool in one corner of the room. After closer inspection you could see the mold on the walls.
And the calendar showed that Christmas was just around the corner.
And all this was in Germany, in Frankfurt am Main, in the year of our Lord 1967.
On 6:12., my wife gave birth to her second child in this barn to Frankfurt; it was not Bethlehem. Now I too had a daughter whom we named Maruscha.
My wife did not really give birth in this housing, I was able to bring her to the Markus Hospital before that. But she came back to this garage after a few days.
I could go on my rounds between the employment office and social services even in my sleep.
And really - miracles happen sometimes, you just have to believe it. Or wait for a long time. Or have the contacts.
Our miracle came in the form of Mrs. Schaal, a nice woman, who had heard about the strange people with two small children. Mrs. Schaal offered to take care of the children and to take them in a stroller that she had brought. In reality, she took the children with her to her house and gave them food and a warm home.
An unsuccessful new start
Mrs. Schaal always came in the morning and brought the children in the evening back relatively late.
One day she brought a reporter from a Frankfurt newspaper office. He took some pictures and asked Chitra and me questions that we answered well.
It took less than three days and someone from the social welfare office finally looked at our home. It was the first time that someone from the office looked at our "home".
Mrs. Schaal gave me an issue of the newspaper and I was able to read what had triggered the visit of the office - slightly distorted but quite well written.
It must have softened the hearts of every person - probably also the gentleman from the housing board office and also the official at the employment office because I had another apartment and even a job before Christmas. Who wants to say that our offices are not social and human? But we didn't have a Merry Christmas because of that yet.
Since I spoke English reasonably well, the German employment office referred me to the Americans, who then gave me a job as a cook at the US-American military broadcast station AFN.
I could quickly convince the sergeant who was in charge of the dining area that I was a good cook. All were very pleased with the new 'Krauter', so they called me because they said they could not pronounce my first name.
Also, I was able to convince the Americans that my wife would be just the right waitress personnel when I heard that they were looking for someone.
And so Mrs. Schaal was allowed to continue to look after our children now against a small fee. Chitra had a job and I was able to monitor her. That had burned into my mind - I never forgot that confidence is very good, but control was always necessary. But even here, I caught up with my previous life and the unpleasant summons for payment.
It took just only a little longer till it reached me, but it came. I told my supervising Sergeant about my dilemma and he was willing to help me. Through his recommendations, Chitra and I received a super good chance. Somehow he had good relations with the other Sergeant who in turn with a club - we would say canteen.
We were able to work there.
Meanwhile the girls and we were doing well.
We now had enough money to look for a nicer apartment and moved to Offenbach.
We also bought a car, a used Opel Rekord.
Since we were both working, my Mother agreed that the older girl could come to my parents' home.
My wife courted me and "cooked" me till I became soft and till I agreed that her own "deceased" mother could come to Germany - only with the argument that she could take care of the younger daughter.
My leprechaun perched on my left shoulder and tried to warn me, but I ignored him. He laughed very gleefully at me.
The mother-in-law came and we had her now with us - in completely good health. My new job was not a cook's job anymore; they had appointed me as a bartender. Chitra as always, was a waitress.
That was fine with me, since I got the same salary here as at the AFN, but I also got good tips here as a bartender.
If you soft-soaped the Americans a bit, they were willing to part with some of their salary. Speaking of honey: I knew a higher officer there, who drank hot milk with honey and whiskey. He once explained to me why he drank that stuff: according to hi, there was no smell of alcohol due to the honey in the hot milk.
The area was called "Camp King" and it was the headquarters of the American Secret Service in Europe, that is the CIA. I came to know of this when I forgot my camp badge once. They would not let me in, even though everyone including the guard at the gate knew me. It was no good, I had to go to Offenbach and get my ID. The reason was not the forgotten card. But it was important to show that I still had it and had not lost it or otherwise passed it on to someone else.
What was that again?
Trust is good, but monitoring is important!
Somehow the Americans also had to register the Germans, who were in their services. The German beaurocracy was evident here as well.
So the Yanks informed me sometime later that they were sorry but they could not keep me in the Camp any more since I was a risk factor. They wished me and Chitra much luck - and said goodbye.
We were jobless again; I just understood that you cannot run away from your responsibilities. We had earned very well at the workplace of the Americans - not only the salary had been good, we always got good tips. There had also been additional income.
Since we both worked in the same club, I could often issue food orders without coupons and Chitra then sold this food without putting the money into the cash box. That was hot stuff.
If we had been caught, I don't know what would have happened to us.
But it had gone on well a
nd I had the feeling that I had only taken something, which the others had taken away from me. I cheated the Americans and myself at the same time. And Armstrong landed on the moon. That was 20.06.69. "... and in China a sack of rice fell over". I wasn't much interested in all this.
And everyone celebrated in Woodstock. That was from August 15 to 17 in 1969. I would have liked to have been there.
Was life so? What had my life turned out to be? Had I accepted too many of the ways of the country? I needed a little break.
I was not in the position to look for work at the moment.
I drove my Opel through the area until I met Kurt in "White Horse" Club in Offenbach and he introduced me to his Palestinian friends.
Thus began a new era for me.
The guys hung around throughout the day in the different bars, which they called café. They discussed the whole day and talked about how unfair they were treated by the Israelis and the rest of the world. I told them that what they were doing sometimes was very cowardly and they would not get any sympathy from the world. They would have to show the world how they were suppressed. And that would happen only by sensational events even without a Palestinian getting killed. I did not know what they were getting excited about but I didn't care. I had my own worries. Kurt came up with an idea and told me that many of them drove their cars to Lebanon and were earning well in the process. He had already gone on a number of trips with them and he wanted to know if I wanted to get into this business with him. After some further discussions, it was agreed that we would drive used cars to Lebanon. I now only had to convince my wife.
But she had her mother, the still living dead, and was not alone. The two women would still be able to educate our little daughter and take good care of her.
After some minor discussions, Chitra was willing to give me the chance and do the car business.
I paid the rent for one month in advance. And I gave the money to the owner directly, not to my wife. I gave her an amount to buy food and nothing else.
I sold my Opel, put some more money and I already had the start-up capital.
I bought a petrol-driven Mercedes 180 for $ 500 with the expert help of Kurt, who also bought the same model.
The trip to Beirut worked out wonderfully and I sold my car for 2000 Lebanese Pounds, which equaled 2,000 German Marks. We drove by collective taxis from Beirut to Damascus, from there by Inter flight to East Berlin, by the transit bus to West Berlin and from there with Lufthansa to Frankfurt. No checking was done at all.
The Arabs had no wish to do checking and East Berliners did not have to check us since we were not allowed to get off in East Berlin. No checks were made in West Berlin either.
Since we came from East Berlin and what could you bring from there at all? Berlin-Frankfurt was intra-German, so no checks.
At this time, the Palestinian bombers were not out and about. That came only later. Two thousand Lebanese Lira or pounds were of the same value as the German Mark at that time.
In my stock take, I noticed that the car business was pleasant. After shopping and the travel expenses I had a thousand German Marks left - that was just great.
The whole tour lasted a fortnight which meant you could drive twice a month and earn 2000 Marks. More than with the pub and more than any normal work.
Of course, I forgot about the possible risks, namely an accident or a car, when it could not make it. Moreover, I was not insured and was not paying into the pension fund.
But when you're so young, you make these reflections only at the very end.
For the moment, I only saw the big profit and if a couple of trips went sufficiently well, I was able to pay my debts and would be a free man. My debts weighed heavily on my mind.
It had to be wonderful to be without debts, then I could start afresh and do what I wanted without having to constantly run away from it.
My wife and her mother were doing well, but only as long as there was enough dough at home.
It became clear to me that both of them would disappear to Ceylon in case of a shortage of money. But I made a few trips and had some luck.
Everything went well and I could pay my creditors.
Chitra wanted to join us in a trip and I allowed it. She did not have a driver's license, so we two had to drive in one car. This trip would be a little uncomfortable since the space for two people to sleep in the car was very scarce. And a hotel would increase our costs. So I needed to make a compromise. I bought a bigger car, a Mercedes 220, which was of course more expensive but would yield more during the sale, that was however logical. Then there were the two flight tickets added to it and the double meals. But Chitra begged so much that I had no chance and she travelled with us.
I promised my parents that I would visit them after the next trip.
They did not believe anything I said any more and Father reminded me again and again that I should get a regular job on account the pension alone.
Jokingly I replied to him that it would be a waste pay the pension amount since I would not live to be so old.
I had my money stored in a safe hiding place, which my wife and mother-in-law did not know. I had a box for potatoes for a sack of potatoes. This box had a false bottom, so that the air could circulate. I had a tin box there with my money. And a sack of potatoes was stored above it.
What was that again?
Trust is good, but hiding is better.
We strongly advised Chitra's mother, my mother-in-law to take very good care of our little daughter. We had given money to a lady who was our neighbor to keep an eye on my mother-in-law and the little one.
Our journey took us through Salzburg, Graz, Maribor, through the lousy Yugoslavian “autoput” (motorway), which had potholes that were up to half a meter deep till Belgrade.
After Belgrade, the road was better.
The Eastern Bloc had always annoyed me because people were not lively there, they were already dead, they had just not noticed it.
There was no friendly attitude there, just harsh tones and I always had the feeling that they lived in constant fear.
I didn’t know what they were afraid of, but they scared me too.
People were always kind of scared in all countries behind the "Iron Curtain", whether in Poland, Russia or other Eastern Bloc country. As if they were beaten up on a daily basis.
I drove rather reluctantly through Bulgaria but there was no other option. Italy and Greece were too far and too expensive. Sofia, Bulgaria's capital, was very nice. If the Bulgarians were not there, you might fall in love with this city. I had it done that already – had fallen in love during one of the previous trips to Sofia.
Not in the city, but while in the city.
Nor was it called Sofia but simply as Sofie.
She was really beautiful and super slim, intelligent and also the ambassador of a European country. I guessed she was in her thirties but when I heard that her real age was fifty-two, I took to my heels.
At that time, since I was twenty-eight years old, a woman over fifty years was like decomposed.
Only later did I realize how prejudiced and stupid I had been.
Today I know that a woman at the age of fifty was just the right age!
But that's another story.
I was also travelling with Chitra this time and she too had a feeling of anxiety like me, when policemen in their dark uniforms came out all of a sudden from behind a tree on to the open road and shouted that we were driving too fast.
We did not have a chance to make them aware that they could not possibly determine this, since they did not have any because they had no radar measuring instrument.
You only heard: We police, you too fast, you pay twenty US dollars, American dollars. If we then explained that we had only Lewa, it was pointed out to us that it could be also German Mark but then it would make fifty German Marks. They did not want any Lewa, only foreign currencies.
In order to continue to drive, there was no way around it for us but to shell o
ut the currency notes demanded. If you insisted on a receipt, everything became more complicated and the price doubled - so no receipt and we wanted to do nothing but get away. That could happen to you three to four times a day.
The license plates which were German, oval, white with black numbers and a big "Z" in the middle, were to be blamed. Those were our customs license plates. They were known as "Yumurta Plaka". That was probably Turkish and should mean something like "plate of eggs".
Not enough that you had to officially exchange the Bulgarian leva forcibly and buy petrol coupons with Western currency, at the other border, if you wanted to exchange back the excess Lewa that had been traded, there was either no foreign money available or the rate was so outrageously high that we had to think of trying somewhere else.
That was not possible because no currency exchange bureau wanted this currency. Kurt and I just took the money along for the next trip, which was not permitted or spent it on a fantastically good and cheap meal and drink. Sofia was the right place for it.
For example, there was the Hotel Sofia, things truly hit high gear there. There was a wine bar with music, dancing and good food. The rooms were worthy of a five-star hotel and the prices were right.
It was the right place to make a comfortable stop. Chitra was a bit annoyed anyway and wanted to sleep in a bed for a night.
This stop happened to be just right.
Only we had to pay the hotel bill in Western currency. The drinking and binge could be paid directly to the waitress in Lewa.
We spent one night there and then we were on our way.
We left this colorless country, where everything was grey in grey and the people in general appeared to be just as colorless. How long would these people have to live in this system without color and without joy that came from the heart? Without faith? Without hope? Long live communism – my cousin in Erfurt had always roared thus in those days, when he came home from school and wanted to impress me.
My Dream to Be Free Page 14