My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  It was important that I had to adhere to an exact timetable. It was calculated exactly.

  I had to give the check on Thursday and be back with the acknowledgment at least by Monday morning.

  Whether I could manage this? I calmed my employer down and flew to New York.

  I checked into the Stadler Hilton, went to the Wall Street on Thursday and gave my check at the Irvin Trust Bank. I also got a payment voucher that I had submitted the check.

  So far everything went on as it should have. They could determine if the check was okay at the earliest on Monday.

  By then the check-issuer would have the proof that he had paid the money into an account and could demand for his money equivalent to that. Then he could simply disappear. The check however most certainly would bounce latest by Monday or Tuesday and the person who had got the check could only stir the paper that had returned into his yogurt. He had got a special yogurt for his money.

  The Indians already had plenty of grey matter! And I was a part of it.

  It was clear to me that this is a delicate matter and that someone would be relieved of a bigger amount. At that time a lot of money laundering was going on in India on a large scale.

  Indira Gandhi had declared war on the rich. I had heard stories that the super-rich people could not show the great deal of money they had or bring it to the bank since they could not prove from where it came. Money was rotting in some of the cellars of the Maharajas or other super rich people because they could not spend it.

  Gandhi had issued a law that after a certain point of time, all the hundred Rupee notes would become invalid.

  A one-hundred rupee note was the largest note of currency value in India. These people were so nervous and tried all possible but forbidden methods to take the money out of the country.

  What I did was one of the ways. But since I knew that it really would not affect any poor people, I also did not have any inhibitions to use this method.

  The most expensive whore of my life and the Consulate is not a travel agency

  So I had completed my job in New York; I was bored and I decided to do something about it. So I went to the next travel agency and made a reservation for my return flight to Bombay. I could get a non-stop flight only through the PanAm Airlines.

  It was the "round-the-world" flight, which flew once from west to east and then vice versa as part of the program. I booked my flight for Sunday in the direction of the east, that is, through Europe, not Asia. The booking was in order and I was to collect my ticket the next day.

  Then I made a small exploratory trip by taxi up to China Town. There I got out and went into a restaurant, which looked as if it was directly moved here from China. It could not get more original. The food was just as original as the building. You could not have been happier after such a good meal.

  The next step was of course a bar to get the Peking Duck swimming. Even here everything was Chinese, the girls included.

  I had no ambitions to get to know any of the girls. But after a certain amount of alcohol level, these girls were so sweet that I couldn't say no when a "Slit eye" asked me if she could come with me to my hotel. Of course she was allowed to come with me and she was also very discrete in the hotel, so that neither the porter nor the people at the front desk noticed anything.

  She walked to the elevator with a surge of Asian tourists and disappeared inside. Because she knew about me, which room number I had, she already stood before my room door as I finally came with my key.

  My Chinese American or my American Chinese woman did not do anything so quickly. She wanted to get some drinks and told me to make myself comfortable since she would remain the whole night, if I wanted. Yes, I wanted that. After a certain period of time, she looked at her watch often and I asked her if she was waiting for something. She just said that she had to take a particular medicine at a certain time. She went to the bathroom to freshen up but left the door slightly ajar.

  At the same moment the telephone rang, the cashier was at the other end, who asked me to come down and pay the bill.

  A somewhat strange hour of the day but here in America everything was a bit different. So I took my attaché-case and looked for the shelf with the cash. Since the cashier had not told me how much I had to pay, I took out $200 and put back the rest. I called out to my Chinese woman and told her that I was going to pay the bill and would be back with her immediately and that she should keep the bed warm.

  I was just as surprised as the cashier, who assured me that he had not called me. This had to be a misunderstanding. The policy of the hotel was to present the invoice after three days in case of "walk-ins". I paid all the same for my two nights and went back up to the third floor to my room.

  The door was closed, even after repeated calls, knocking on the door and finally kicking on it, no one opened the door. A room-fairy, who had night duty, opened the door for me since I could show her my bill and she believed that it was mine.

  The slit-eyed cheeky devil had disappeared and with her also the rest of my money and my passport.

  It was a nice surprise once again!

  I sat on my bed and cried in anger about my stupidity, then came the shock and the knowledge what that meant for me: no ticket to Bombay, which sounded like a death sentence.

  I might as well have immediately jumped out of the window in this situation. But I did not do this - most likely because I was too cowardly for that. But I had to show a lot of courage for whatever I had to go through now.

  The consulates were closed on Saturdays; they made an exception only in case of very important requests and helped as much as they could. But I was a special case, so I wanted to go early in the morning to the German Consulate and apply for a new passport. But that was the least of my problems; I also needed a ticket to Bombay and I had to have some pocket money.

  I was the first person so early in the morning at the consulate. The friendly staff at the front desk told me what I already knew, but I did not want to believe that I should come again on Monday.

  On Monday morning I was the first person at the consulate again and had to listen to a lot of accusations about myself.

  Then there was a sobering analysis of my situation: the first one was that I should move from the Stadler Hilton.

  The kind gentleman from the consulate gave me an address in the 42nd. Street and the 8th. Avenue, where I had to go because the consulate would foot the bill for me only for that. Also I got a credit of USD 5 a day for food and drink for a week in advance.

  I was not allowed to buy anything on account or sign anything.

  In the meantime, I was told to write to my relatives or send them a telegram and ask for help. I was told to request for the payment of a flight ticket to Germany or that they make a money transfer to the consulate here in New York or that I should contact a bank. I was told I would get my passport in replacement the next morning, after my data had been checked. They could not give me a ticket. I was asked to come back not later than Wednesday.

  Well it all made no sense because I needed a ticket to Bombay and this would certainly not come from Germany.

  Till then I had a negotiation with a staff member, who was responsible for matters related to my passport but I insisted on speaking to the consul.

  After much requests and begging and some tears, they were prepared to get me to the consul, and I was accompanied by someone to the gentleman in his office.

  Perhaps he had just arrived, I introduced myself and lamented to him of my situation in all details. I only twisted the story a little so that the check that had to go to India quickly did not come into play, but instead it was about my bus tours.

  My story was as follows: I wanted to meet a friend here, who wanted to establish a travel agency with me together. But now this person had moved to Hawaii, as his neighbors had told me. But I could not expect help from him either. I did not have any relatives in Germany. Since I was able to produce some pictures of a bus and also of Ceylon, as well as a
letter with the Indian "Panchsheel Address", everything looked quite normal, or at least I hoped so.

  All this was well and good, the gentleman told me, he even had a "von" before his names. However he could not give me a ticket to Bombay. It would have been no problem for Frankfurt but it was impossible for India. After all, the consulate is not a travel agency, he added.

  Frankfurt or nothing - that was his last offer. I replied: "Then nothing!" and left office and the building.

  I was desperate because what could I do? I watched television for 24 hours straight for the first time in my life in the hotel. A hopeless situation...

  During the day I wandered through New York from east to west and vice versa. I saved myself some money from my daily ration of 5 dollars and treated myself to a trip to the Empire State Building.

  I got a donut for 10 cents and a cup of coffee for 5 cents.

  I had to pay 1.90 for a T-Boone- steak but I managed quite well my $ 5 per day.

  In my attaché case I found more evidence that I lived in India and I took these things along on Wednesday and I was permitted to see the consul, the Mr. "von" once again.

  This time I was luckier and he had a proposal. What he proposed was totally his own private concern, to help me and I had to swear I would not let him down. I had to promise to go to Delhi to the Consulate and that I would pay back the money, which he would give me, to the Consulate, if necessary in installments. If I would not comply with that, he would put me on the wanted list and get me searched for and that he would personally come and send me to hell.

  I had to assure him several times that I would report at the embassy in Delhi immediately. A new passport, a ticket to Bombay and 50 Dollars pocket money as well as payment of a hotel room in the 42nd Street, all this would be organized. I was told come on Friday to pick up my ticket.

  I was speechless and would have kissed his patent leather shoes, if I wouldn't have made the shoes dirty by doing so. So I let it go and thanked him normally with a grateful handshake.

  The consul told me on the way that he paid the ticket for Frankfurt-Bombay from his own pocket. The state had given an advance amount for the ticket only up to Frankfurt. So I had to collect the ticket on Friday and fly on Sunday evening by PanAm. He wished me luck and told me to think of this disaster when I get myself a whore the next time. With that, I was dismissed.

  The man probably liked me, otherwise he would not have done this for me. I would not disappoint him!

  I sat in the plane on Sunday evening exactly one week later. This time it was without whiskey or any acquaintance. I made myself inconspicuous and also kept a low profile.

  How could I explain to the money exchanger what happened? I would certainly not get any money and I could not explain to him about the Chinese woman. What would sound good if he wanted to hear anything from me at all?

  I could say that I had been knocked down on the street and robbed - I would tell him such a story!

  Money, passport, all gone! Of course I had to make a police report but I had to leave it at the consulate. They needed this report for their files. I just needed to tell everything as it was but I could not mention the part about the whore. It was frequently the case that people were robbed in America.

  That could not happen to you in Bombay because here you were safer, because the Indian police was much better. Of course all of India was much better than New York. I would say so!

  I took a taxi from the airport to my employer, the money changer immediately. The road to his office was closed and a lot of people were standing around in front of the building. Even the local police were on the location. I asked an English-speaking Indian what was going on in the building and I got the reply that there was a dead man in the office, most probably the owner of the office, a money exchanger. It was assumed that it was a robbery with murder.

  I had heard enough and made sure that I quickly left the area.

  I still could not believe what I had heard there. They had killed the money exchanger, so I had one problem less, but also no money that I could pay back.

  Something had gone very wrong there. Whether that had anything to do with my delay?

  Was I perhaps to blame for his death?

  Perhaps Heinz knew more, if he was still there at all. And really - Heinz was still at the hotel and told me that the money exchanger had inquired if I was back daily the whole week. Already on Tuesday the check recipients were close on the heels of the good man and he had searched for me in despair. Somehow the whole thing must have gone out of control and I knew the rest already. I told Heinz the story the way I was going to tell them the money exchanger. Heinz believed me and even pitied me. The world was in order again; you had to bring in a little bit of risk. In such businesses, you had to expect to end up in jail or as how the money changer ended.

  Since “Leg”, i.e., Heinz knew that I had good relationships in Sri Lanka, he attempted on persuading for so long till I agreed and we fly to Colombo. I was not thrilled, but what could I do without Heinz? Hopefully he would not do any crooked business there as well, so that we would have to flee overnight. Since Heinz had also given me 300 $ as a loan for the consulate for the payment for my New York trip and I was now obliged to join forces with him.

  We flew to Colombo.

  Heinz bought stones with his last money. He actually managed to buy on credit in the Gem-Office.

  Salim was not angry with me and probably wanted to show that he was a "good man".

  Some people asked me where Lilian was, and how my travel agency was going on.

  I told them that the travel agency was Lilian's department. I told them that I had a new partner and that we would now import stones to Germany.

  Heinz had shopped well wanted to fly to Brussels to sell the goods. Together we flew to Bombay because there were super cheap tickets from there.

  I stayed in Bombay since Heinz wanted to come back here again from Belgium.

  But my leprechaun on the left side spoke up and told me that he had doubts about Heinz` return. I ignored it. All I could only wait and drink tea, in the truest sense of the word. There were certain days in India, when there was no alcohol or beer. These were the "Dry Days". A notice on the front door of the bar said that Indians were forbidden from entering the premises on these days and foreigners had access only with a special "permit", which I had. A prankster had changed the notice poster.

  The original text was: “Off limits for Indian nationals”. The altered text now read as follows: “Off limits for Indian citizens and dogs”. It looked really very unpleasant.

  On such days, the hawkers were in full swing. They were then selling imitations, so you could buy "Back Label" or "White Horse" or "Gordon’s Dry Gin". The labels looked similar to the original but the contents make a person blind.

  Everyone knew that but because the spirit drinks or the paint thinners didn't cost much, the rickshaw-drivers and the taxi drivers drank the stuff.

  It was irrelevant, whether it was from smoking ganja or from drinking booze. The main thing is you got drunk.

  The Indians were world champion in the discipline: How do I get another person’s money as quickly as possible without working? For some time I knew Monto, the "white elephant". Once you are with Monto together, you are always with Monto. You just could not get rid of him anymore. Some time ago I had done him a favor and he said that he owed me. He introduced me to an Indian businessman who was convinced that he had the business of the year.

  However they needed a metallurgist for it, and I was to act as one. I would get 5000 rupees if I would just say that I was a metal specialist, nothing else. That was really "something"! An iron foundry had heard that the State of Uttar Pradesh was looking for a company that was able to produce crankshafts for the public bus fleet. The State of Uttar Pradesh had 2000 buses, out of which there were 4 to 5 with crankshaft damage in the workshop, on a daily basis. With an annual contract, almost 2,000 shafts would be guaranteed. I was told that was all legal - the
businessman had to have only a trump card over the other bidders, that is, a foreign engineer, who confirms that these shafts had been manufactured with a special process.

  The special procedure would be a newly developed additive powder that was added in the manufacture of crankshafts into the molten iron. I did not mind and explained about the miracle powder to the person responsible for the workshop.

  The Indian business partner had taken a test shaft with him. My job was completed and the iron foundry was commissioned.

  I got my 5000 rupees and had a nice trip through India.

  I do not know whether any of the shafts was delivered. I had not met the "businessman" initially. I could not imagine that such a thing was possible, but gradually I got the feeling that India was the land of unlimited possibilities, not America. Every Indian was a moneymaker, whether it was of a legal or illegal nature was secondary. India is of course a great nation in terms of business.

  I had seen the senior person responsible in the bus depot with Monto a few times in the city. Most likely he had quit the job and was doing big businesses with Monto.

  By chance I met the "businessman” in the coffee shop in the Oberoi Hotel again and he invited me to his villa. He was going to have a party with friends and business partners; Monto and I were invited. Of course I jumped at the chance of such an invitation and appeared at his party. It was a real Indian feast ranging from Tiger Shrimps to Tandoori Chicken and a few curries. Also there was no lack of imported whiskey or the Dutch beer.

  We all sat Indian style on pillows and expensive rugs on the floor and the little tables were always loaded with food again and again.

  Some smoked Ganja, the Indian hashish, and everyone was very pleased with themselves and the hosts.

  The two pretty daughters of the host were very attentive and did not neglect in refilling everything on the table again and again. After midnight, only Monto and I remained.

  We were allowed to stay overnight with him, which the host offered us and I agreed. The two pretty daughters had disappeared without saying goodbye.