My Dream to Be Free

by Juergen Stollin

  Our host showed me a door and said I could go to bed at any time when I had enough. While he himself disappeared behind a door, he gave me the advice to switch off the light in my room to avoid being blinded by the light.

  I was more than inebriated - one might also say I was pretty drunk. I also had enough and disappeared into the room assigned to me. I had really drunk a lot because I already was seeing things that were not there.

  The elder daughter was lying in the bed. I knew she was only 20 years old. What was that all about? She was awake but she did not move from the spot. She just looked at me and I think I must have looked very stupidly into the room. It could only have been a hallucination but she spoke to me and said that her father knew she was in this room.

  I felt kind of weird and my head was spinning. Even the whole bed with the pretty little thing was turning round and round. I had to hold on to something and I caught hold of the edge of the duvet, with which I fell to the floor.

  I remembered the next day only that I had seen her naked brown body and then I had become unconscious.

  I fell into a deep sleep, typical for drunkenness. When I came to myself, it was already dusk.

  I was only surprised that I was next to the bed and not in bed. So I lay down and fell asleep again. When I woke up again, I could think more clearly.

  I noticed immediately that this was not my hotel room and then I remembered the party. A wonderful dream in which I saw a pretty, naked girl in bed. I could even remember the details: She had smiled at me and had spoken to me.

  But I didn't see any girl in the room, so it was just a dream!

  It would have also been nice since I had not had a girlfriend for some time.

  I should find one again. It did not have to be an Indian woman. I had to think of Chitra and vowed not to ever have an Asian woman or an Indian woman as a girlfriend again. A European woman was better for me!

  My Indian sister

  My host knocked on the door and called out that the breakfast was ready. In the now completely cleared up room, where the party had taken place the previous day, there was an ample breakfast. Lo and behold, my dream from last night in the form of the host’s daughter served me my breakfast with a slightly embarrassed smile.

  So it was not a dream but I had been just drunk and had not noticed what wonderful woman had been lying in bed.

  My host came, sat down beside me and declared to me that I was a family member from now on. He said that he now had one son and two daughters. I did not understand what he was trying to tell me. But he replied that he wanted to make me happy and that was the reason why he had sent his elder daughter into my room. She had wanted that and he did not mind. After his daughter had confessed to him that she liked me, he wanted speed up everything and accelerate the wedding. He wanted me to marry her, that I travel to Germany with her and do business with him.

  I became restless and asked him what he what exactly he meant by marriage. He said that I had respected his daughter and had not harassed her sexually and had been already married to a woman from Sri Lanka. His daughter was so happy about my honesty. Thus I belonged to his family.

  There were some strange customs and traditions in India.

  India - the land of unlimited opportunities. Almost every day I was confronted with such or similar possibilities. Despite the invitation to stay longer in the house and to live there, I said goodbye and left the hospitable house with Monto. Where in the world would you get the daughter put into bed by the landlord? But you can see again that even a drunken state can be of use. Since I had been completely drunk, I had not been able to use the opportunity to deflower the landlord's daughter. If I had been only slightly drunk, I would have certainly thrown myself like an animal on the girl. So they believed that I was a gentleman, a very noble one, whom the family respected.

  I wanted to return to Delhi and said goodbye to Monto and my new family.

  Since I did not know if “Leg” was back from Belgium, I decided to get a cheaper accommodation for myself and took a room in Ringo's Guesthouse. There were many backpackers there; I was the only one who arrived with suitcases.

  For me, a suitcase had the better function than a backpack because a suitcase was easier in the bus or in a hotel. But it was not the fashion for hippies to travel with a suitcase and you were already labeled as a boring person or a pedant. In any case, you became an outsider.

  But it was only on arrival, because it changed quickly since the people I encountered first recognized me as the bus driver, in whose bus they came to India years ago. Immediately I had my connections and everyone wanted to smoke a joint with me. The people here had probably found a proper source, since the stuff that they smoked was just great.

  Saskia, a Belgian woman, who was desperate that we become friends brought me already rolled cigarettes almost every night, which we smoked together. Of course, it was inevitable that we fucked together. The joints put us in a position to be able to hold on all night. The feeling that you are no longer on earth, but really seem to be floating, you have that when you have smoked good stuff.

  This was again something quite to my taste.

  Because it was not love but only sexual satisfaction. To have this experience in the night and to sleep in the daytime, when it was the hottest, till it became cool again, and to start all over again. Eating, smoking, fucking, sleeping - my next days were programmed in this order.

  My new Belgian girlfriend had one fault: She loved India and the Indians, but to such an extent that it could already be very dangerous. She did not go back to Europe and wanted to marry an Indian here so that she could get the necessary residence permit.

  Since the Indians were not quite what she had imagined in bed, she preferred to sleep with Europeans. She had already had sex with some Indians but had always been disappointed.

  The Indians were very dear, also polite and very attentive people; that was the reason why she liked the people so much. I noticed that she approached the people and also got contacts immediately. She spoke with the taxi drivers as if they were her friends.

  She was also very trusting in the bazaar, so I had to tell her frequently that it would not do to deal with a total strange man in such a way as if he were her best friend.

  We were not such good friends, that it was my business anyway or that I could forbid her anything. We were only together when we wanted to fuck. Neither of us was in love. We liked one another and that was about it. That suited me because I did not want to get into a serious relationship again. She was a good friend, had a super dope was easy to get into bed into with and was good in it too. What more did I want? In exchange, I invited her to dinner frequently.

  But something must have happened, since an official from the Belgian Embassy came and asked me if I was Saskia's friend. I said yes and they asked me to come along. On the way, they explained to me that we were on the way to the hospital. Saskia had asked for me; she was doing very badly. I wanted to know what had happened. The terse official told me that she herself should tell me what someone had done to her.

  At the hospital I first got a shock, since the way Saskia looked, she must have definitely got under a bus or truck. I could hardly recognize her. Her face was covered with some plasters. The left eye was hidden behind a black eye patch, as you would know from pirate movies. Her back and the abdomen showed bruises, as if someone had probably kicked her.

  I wanted to know what had happened to her and she told me a story, similar to the story I had already heard before. Two policemen were sitting in front of her door and made sure that the bad guys did not come again, since she had recognized some of them and had also given them car numbers. The police had some success but some of the perpetrators were still free. Due to the fact that the Embassy was part of the picture, the police probably did a better job than those days in the case of Sabrina.

  With difficulty, she told me that she had been in Old Delhi visiting friends and had taken a taxi to go home. It was already past mi
dnight, they had also smoked but she had not completely spaced out. The driver had taken a route, which she did not know and she had told him that he should drive on the main road again. But he had just told her that this was a shortcut.

  He had driven to a taxi stand, where other colleagues were sleeping on slapsticks or were drinking tea. Some empty camp beds were still empty under a mango tree and there were also mattresses laid out on the floor. She thought the driver wanted to drink tea and then would continue to drive. But suddenly they dragged her out of the taxi and threw her on one of the mattresses on the floor. The drivers had fallen on top of her and raped her. She tried as best as she could to defend herself but there were just too many of these beasts.

  The more she struggled, the more they hit and kicked her. She thought that there had probably been 6 or 7 men. She had already given the police some valuable information and they had already caught some of the men. She had to identify the men.

  The gentleman at the Embassy told me that she would be flown out as soon as she was capable of being transported. In addition to better medical care, she also needed psychological treatment.

  They asked me to go and get her things, to take her to the Embassy.

  She had simply been too trusting and careless. If I had told her the Sabrina’s story, perhaps she would have been more cautious.

  But how was that going to help now?

  The Embassy employees assured me that I did not need to blame myself or worry about it. They would take care of everything. And then I had to go because Saskia needed rest. I visited her for a week every day up to her departure. On the way to the airport, I told her again how sorry I was about everything. I thanked her for the great time we had together. The eye patch was gone, but everything was green colored. Only her blue eyes were clear and shining. A gleam came into her eyes as she said somewhat mischievously that she could kill all men and she would also give up fucking. She had only hatred for men. But if I were ever in Belgium, I should visit her anyway. Perhaps she would then reconsider what she wanted to give up. Saskia was an extraordinary, brave woman and I hoped that the terrible experience that she had wouldn’t leave too many deep scars on her.

  I did not have much to do for some time and contemplated on flying to Germany. I got to know an Israeli in my daily visits to the different bars. He too had probably did not have much to do like me since we often met at the same place. So it was that we got to know one another more closely during long conversations.

  His name was Janiv, he came from the area around Tel Aviv and was ex-member of the Mossad, the Israeli secret service.

  Now he was into import and export business.

  He was an old skydiver and have been in a special unit.

  He also had taught Idi Amin skydiving those days.

  The coward had not jumped voluntarily and so he, Janiv, had given a hefty kick in the Ugandan president's ass; Amin reached the bottom safely but had never again gotten into the plane with him. His military service was from 1958 to 1967, but now he made money through his import and export business, was married to an Englishwoman and had a child.

  In fact, he came the next day with a woman and an infant to the bar. Then I saw him more often alone with the child in the stroller.

  He did very well as Papa. Many a time he invited me to his parties. There were always very pretty, young girls with him. This made the visits to Janiv even more interesting. The girls were willing to do anything. I noticed that after I got to know one of them a little better. After a few drinks and a joint, she told me that the child did not belong Janiv and Francis. The child was motherless for a few years, since the mother was in jail after she was caught when she made a trip for Janiv with a prepared suitcase.

  So that was it: the Janiv and Francis were doing business with drugs. These were the import-export transactions. That's why at Janiv’s place in Vasant Vihar there was always good ‘stuff’ and pretty girls, who were broke and got money through Janiv or went to jail.

  His export company "Eastern Handy-Kraft“and the import company "Lizard" were thus pseudonyms for "Hashish export".

  I did not let on that I knew what was going on. Once he told me that he had problems with the police. They wanted him out of the country and they did not want to give him entry any more. He did not tell me why this was so and I too did not ask him, but I could imagine why. But Janiv told me how he could avoid getting expelled: He put a plate of hashish in his pocket and tried to sell the stuff to passersby.

  Not that he had done that for money, no, he wanted to be caught by the police and he was given a court trial. With the help of his super good lawyer, he had to pay a deposit. But they could let him out of the country, since he was waiting for his court hearing. This went on for two years like that and as long as his lawyer dragged on the process, he could stay longer and continue with his business.

  Of course, it cost something, but for him it was worth it.

  The judge, the prosecutor and the police got money and he made money.

  I noticed that Janiv was a very cunning guy. He should have entered into a business relationship with “Leg”. So Janiv and Francis Mullin were the brains and the girls were the fast sellers, who were sent with prepared suitcases to America and Europe.

  If they came back, they got money. If they did not come back any more and were in jail, Janiv had not lost much, except for a couple of dollars for the hashish.

  The parties celebrated in Vasant Vihar were thus either welcome parties or farewell parties. Then there were the newly acquired suitcase companion as well at the party. Since I already had been at some of the parties, now I was asked if I wanted to make a trip to America, $100 per kilo for myself.

  I thanked him; he understood and never asked me again.

  I could have used the $ 2,000 very well, but too much had gone wrong lately and moreover I did not want to make such transactions any more.

  I thought of Greece and remained with a cool "No."

  I already had a life that was out of the norm and I did not need any more of this risky business. I did not want to get back into this shit any more. I wanted to fly back home to my daughters and parents. I had to take care of my daughters, who were almost ten years old. Teach them about the facts of life, give them advice that they do not get into this vicious circle in life later.

  Through my experience, I could certainly do my part in their life to warn them against dangers. I had truly had sufficient examples.

  Only what was better - to make free love in a community in Germany with five women and a man or with one woman and five men? To fuck around in Goa naked in the forests filled with coconut trees? Or simply to be stoned every day?

  I didn’t want to do all those things and still did that. My perfect world would be just a girlfriend or wife to travel with her, to smoke a bit, to fuck regularly, have good food and have a holiday now and then enjoy holidays in a fine hotel.

  In itself, it should not be so difficult. You only had to have a job and earn money, then you could afford it of course.

  When I thought about my life so far from time to time, I realized that I was not doing too bad.

  The only thing I did not like was that I dumped my responsibility on other people's back. The victims were the two girls and my parents. I never should have married, at least not to Chitra. Again and again I did not make myself responsible but Chitra for the situation. But what did my girls get from that? And I just could not run away from it either. My good leprechaun on my shoulder constantly told me that I should fly to Germany. But I remained in Delhi and distanced myself from it all.

  During a visit to the Imperial Hotel there was a gentleman from the Tourism Ministry at the office of Mr. Goya from Student Traveler. He told Goya that he had an order to search for a European cook for a hotel. Now he needed a contact to request for a cook - and asked whether Mr. Goya could help him. They wanted to teach Indian chefs European cuisine.

  I applied the same day.

  Since I was alread
y there, they did not have any risk factors and could just dismiss me if they were not satisfied with me. This pleased the manager and I got the job.

  I was only a teacher there to teach the Indians European cuisine.

  Since most Indians spoke English, I did not have any fear of language barriers. If a guest would be served Marinated Pot Roast (Sauerbraten) (of course from the Rhein) with dumplings, roast pork with red cabbage or roulades with Spätzle in the 5-star-hotels in the near future, then I was the criminal who has caused this calamity.

  There were enough pigs; I only had to prepare the roulads and also the Marinated Pot Roast (Sauerbraten) with buffalo meat. I needed to guard myself against processing a holy cow to roulades or Marinated Pot Roast (Sauerbraten).

  In that case, I would rather serve pork to the Muslims from the Emirates; they also drank whiskey on the grounds that it is in a hidden space and thus Allah could not see that.

  Thus they could eat pork - it was also eaten in a hidden room. My life had changed for the better: I lived in a very normal guest room, had a contract after my initial training and received a salary for my work. The wage or salary was not particularly high but I had a room and food and I was a respected member of the management of the hotel.

  My working hours were very long, as it is customary in the hotel industry. But I had the freedom to decide my free days myself; only I had to inform the students in good time.

  My twenty-five students all came from better families. Most of them had a hotel back home, which was owned by the family.

  I had to be very careful with how I treated my "students", be very correct and impartial; I did not want to be stomped into the ground by a certain Mr.Oberoi.

  Whoever possessed one or several hotels in India, also had influence.

  It was my day off and I was lying in the neighboring hotel by the swimming pool and had just ordered a new vodka with lemonade for myself. Next to the deck, I heard a giggle and I had the feeling that someone was making fun of me. There were three girls from my culinary school, who were talking about me. I noticed this, though I did not understand a bit of it.