“I know. I was just hoping we could enjoy this part of our life a little longer”
The man, named Shamir, cornered Akmed during a break at work the next day. Loud enough for others to hear and with a finger poking in Akmed’s chest, shouting, “I know who you are and what you did to my people! I’ll get my revenge!”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m like you. I escaped from those people to live in peace,” Akmed pleaded as he tried to get away.
Shamir kept his grip on him. “I’ll expose you for what you are. You worked for the Ayatollahs you carried out their wishes. You killed my brothers and uncles.”
With that, Shamir shoved Akmed against the wall and walked away. Several of Akmed’s co-workers came over to help him. The attacks and verbal insults continued.
Akmed found himself sitting alone at breaks and lunch. Fewer and fewer of his colleagues would engage him in conversation and some had even refused to acknowledge him when they passed each other. It had begun with the Iranians, but the Danes soon sensed an issue among the Iranians concerning Akmed and knew best to stay clear and not take any side.
On a cold November morning, Akmed awoke and began his daily routine, starting with unrolling his prayer rug and facing Mecca. Then he made coffee for Mahasin. He cooked a breakfast of fried eggs and fresh fruit, and then he took a quick shower and dressed for work. He came back into the kitchen finding Mahasin drinking her coffee and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed his lunch pail, headed down the stairs and opened the door to the outside. He was taken aback by what had happened to the door. Sometime during the night, someone had painted the word “traitor” in both Farsi and Danish, in red paint with an underlining in which the paint was allowed to run down the door to simulate blood dripping. As Akmed stared at the door, his eyes caught movement and he looked over to the street. People — their neighbors — were standing on the sidewalk, staring, commenting to one another. When Akmed turned and looked at them, they all looked away and continued on their way.
A white patrol car of the Danish Politi turned down the street with its blue light flashing. A second Politi unit had entered from the opposite end of the block and pulled up in front of Akmed’s house. One of the officers got out of the car and began to talk to Akmed in Danish.
Akmed shook his head, indicating he didn’t understand.
The officer began again in English. “Is this your home?”
Akmed nodded yes.
“What’s happened and do you know who or why someone would do this to your door?”
“They think I’m someone else. They think I’m someone who killed members of their families. But, I have never done those things. I work at the port. My wife works at the Ansgar. We were accepted here as political refugees. I have suffered no differently than any of my neighbors. I despise those who lead my country today. I have never done anything in their name.”
“I see,” the officer nodded. “Let us take a report.”
“With a crime like this and the accusations made, you will probably be summoned to the City Hall to talk to a case worker. They will need to verify your identification and ensure you haven’t committed any crimes in your past. If the harassment continues and you have no connection to the crimes you are accused of, they can help you relocate.”
“Within Denmark?” Akmed looked at the officer, a moment of hope filling him.
“It depends. Sometimes we find these things just travel with you if you stay in Denmark. We aren’t that big of a country, where you can hide. These things seem to keep coming up with people even if they do move.”
“I see,” Akmed said, dejected.
The officer tore off a copy of the report and gave it to Akmed.
“Sorry this happened to you. Hopefully, it’s a one time thing”
“I hope you are right.” Akmed knew it wasn’t a one-time thing, but it would escalate until Denmark was ready to be rid of them.
Akmed and Mahasin received a summons to appear at Town Hall. Located at S. Knud’s Square, the Town Hall was an impressive structure of red brick, with the first construction done in the late nineteenth century, additions in 1936 and 1955 finished in red tile. While not only serving as the center for all municipal business, the civic leaders had also utilized its public spaces to house various works of art.
As they entered the building, Akmed went over to the directory and found the office for immigration was on the second floor, room two hundred thirty two. They passed by the elevator and went up the main staircase.
They entered the reception area and Akmed produced the letter they had received, handing it to the young lady who was seated at the desk. She quickly perused the letter and motioned for them to take a seat as she got up from the desk and headed down the hall.
An attractive woman came into the reception area. She walked over to Akmed and Mahasin and in greeted them in Danish.
“Hello, I’m Lise Hansen. I’ll be your case worker.”
Akmed and Mahasin replied in their stilted Danish.
“Please don’t worry. We will conduct the meeting in English, if that is preferable to you.”
“Thank you. That would be good for us, Miss Hansen.”
“Please. You may call me Lise,” she told them as she gestured for them to stand and follow her back to her office.
Lise was the perfect picture of a Danish female, tall, with striking blue eyes and brilliant blonde hair. One would have expected to see her on a tourism brochure, or at least living and working in Copenhagen. She was not at all what Akmed was expecting. He wasn’t sure if that was going to work for them or against them.
She stopped in front of a door and turned around and, with her open hand pointing the way, allowed them to enter the office first.
“Please have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. Would you like some tea or a Coca-cola?”
“Water would be nice,” Mahasin said as she took her seat at the conference table. Akmed shook his head, not wanting anything.
Lise quickly stepped out and returned with a bottle of water and a two glasses. “In case you change your mind,” she offered, looking at Akmed as she put a glass in front of him.
“Let me begin by stating on behalf of the Danish government how sorry we are you have been faced with these actions against you and your family. It is the intent of our country to provide a safe and non-discriminatory environment for you. We know you suffered in Iran and we had hoped you would not have any issues here. With that said, I must review with you our process and what we will need to do to ensure we will not need to revoke your status.”
Mahasin and Akmed, visibly nervous, nodded at Lise, but said nothing.
She continued, “We have done a preliminary review of your initial immigration documents, to again ascertain their accuracy versus the allegations that have been recently made against you. Fortunately, we found nothing to be out of order. I would like to schedule a follow up meeting in two weeks. In the meantime, here is my card; and, if anything else happens, please call the Politi and show them my card. Also, let me know if you have any other issues, or if you have any questions.”
Akmed took the card and Lise stood. Both he and Mahasin stood and shook Lise’s hand as it was offered. She walked them back to the reception area.
They said their goodbyes and Akmed and Mahasin walked back home.
Two weeks later, as soon as Aziz returned home from school, the family left the house. They walked over to the tourist area and strolled through the restored early Danish homes that included the childhood home of Hans Christian Andersen. The family had come here the first weekend they had arrived in Odense and had returned often. They had allowed Aziz to pick where they would eat dinner and, with no surprise, he picked his favorite Den Gremme AEling, which translated in English to The Ugly Duckling, a typical Danish Smorrebrod or buffet.
As they walked out of the restaurant, it had already grown dark, typical for this time of year in Denmark. It was one of the things that had
taken them the longest to get used to, the long summer days with only three to four hours of darkness and the short winter days with only five to six hours of daylight.
A few blocks from their street, they began to pick up a scent of burning wood and thought of the many families who would be having a fire in their homes on a chilly evening such as this had become. Unfortunately, their upstairs home had no fireplace. As they began to cross over the last main road before entering their neighborhood, they stopped at the curb as two Fire Brigade units tore down the street, their blue lights twirling, and sirens shrieking in the cold night air. As the trucks passed, Akmed, Mahasin and Aziz followed their progress down the street, only to see them slow and turn into their neighborhood.
At the same instant, Akmed noticed billowing smoke arising from the vicinity of their home. They quickly rounded the block, only to see their home ablaze and the Fire Brigade just beginning to bring water to the flames. It was easy to tell it was too late. The second floor was completely engulfed and there was no way any of their possessions would survive. As they got as close as they could, Akmed put his arms around his wife and child and held them. This would be the end.
On the Monday after the fire, the three of them traveled from the Hotel Ansgar, which had graciously given them a room, to City Hall, to meet with Elizabeth Hansen.
Lise was waiting for them at the reception desk as they entered. She greeted them and led them to her office.
“I was so shocked to hear what had happened to your home. The Fire Brigade has confirmed it was arson. The Politi also found writing on the walls in the stairway, similar to what had been written on your door. It is definitely a hate crime and will be treated as such. The Politi have interviewed Mr. Shamir and have validated his alibi. At the present time, they have no further suspects and the investigation remains open.”
“What is going to happen to us? We have no home, no where to go.” Mahasin began to sob, her head lowered.
“I believe you will no longer be safe in Odense, and I question the ability for you to find a safe place to live anywhere else in Denmark. Our history with these incidents in the past has been that the Iranian community is well connected throughout our country and word tends to quickly spread and catch up with anyone we try to relocate within our borders.”
Akmed interrupted. “So, what does that mean for us? You aren’t going to send us back to Iran are you? We can’t go back.”
Lise raised her hand to calm Akmed. “No. No, we won’t send you back to Iran. That is not even an option. We will need to work with another government that would provide sanctuary. What I need to ask you is if you have any relatives in any country you think might accept you?”
Akmed hid his feeling of relief. “I have an uncle and two brothers who have immigrated to the United States in the past three years.”
While this wasn’t anywhere close to the truth, any sort of records check would show these people were related and they had, indeed, entered and were living in the United States. Only a blood test would show that, in reality, they were not family.
“That could be helpful. Let me get you a form to fill out. Do you know their addresses, or at least what city they are in?”
“Yes. Philadelphia.”
We will need to petition the U.S. Embassy here in the Denmark. Fortunately, I know the ICE Attaché at the Embassy in Copenhagen, so I can probably get the decision expedited. Akmed, I feel really good about this. I think it will happen. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything else.”
“Thank you Lise. You’ve been more than helpful.”
As they left City Hall, Akmed leaned into Mahasin. “It is happening just like the instructors said it would,” he told Mahasin.
Six weeks had gone by when a letter arrived at the hotel. Akmed waited until he got back to the room and was with Mahasin to open it. It was from Lise and it stated that the U.S. Government had completed its review of the request to immigrate to the United States and had issued its approval. They would need to present themselves to the Embassy in Copenhagen with this letter within the next ten days. Their travel documents and visa would be available to them at that time and they would have thirty days to arrive in the United States.
That evening, Akmed called the phone of Uncle Mustafa.
“Uncle, we have received all of our paperwork! We can come and be with you.”
“That is excellent news! I’ll wire you funds tomorrow, to cover your travel expenses. Two of your cousins have also recently been granted permission to come here. It seems soon the whole family will be back together.”
“That is good news.” A knot tightened in Akmed’s stomach. Hearing others were arriving meant the mission was going forward. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped maybe the others would not be as successful and the mission would be called off. Then, they could just live in the United States as a family and put all of this behind them. It seemed such would not be the case.
”Did you hear what I said?” barked an impatient Mustafa.
“I’m sorry. There was static on the line. I couldn’t make out what you said,” Akmed blurted out, to cover his mind wandering.
“I said to call me when you have your travel arrangements, so we can meet you.”
“Yes. Yes. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow and let you know.
“I look forward to it.” And the line again went dead.
The next day, they didn’t have Aziz go to school. They boarded an early train and headed to Copenhagen. The train ride took ninety minutes and traveled through the beautiful Danish countryside.
They arrived at the Embassy and they each had to be photographed and complete paperwork. After three hours they left the Embassy with their travel documents
Akmed went to the Danske Bank Branch across from Tivoli Garden and was able to pick up the funds Mustafa had wired to him. He found a travel agent a few streets over and was able to make their travel arrangements. There were seats available on a Continental flight in two weeks, which would take them to Newark airport. From there, they could board the Amtrak train that would take them directly to Philadelphia. With tickets in hand, Akmed rejoined Mahasin and Aziz and headed across the street to the Central Train Station, to return to Odense.
When departure day finally arrived, they walked the block to the station and boarded a train that would take them directly to the station at the Copenhagen airport. Upon their arrival they found the Continental counter and checked in.
Once boarded they quickly settled in for the six and a half hour flight. Before they knew it the pilot came on to announce their initial descent into the New York area. Akmed awoke and was thankful this part of the journey was over, but his nerves returned, knowing there was one big step ahead at the airport.
After the plane arrived at the gate, they grabbed their bags and made their way through the walkways to immigration. They had instructions on where they should go and Akmed had their documents ready. They found the right lane, which was much shorter than several of the others. An older man who took their papers without saying anything was sitting in the cubicle. The officer looked them over as he glanced at the paperwork. He looked at their passports and found the appropriate visa stamp in each. He then went to the computer and typed in information and swiped the passports through the optical reader. As he waited for the screen to come up, he again stared at each one of them. Akmed was beginning to feel more nervous. What if they had come all this way only to be turned back? He tried his best to make sure his nervousness didn’t show. Finally, the officer turned his gaze back to the screen. He looked at the paper work and then to the screen, repeating the movement several times. Finally, he grabbed a big stamp and slammed it down on the papers. Akmed could feel himself jump. He knew everyone had to see it. The officer looked directly at him. “Sir.” Akmed looked right at him. “Everything is in order. I welcome you and your family to the United States.” The officer smiled at them as he handed the paperwork and passports back to Akmed.
Akmed wasn’t sure he could move. Mahasin gave him a slight nudge to get him going. They took their bags and fell into line at Customs. They walked right through and gave the officer their card. They walked out of the international arrival areas and followed the signs to the train. They boarded the AirTrain and took it from the airside terminal to the Amtrak station at the edge of the airport.
Their train pulled into the station about fifteen minutes late. It took about sixty-five minutes to arrive at the Philadelphia station. They walked along the platform until they came to an escalator. They rode up into the huge Art Deco hall of the station. There, waiting for them, was Uncle Mustafa. They had made it to Philadelphia.
Chapter Fifteen
The following morning, Aziz awoke and prepared for school. Since his mother’s death, it had been his responsibility to rise at his normal time and perform his routine. He left his room, dressed for school with his book bag packed. He was now used to fixing his own breakfast and headed to the kitchen. The door to his father’s room was closed.
He thought he’d heard his father come home late last evening, or early this morning. He didn’t want to have a confrontation, so he’d not gotten up to check. Now, he wasn’t sure. His father would usually be up by this time, liked to have his morning coffee and read the Philadelphia Inquirer.
Aziz found no reason to disturb his father, so he ate his breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen. He grabbed his bag and headed down the front stairs, to the street, to begin his journey to school. As he exited the front door to the apartment, he saw Benny, his father’s only employee, coming down the street to open the store.
“Hey Benny,” Aziz called. “I thought you had Monday’s off.”
“Usually, but your father told me he needed to take some time off while you were gone.”
“Really? Did he say where he was going?”
“No, but you know your father — man of little words and he’s never told me anything beyond what he thought I needed to know.”
Enemy Among Us-A Jordan Wright Thriller Page 7