by Lizzy Ford
there made the hair on my neck stand up, and then the bartender said; “No, not all. But somebody needs to do something about those who do harm in the name of Allah!”
My Taxi had pulled up to the front doors in the parking lot. And as I paid my bill I said; “Don’t worry, somebody will!” Walking through the front glass door, I seen the puzzled expressions on their faces.
“Where are we heading to today?” The Taxi driver inquired. “Kornwestheim” I said, and gave him the address. The look on his face was astounding, and he asked; “Are you sure you want to go into the Ghetto so late in the afternoon?” “Are you paid to drive a taxi or ask 20 questions?” I asked back. “Well,” he said as he started the Mercedes, “It's you that’s going to the Refugee Village, I'm staying in the Taxi and don't think of asking me to wait for you!” The rest of the trip passed by in total silence, and upon arrival, I was very generous with the tip. Especially after seeing the look on his face, when we drove into the parking lot of the formerly abandoned warehouse which was now the Kornwestheim Quarters for Refugees. On his front passenger seat he had an old clipboard with some printed out Sudoku on it, for when waiting became boredom. I offered him twenty Euro for this ink pen and clipboard, and with a nod of his head, we made our trade. As I was getting out of the Taxi I heard him comment; “You're a damn fool if you play games with them, as if you're some Private Investigator or something!” “Thanks for the ride” I told him. “Now get out of here.”
Mali Aschwan in my book, sounds like some kind of exotic alcoholic drink on the beaches of the island Mali! But then, everything that comes out of their mouths sounds funny as hell! I approached the helper from the Red Cross standing outside next to a truck and dispensing bottles of drinking water. She looked at me and I could see the fatigue of dealing with these people, day in and day out. Then she looked skeptically at my clipboard, got immediately very pissed off and asked; “How often you idiots gonna come around today? Try putting some old clothes on and give us a helping hand once in a while!” Boy, I sure wouldn't want to date this broad! She continued her ranting; “Instead of only coming around with your hands in your pockets, seeing if we're doing our job correctly!”
Marcus looked at her with such surprise on his face, that she then realized she had made a mistake. “Sorry, it's just that we are all volunteers here but the bureaucrats come and pressure us to do more and more. As if we're getting highly paid for this!” “You do this for free?” I asked in shock. She started heartily laughing, and with tears in her eyes said; “If you don't know that we are here on a volunteer basis, then you absolutely can't be one of those chair jockeys from city hall! Let's start again, and by the way, my name is Johanna.” “My name is Mathew, I don't have anything to do with the city hall, and I'm simply looking for someone who might be staying here.” He said. The refugee who was unloading the six packs of mineral water walked up to the back of the truck to grab some more. “What's his name?” Johanna asked. “Mr. Aschwan!” I answered. She laughed and turned to the man grabbing the water and said; “this is Mali! One of our best helpers here!” Mali looked at me and jumped from the truck taking a step in my direction, and for some stupid reason, I figured he would come over to talk to me! Instead he suddenly turned and bolted around the side of the truck. “Wait! I only want to ask a few questions!” I yelled while thinking; Shit, now I have to chase his ass down! Shit Shit Shit!!
As I chased him down the back streets of Kornwestheim the distance between us grew more by the minute. I was keeping my lungs going by cursing him with every step we took. But even though I jog every morning with no problems, this boy was definitive going to get away unless he screwed up and stumbled. I was seriously wondering if they get purposely chased by a pack of police dogs during their time at the terrorist training camps to improve their speed! As we was passing over the pedestrian bridge going into the park, that was when it happened, unfortunately to me and not him. My stomach cramped and I had to slow the pace just a little. The stomach cramp let off then, because I suddenly I filled my pants full with what little I had in my bowels. Well, the prescription paper was still in my pocket, which of course did me no good at the moment!
Walter had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard when he heard that. “You had to stop because you shit your pants?” “Of course!” I answered. “You try running with the brown sauce streamlining down your pant leg! It was gross, and then all I wanted to do was get back to my apartment and into the shower.” “I imagine so!” Walter said, then asked; “what did your cat think about that?” Marcus said; “You know what? He started to hop over to greet me then got a whiff of the situation, and to my surprise he actually RAN away, instead of his normal bunny hop gait!”
The next day was uneventful, for all I did was get the prescription filled at the pharmacy, where the pharmacist had wrinkled his nose at the nasty smelling paper, and stayed real close to the toilet until the pills could take effect and do their job. Then the next morning, after deciding to forgo my morning routine of jogging around the abandoned airfield lest an accident should happen, I went to visit Gunéy.
'”So what have you been doing the last few days?” Gunéy asked. I related the events as they had happened. When I got to the part of the chase with Mali going over the bridge, and the resulting drainage of my bowels, Gunéy nearly blew his tea through his nose with laughter. “You're shitting me huh?” He asked. “No, I shit myself!” He ended up on his knees behind the counter dying in fits of laughter. I leaned forward to look over the counter at Gunéy and said; “Let me know when you finally get done having your fun, because I have another favor to ask. Then his son Ishmael came in from the back kitchen, seen his father with tears in his eyes, and simply shook his head. They exchanged a few words back and forth, and Gunéy was finally able to stand up straight again. “So what favor can I do you, my friend?” He asked. “Well,” I started in a hushed tone of voice, “I can just barely remember what our main man looks like. But what if he meets with somebody else? They are all wearing beards and resemble each other like family members!” “Yeah, yeah!” His son said with a huge smile on his face. “All you white boys look alike to me!” “What I need is a pair of glasses with a mini-camera on-board. It would also help as a disguise, because although I'll have trouble remembering him, he will definitely know me on sight!” Gunéy looked at his son Ishmael and his son nodded yes after a brief moment. What followed was hard to decipher. Were they arguing or simply quietly discussing something else? Hard to say, but the one man of the four sitting drinking tea caught the attention of Gunéy's son, slowly nodded his head, and then Ishmael turned to me and made a joke; “My father works with the CIA.” “Right now I don't care if he works for the KGB!” I quietly said. “But I need glasses with a camera, because it would make it lots easier for me.” Gunéy leaned in real close to me and whispered in my face; “What you are doing my friend has impressed my brother. He is former Turkish Secret Service, so you get your glasses, and much more for your quest.” The blood went out of Marcus's face as he went into shock. He slowly turned to the man at the table, and to his surprise, the old man gave him a thumbs up, smiling. “So tell me Ishmael, why does your uncle live here in Germany and not in Turkey?” I quietly asked. “Think about it.” He whispered to me. “If you work your whole life in the shadows of the secret police, you make a lot of enemies! So he moved here to have his peace and quiet in his older years.” In that moment, I could hear my mother always saying that I should not judge a book by it's cover! Looking at the frail old man I realized how correct she was!
Watching, walking around the town and waiting, and no sign of Mali. I was in the restaurant on Thursday morning when Gunéy's brother walked past me. As he patted me on the shoulder he laid an envelope face down on the counter in front of me. I thought it might be something pertaining to my sojourn and started to thank him. He put his finger to his lips and said in English; “'Shh! You not thank. All will thank you.” And he proceeded to his table where the others were waiting fo
r him. The strange thing I noticed was that those four were again, the only customers in Gunéy's restaurant! I turned the envelope over and printed on it was the words Project Sabertooth, with a felt pen and a handwriting style which would make anyone jealous. Gunéy smiled and I asked; “Sabertooth?” He smiled and said; “ he's not allowed anymore to do an official operation outside of Turkey, but he is definitely impressed with you. He asked me what your three legged cats name was and I told him how you two became roommates! And the fact that he found no cat food, he wants to know what you feed him?” Marcus asked in utter amazement; “he was in my apartment? Are you serious?” He answered; “he is a very cautious man, that's why he lived to see retirement! And he love cats, so quit your complaining and be thankful! And he gave it an anonymous operational name, which I find very sweet of him!” I needed a moment to digest this all, and I started to open the envelope. Gunéy laid his hand on top of mine and said; “not here.” I then told him the cat gets premium lunch meat like I do,