by Roman Koidl
“This is my friend Patrick,” Mike explained.
“Thanks for having us,” I said.
“The more the merrier,” Tim responded happily.
“Here is some ice tea,” Tim’s wrinkly bony hand pushed a big jug over to us.
As Mike was filling our glasses I recognized a framed black and white picture leaning against the wall.
“What’s that?,” I pointed at the picture.
“What?” he asked searching the room with his eyes.
“The Adolf Hitler picture over there?,” I asked in shock.
“Ah that,” he smiled.
“It’s just an old picture. Has no meaning,” he explained.
“It reminds me of my heritage,” he remarked.
“Well, I am a foreigner and not German,” my voice was filled with disbelief.
“Nobody is perfect,” Tim remarked dryly.
“Drink up so I can show you the lands,” he hurried us.
As I was emptying my glass I couldn’t get my eyes off the picture.
We got up on the back of his truck and he drove us through his lands. He seemed like a nice older man. I still couldn’t understand the connection between him and the admiration for Hitler.
“You’ll meet my son and his family later. We are having a big barbecue. They are visiting,” he told us on one of our several stops.
As the night approached the grill was casting some light in the back yard of the main house. I sat next to the young daughter of the son. Even though she wasn’t any older than seven she seemed very lively running and chasing her twin sister around the grill. We were talking and laughing. They couldn’t be nicer to us. As it got later, I asked Tim if I may watch the news on TV. I hadn’t seen any television since I landed.
After we finished up with dinner everybody went to bed. Mike and I each had our own rooms in the neighbouring house. Tim’s family stayed with us in that house as well.
I followed Tim into his house to see the news as he promised.
“Despite the efforts it’s impossible for the rescue teams to get to the Kursk,” the newsreader on TV was informing the viewers.
“Damn Russians. Just let them die in their sub!,” Tim commented the report.
“I hate foreigners. They can all go to hell,” he continued.
I swallowed hard. The Hitler picture from the kitchen flashed through my head.
“Be proud you’re German, Patrick,” he said leaning over to me.
I smiled in disbelief. I was never confronted with a racist. I remembered my mom always telling us as kids that we should be proud of who we are. Even though I was a guest in his house I had to speak up. I took a deep breath.
“I'm Irish!,” I said looking straight in his eyes.
“Oh!,” he remarked surprised.
“The next news update will be at 2 a.m.,” the voice of the news reader filled the awkward silence.
‘So, time to go to bed,” Tim commanded.
“Don’t forget to lock the house from the inside when you get in,” he demanded.
I walked from the one building into the other locking the main door behind me. I was not really tired, yet. I have this tendency to be a night owl. It’s a terrible habit. As I was cramming through my bag looking for my toothbrush I realized that no one knew that I was out here. I never told my parents, work or anyone else I knew. I hope Mike trusted this guy. I shook off the thought as fast as it hit me, grabbed the toothbrush and the paste and made my way through the hallway. I switched on the light in the bathroom and was looking at myself in the mirror as the brush was doing its work. Suddenly I found myself in absolute darkness. The light went off. It was pitch black. I couldn’t see my own hands. Beside heights, I was terrified of darkness. Being blind would be the most horrible thing I could imagine. Here I was now, standing in my underwear in total darkness in some bathroom somewhere in Africa’s no-man’s-land and absolutely no one knew that I was here. The only person that knew was snoring in the room besides me. Great prospects!
OK, Patrick, no need to panic. It’s only the lights in the bathroom. Maybe the bulb isn’t the newest anymore, I tried to calm myself down.
I was tapping along the walls to find the way to my bedroom. As I found the light switch nothing happened. Up, down. Nothing. The moonlight shining though the large window opposite the bed was illuminating my room. I looked out and noticed that the entire farm was out of power. My fantasies started to go wild. Didn’t his son and his family share this building with me? I remembered that everybody had deep blue eyes and fair blonde hair. The son, the wife, and the daughters. In combination with the admiration for Hitler it all made sense to me. He wanted me to lock the door so his son could come and get me. I would panic and wouldn’t be able to leave the house. I tried to calm my thoughts and laid down in bed. I raised my head and looked again through the wide screen window. If I stay lying here they could shoot me through the window, I believed. I better lie besides the bed on the floor so they can’t see me. But even if I do that they would still be able to get me in this room. I had a pepper spray in my pocket that I bought as I arrived in South Africa. I was paranoid of being robbed on the streets. Not that I am a paranoid person but I liked to be on the safe side. I wrapped my fingers around it. I don't think a pepper spray can stand a fight against pistols but if they try to get me I won’t go down without a fight. Being brave in the fantasy is always easy.
Then, suddenly. I had an idea. The car would be the last place they would be looking for me. I kept thinking about my next move. Be smart Patrick.
The next thing I remember is the sunlight waking me up. I was lying fully dressed on top of the bed sheets. I was alive. I rubbed my eyes and went outside. Everybody was sitting around the table from the night before. Tim handed me a coffee as I joined them.
“I’ve got a question,” I looked at Tim.
“The electricity went off last night. What happened?”.
“Oh that. At midnight the generator shuts down to save me some money,” Tim explained taking a sip out of his cup.
“Oh OK,” I replied nodding my head.
I felt stupid. I was up half the night worrying about my life without even considering something like that. I am a city boy after all. As I told Mike the story later he got mad at me.
“Did you ever think of coming into my room to warn me?,” he said reproachfully.
I didn’t and I felt bad about it.
My fears of going to Africa diminished on a daily basis. I started to know my way around the city. I was truly starting to mature. And I believed that was important for me to start living the life that I wanted.
My time in South Africa was slowly coming to an end. The problems I had at the beginning of my internship were quickly forgotten. I even got my own radio show. I was proud and didn’t want this time to end.
After having a long day at the station interviewing several live interview partners I couldn’t wait to get back home and have a long night of rest.
Lying in bed that night was the best feeling I had in a long time. I felt exhausted but happy for accomplishing what I want. I haven’t seen any girls but I had a lot of offers. I didn’t want to feel the same pain when leaving Africa as I had coming here. My thoughts were going wild as I tried to sleep. Unexpectedly, I started to have quick flashes of dreams that were interrupted by
waking up in rapid intervals. Quickly I blacked out.
Rinnnnggg. Rinnnnggg.
Rinnnnggg. Rinnnnggg.
Rinnnnggg. Rinnnnggg.
“PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE!” Mike yelled at me from the other side of the room.
His voice was piercing through my sleep.
Abruptly my eyes were wide open. The clock showed 2:32 a.m.
Rinnnnggg. Rinnnnggg.
My hands were moving uncontrolled over the table trying to grab my mobile phone. My brain seemed to still be sleeping not able to send the appropriate commands to my hands.
Rinnnnggg. Rinnnnggg.
“Ugh, H
ello?” my voice whispered into the phone.
No answer.
“Hello?,” my voice gained some strength.
“Patrick, it’s me,” a very familiar but long lost voice answered.
“Loretta?,” I asked in disbelief rapidly sitting up in bed.
“Yes, it’s me,” she responded in a sweet voice.
“Give me a sec,” I asked her getting out of bed to walk outside.
“Sure,” she responded.
I left the apartment walking out onto the street.
“Loretta, how are you?,” my voice was still in shock.
I never expected to hear from her again.
“Not so good,” her voice shivered.
“Why? What’s wrong?,” I asked caringly.
She suddenly started to cry.
“Patrick, I did something really stupid,” her voice was being interrupted by her trying to fight her tears.
“Loretta, relax. Talk to me,” I tried to calm her down.
“I was out with a friend. She brought another two male friends,” she started to explain.
“OK,” I responded attentively.
“We wanted to go to a night club. But my friend said we should go to one of the guy’s house for a pre-drink,” she continued.
“Who is the friend?,” I asked.
“What? Ohh, Lizzy,” she said.
I knew Lizzy and never really liked her. She was low class. Dropped out of school early and only wants to party and have fun. She liked to hang out with bad boys.
“OK, when was this?,” I asked.
“On Saturday. Two nights ago”.
“OK. Go on,” I encouraged her.
“We went to one of the guy’s houses and started to have a drink,” she started to get back to her story.
“I only had a half of the drink and started to feel dizzy. I hadn’t eaten anything that day. I went to the bedroom to lie down,”
she was interrupted by her cries again.
“Loretta, I’m here with you. What happened then?,” I tried to encourage her.
“I somehow fell asleep. Next thing I remember is that one of the guys was trying to kiss me. I woke up with his weight lying on top of me. I tried to push him away but he didn’t let me,” she said.
“Did you go to the police?,” I interrupted her.
“No. I’m afraid and I am ashamed,” she started to cry even stronger now.
“Loretta, listen to me. You have to go to the police. He put something into your drink,” I tried to explain to her.
“Where was Lizzy as this happened?,” I asked.
“She was in the living room with the other guy,” she explained.
“To me it sounds like the whole thing was a setup,” I tried to convince her.
“I don’t know,” she said in panic.
“Did anything else happen besides him trying to kiss you?”.
“I’m not sure. I was too drowsy,” she explained.
“Well, you have to go to the police straight away,” I urged her.
“No, I can’t,” she refused.
“WHY FOR GOD SAKE?,” I raised my voice in disbelief.
“I don’t want anyone to know. I am so ashamed and it’s all my fault,” she said.
“JESUS, IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT,” I tried to get through to her.
“BE QUIET OUT THERE OR I’LL CALL THE COPS,” a woman emerging from her house yelled at me.
“Yes, OK,” I answered holding the phone in the palm of my hand.
I walked down the street to get away from the neighbourhood.
“Loretta, don’t be stupid. I thank you that you called me and trust me with this but you have to do something. Maybe that guy will do the same or even worse to another girl,” I explained.
“I just can’t,” she refused.
“OK, then tell me what you want to do?,” I challenged her.
“I don’t know,” her voice was filled with panic again.
“Does your brother know?,” I asked.
“No, no one,” she countered.
“Talk to him but I urge you again to go to the police. It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong. By not going to the police you will be doing something wrong,” I explained to her.
She didn’t answer but I could hear her deep breaths.
“Loretta, if you’re able to speak to me you can speak to your brother,” I said in an understanding manner.
“Loretta, wouldn’t you advise your friend to do the same?,” I tried to trick her in changing her mind.
“Wouldn’t you?,” I repeated my question.
“Yes I would,” her voice was extremely low.
“So, then go and talk at least to your brother,” I went on.
“I don’t know,” she responded again.
“It’s nice to hear your voice again,” I tried to distract her thoughts.
“It’s nice to hear yours as well,” she replied.
“I’m sorry that I am calling you under these circumstances,” her voice gained some strength.
“No, please. The reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that you still trust me,” I explained.
As I was saying these words I could see her standing in front of me. Hearing her voice, thinking of the past that I had with her, reactivated my feelings for her again.
“I thought about you a lot,” she said.
I could see her hair being blown in the wind and her hand reaching out to hold mine. In my imagination I took her head in my hands and brushed her hair to the side wanting to kiss her neck.
“Me too,” I responded focusing again on reality.
She was thousands of miles away but in this moment I felt closer to her than ever before. That scared me.
“How is everything with your job?,” she asked.
“It’s going great. I even have my own show on the radio and I met a lot of very kind people down here,” I told her.
“Are you seeing someone?,” her voice shivered.
“Why do you want to know?,” I asked.
“I know, it’s none of my business,” she pulled back.
“No, I’m not” I interrupted her.
“Oh OK” she sounded relieved.
“But why should you care?,” I got slightly annoyed.
“No I’m only asking,” she responded.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out.
“It’s only that I haven’t heard from you in months and now you are back again. Somehow at least,” I explained.
“I should have never called you,” she apologized.
“No, it’s good you did. I am happy you called,” I told her.
“No. It was selfish. You are trying to move on and live your life and I am bothering you. But I didn’t know who to turn to and I still really trust you,” she explained.
“Thank you. I feel the same,” I replied.
“I think I better go,” she said taking a deep breath.
“OK. But please call me whenever you want to,” I encouraged her.
“And please go to the police or at least talk to your brother,” I urged her again.
“I will. Thank you Patrick for being there for me,” she said.
“I always will,” I whispered.
“Good bye Patrick”.
I have heard these words before.
“Take care Loretta,” I told her and hung up.
I was thinking of my words that I said to myself as we talked the last time. I was right back then that it is not really over and I believed that I will be right again. But for now I was more concerned about her safety. If she wouldn’t, I would call her to see how things are.
I looked at my wristwatch. It was 3:20 a.m. I had to get up in three hours. As I got back into bed again I wasn’t able to find any rest. She did it again. She confused me and got me out of balance. I started to think that maybe she would have never called me if nothing had happened. That made me sad.
The next day I wasn’t myself. I made stupid mistakes. I played the wrong repo
rts at the wrong time. Confused the music titles. Mistakes I normally wouldn’t make. As Uncle Kracker’s “Follow Me” was playing I stared at the microphone in front of me. That is where I realized that I still felt more for Loretta than I wished I did. I still loved her. And it would not go away that fast.
The days went by and I called her again to see how she was doing. She talked to her brother and they went together to the police. They weren’t able to find any drug traces in her blood because too much time had lapsed since the incident.
My time in Africa was coming to an end and I was hoping to get an offer to stay. They never made me one. But I tasted blood and I liked the flavour. Christmas was approaching and I was looking forward to coming back home. But I was anxious about my next step in my career. Should I study or try to land a real job?
Shortly before I left South Africa I had a little going away party at the station. It made me feel sad. I really found a second home here. A lot of people say that about Africa and now I understood why..
As I got to the plane heading back home my thoughts were again with Loretta. It has been now one month since she called me that night. Besides the conversation we had the following day we haven’t talked since.
During the flight I was looking down on the clouds being haunted by her face.
As I landed I called my father to pick me up. He refuses to pay for parking. He rather waits at home until the plane has landed. Then he gets into the car and drives the thirty minute route to the airport believing that I will still be claiming my luggage in the meantime. How often did I wait for ever until he eventually arrived. I got my mobile out of my pocket and hit the recent call button. Loretta’s number appeared at the top. If she knew that I was back? I tried to erase the thought and scrolled down to my parent’s number.
“Patrick, I’ll come and pick you up,” my father answered the phone.
Why waste time and say hello.
“OK, I’ll wait outside,” I replied and hung up.
I went out to the pickup zone. The cold breeze was cutting through my tanned face. Now I knew why I went to Africa in the first place. I am made for the sun, not for the cold weather.
People were loading their trunks with cases and bags. Hugging each other and showing their happiness that their friend, lover, parent, or child is back with them. Especially now a few days short of Christmas everybody was very affectionate. Suddenly a silver Mercedes stopped in front of me pulling me back to reality.
