IC408

 

“Your attention, please! Your attention, please! Your attention, please! Indian Airlines announces the departure of the flight IC408 to Hong Kong. The passengers are requested to proceed to the aircraft.” a male voice was blaring out of the creaking speakers at the gate, while outside a plane was noisily taking off from a concrete runway, nearby.

“Good evening! Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of Indian Airlines and captain Dasgupta, I welcome you on board of flight IC408. We are about to take off from Calcutta. Will you kindly fasten your seatbelts, keep your seats upright and refrain from smoking while the no-smoking sign is switched on. We hope you enjoy your flight. Thank you!” a more pleasant female voice announced over the PA system inside the aircraft.

My aviophobia already threw a tantrum when I only thought about buying the ticket. Imagine me inside a real plane! But the glass of red wine in front of me and the nice aperitif of a good handful of barbs would carry me into dreamland in a few moments, I hoped.

Han, my friend from university, had invited me over to Hong Kong to celebrate Chinese New Year with him and his family. He had been doing so for many years and I was preparing for this trip for quite some time. I even went to see a counsellor.

“You look scared, mister. Are you alright?!” the young Chinese woman, sitting next to me, started a conversation. I took a medium sip of wine to relax. Because she was cute and had a winning smile.

“I’m just afraid of flying, that’s all.” I said curtly. I was staring straight-on at the back of the seat in front of me. I only regarded her out of the corner of my left eye. Then I took another but larger gulp of wine from the glass and let it run down my throat.

“The name’s Wong, Tracy Wong! You are Mr Banerjee? Abhijeet Banerjee, right?!” the woman said.

“Have we met, Ms …?”

“Wong! No, we have not. Not in person, I am afraid. But I know you quite well, Abhijeet. I may call you by your first name, may I?!”

“No, you may not!”

“Please, have another sip of wine for me, Abhijeet. You must relax! For me, please!”

“What do you want from me, Ms Wong?”

“Tracy, please! I just want you to relax and enjoy the flight, Abhijeet!”

She then ordered another glass of wine for me. When the flight attendant came over with the delivery, she took the glass right out of the surprised woman’s hand and brought it straight to my lips. I was so startled by the absurd scene that I swallowed the whole content of the glass in one go.

But I soon felt comfortable in the strong arms of mighty Morpheus.

 

I wake up. Not on the plane, but in a tiny room. How did I get here? What am I doing here? I am wearing a hospital gown. Why am I wearing a bloody hospital gown? What is going on?

The floor and the walls are flagged in cheap white tiles with awful Chinese ink paintings on them. By the door, a tiny shower is set in the corner. There is also a narrow makeshift bed in the room on which I have slept for quite some time, I suppose. Over the top of the bed and opposite the door there is a small window, which doesn’t let much light into the room, though.

My hangover is horrible. I feel like I had been drinking for days. Also, my whole body is aching, like I had been beaten up, recently. But I don’t see any bruises. My back hurts, though.

There is a package of painkillers on, and a big bottle of water under what looks like a nightstand next to the bed. I have some pills and half of the bottle. Balm for my parched lips.

I try the door. It is locked. What the hell is going on here? I try harder to push the door open. Now, that was too much! There is a mighty sting in my lower back. The pain is spreading like a wildfire through my weak and maltreated body.

I try to locate the epicentre of pain and my fingers feel out a bandage covering my lower back. Under the bandage, I feel out something angular. When I push it just a tiny bit, the pain almost makes me pass out. What the hell is going on here?

I try the window. The window leads to something that seems to be a large ventilation shaft. Although, there are many other small windows out there and pipes of various sizes, as well. It looks like a dump; all sorts of garbage are sticking to the glass of the windows or hanging down from the pipes.

So, I try the door again. When I am just about to push harder than before, I hear two different voices outside.

“Ms Wong! I believe he is awake now.” an unknown woman’s voice says.

“Oh fine, let’s just pay him a visit, then.” Ms Wong’s voice says happily, “Ms Chen, ahem, Abigail, can you go and fetch the device from Mr Hung, please? Thank you!”

Ms Wong unlocks the door. To my surprise the door swings into the tiny room, so that I have to step back a bit. The door leaf has the letters IC408 written on it. She sees me staring at it.

“Good evening, Abhijeet! How are you today?” Ms Wong says with a cute smile on her pretty face. “IC stands for ‘interchange’ and 408 is a serial number, your personal number. In case you were wondering, Abhijeet.”

“What is going on here? Why was the door locked? How come I’m wearing a hospital gown? This place looks hardly like a hospital. And why am I in pain? What did you do to me?”

“First of all, you are absolutely right! This here is not a hospital, at all. This is an apartment on the twenty-fourth floor of the famous Chungking Mansions on Nathan Rd, Tsim Sha Tsui, just a stone’s throw away from Hong Kong Island.” Ms Wong says, “You have undergone what here in these premises is called an ‘interchange’. We took something from you and we gave you something back. In return, so to speak. By the way, thank you for your much-appreciated donation!”

“Donation? What donation? I don’t remember donating anything!”

“We usually do not concern ourselves with asking our donors for permission. That is a rather rigid part of our business policy. But I would like to emphasise that we are, nevertheless, extremely grateful for every donor’s donation. In particular yours, because Mr Liu, the tremendously influential mayor of the exceedingly famous city of Hangzhou, sends his regards. He is very pleased with his new kidney. You two were the perfect match.”

“My kidney?!” I touch the bandage again. And feel the angular object under my skin. And again, a sharp spike of pain travels through my weak body.

“Oh Abigail, thank you for the device. Be careful with this! He is just an armlength away from us!” hisses Ms Wong towards the clumsy and scared Chinese girl.

“Yes, of course, Ms Wong! I am sorry!” the girl named Abigail says.

“Here, Abhijeet, this is for you! Your life depends on this little thing here! So, stay focused!” Ms Wong hands me a device that looks like a handle of a revolver, only without drum and barrel. “Put your finger here right on the trigger, before I let go of it, okay?!”

“What is this? What is going on?”

“Abhijeet, you may already have noticed the little box, we’ve put in place of your kidney?!”

I stare at her, not able to say anything. My mouth just went bone dry instantly.

“This is a box full of awfully effective explosives.” and then she adds, “And here in your hand you hold the detonator.”

“But what? … And why?” I come forth.

“You have to understand that it was extremely difficult for us to find a suitable donor for Mr Liu. His body has rejected all previous donor kidneys within the first hours after the transplantation. But then we came across you, and your file. Strong male, regular exercises, healthy diet. And, of course, your spotless medical record. It was a perfect match!”

“You stole my kidney? You stole my kidney!”

“Abhijeet, you have to be very focused now. Focus on the trigger. If you let go of it, there won’t be much left of you, or your remaining kidney.”

“Why? Why? Why?”

“You have a real chance here! If you go and find somebody to defuse the bomb and get it out of your body, you will live. If not, you will die. Perhaps it helps you to understand that the bomb was activated the moment your heart rate went higher than forty-eight beats per minute. This is also the way to deactivated it. Temporarily of course.”

“Do you want me to go back to sleep, again? After all this shit?!”

“Abhijeet, you are upset and I understand your situation, but this is your very own decision. To live or to die. This is entirely up to you. Your future lies within your very own hands.”

“You understand my situation? You fucking cunt! Why did you do this to me? Wasn’t the kidney enough?! Why also the bomb?”

“You know what they say, Abhijeet? When you’re good at something, don’t do it for free. We sell our many services to our many clients. That is how we conduct our overly successful business.”

 

In the end, Abhijeet Banerjee makes a decision. He holds on to the trigger, runs out of the apartment and over to the lift on the twenty-fourth floor. No one is holding him back, neither Tracy Wong nor Abigail Chen. He flees and manages to leave the enormous maze of the building’s intestines.

Outside it is dark and a massive crowd of people is celebrating on Nathan Rd. Chinese New Year, the Monkey is passing the baton on to the Rooster. It is close to midnight and people are everywhere. So, it happens that Abhijeet Banerjee bumps into quite a few of them. He then eventually loses grip of the handle and the trigger when the clock strikes exactly midnight – the amazing fireworks start off and everybody is blown away.

The huge detonation can also be felt quite intensively on the twenty-fourth floor of the Chungking Mansions. Abigail Chen, who didn’t see this coming, spills her hot Jasmine tea all over her fine silk dress.

“Hmm, I thought, he would make it. This one seemed rather strong and particularly determined. I feel quite sorry for him!” Abigail Chen says.

“Oh, my dear, please don’t! Would you rather have wanted to be in his place, then?”

“No, of course not! Not for all the tea in China!”

“So, you see, that’s what is called the impermanence of life. In my experience, none of them ever makes it. It’s the adrenaline. They get high on it and think anything is possible. But the opposite is true. If you’re on your own, nothing ever is! … Anyway, he didn’t get as far as I expected, but it was still quite effective, I hope.” says Tracy Wong and puts her tea cup carefully back down onto the saucer.

 

ICFZE News live from Hong Kong:

“As Chinese New Year celebrations are in full swing, an explosive charge detonated exactly at midnight on Nathan Rd., one of Hong Kong’s densely populated business areas. In the blast, at least eighty-four people have been killed. Hundreds were seriously injured.

The HKPD believes this to have been an act of terrorism. A spokesman of the HK anti-terror taskforce said that the suicide bomber has been identified as a certain Abhijeet B. According to intelligence reports, the young Bengali man, a radicalised Muslim from Chittagong, has recently been targeted by the anti-terrorism investigators, because of his close ties to the major terrorist organisations, such as the Islamic State or Al-Qaeda.

However, these groups have yet to comment on this rather unverified information.”

Nocturnal Visitation

Sleep comes heavy,

Descends upon me,

As a long day’s exhaustive pleasance.

Also as something else’s presence.

 

A gentle breeze at the nape of my neck,

It is warm, but also a bit moist.

I feel a kiss on my forehead’s speck,

Like a whisper, only unvoiced.

 

Five fingers comb through my dishevelled hair,

And a scream dies in my throat.

I’m entirely confused and in utter despair,

And suffocated by a leaden coat.

 

Is this what I believe to be the peak?

Something wet slides slowly across my sensitive cheek!

 

I want to, but can’t move an inch,

My only response has to be just a flinch.

 

Then the dream suddenly ends, as quick as it came,

It still is dark, no light, all the same.

 

It chills me right down to the bone,

What I see on this gadget of mine,

As I reach out to my phone,

To check for the actual time.

 

A picture of me, sound asleep,

Much to my chagrin,

And a strange old crone, down on me,

Licks my very exposed skin.

Bear With Me

 

Of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most. No, I haven’t. I have yet to lose it. Which I wouldn’t mind. It would make things much easier.

I lost something different. Something I wouldn’t be able to find with the help of anybody. I must find it myself. What I’ve lost, can be named, but hardly described. I can only describe its absence. So please, bear with me.

 

“Daddy, read it in the hollow and affectless voice of a man who has nothing left to lose.” my daughter said to me the other night, when I was reading her favourite bed time story to her.

“Why would I do that, darling?” I asked her.

“Mummy says that this is what you can do best.” was her innocent reply.

And then two or three weeks ago, my millennial girlfriend snatched her phone from the bedside table in the hotel room and took a picture of me right after we had sex. I asked her why she had taken the photo. Her reply was simply that I had been caught speeding. I came too quick, she added. Then she threw herself into the pillows and pretended to sleep, facing the wall away from me, sulking.

Then there is this disturbing news that the world’s two ugliest men – judging by their extraordinary hairdos – Kim Jong Un and Donald J. Trump are probably going to meet to do some problem solving, initiated by the latter. But I won’t to be around to see this happen. I can’t bear all this nonsense any longer.

Whenever things do not run well for me, then I like to contemplate the fascinating phenomenon that there are girls out there who won’t have any eyebrows left, once the rain sets in.

But that wasn’t enough this time, because a little less than two weeks ago, I had a serious meltdown. I filed for divorce and left the sole custody for our daughter to my future ex-wife.

I also met with my lover for the last time. Her hair dyed pinkish-grey, and the so-called mom-jeans and granny shoes she was wearing, made it all the easier for me to dump her. It seemed that she completely exhausted her emotional capacity by putting an 😥 emoji in her Facebook status and left the room without a word.

Earlier that day, I had also taken out a loan. It wasn’t much I needed for myself. But some money for the child support, until my daughter turns eighteen. And just a little bit for my last trip. Not that I’m going to die any time soon. No. But I went on a cruise.

Shortly after Skagway, on the way back to Juneau, I left my cabin in the middle of the night, went up to the top deck and released one of the big life boats out of the mounting. It – with me in it – jumped overboard, but landed safely in the icy waters. With me on board, I had taken a smaller inflatable life raft. You never know when this could come in handy.

Back in the civilisation, I had also stocked up on any kind of seeds they had in the DIY markets. Here in the wilderness, I have put the seeds into the ground, hoping that they will sprout soon. Currently, my diet consists mainly of berries and mushrooms and the odd inattentive squirrel, every now and then. I’m not saying that those aren’t good for you, but I have noticed that there are some unmissable side effects to this rather restricted nourishment.

Now I’m here on what I believe to be an uninhabited island somewhere along the coast of Seward’s Folly. I have moored the life boat from the cruise ship in a small bay on the far side of this islet. My side of the island I share with a family of nasty racoons. They occasionally interfere with me gathering mushrooms and berries. On the other side of the islet lives a sounder of wild boars. They sometimes come over and raid the patches I’ve put out with all the seeds to sprout.

I’ve also put up something that would have qualified for a barn if only I had been a child. It hardly provides any shelter from the sometimes rather torrential rain. But apart from that I’ve finally found what I was looking for – my peace.

 

Today I set out to fetch the raft from the life boat on the far side of the island – to patch up my shed. I’m on the way back, now. Under my left arm, I’m carrying the inflatable life raft. However, the yellow package unfortunately unfolds as it hits a couple of tree trunks while I’m zigzagging hastily through the thick woods. With the formerly wrapped-up package unfolding, I almost lose grip of the expanding bundle. In the very last moment, I get hold of a red tag. This very tag is attached to the release cord which is unfortunately the trigger to eventually set the life raft’s self-inflation process in motion. The yellow raft explodes into the limited space between the close trees.

As I don’t let go of the red tag, my arm is being pulled back when the big and round life raft gets stuck between the trees. In no time the boat expands right behind me, preventing me from bumping into … let’s just call it unexpected wildlife.

If my cell phone still had juice and coverage, my last message would probably have been something along the lines of “Help! Bear with me!”

Curriculum Vitae

 

One, two, three, four, five and so on. The earliest memory, you say? Let me think. Ah yeah, that’ll do just fine.

In the beginning, there was only silence. I had just been flushed out of my intrauterine panic room, and my still gummy eyes were trying to adjust to the rather intense light. Where I had been until only a couple of minutes ago, there was no light at all. And now that strange person was holding me by my shrivelled-up feet. Upside down. I could tell, even with all the light and the state my eyes were in, that the woman wanted to raise me higher, but there was the cord. So, she cut the cord and lifted me up a little bit more. The loss of connection to my previous supply system and, of course, the slap on my behind made me scream at the top of my lungs. But I suppose that was the purpose of the whole thing all along, to see if my lungs were working properly.

The second pivotal memory. I can’t really put my finger on the point in time when this happened, you see. But there was this one day when my parents set me down and never picked me up again. I’m still trying to picture when that was.

Fast forward to the age of eleven. In the hospital again. I think the second time after the earliest memory. But I could as well be dead wrong. I was in pain, you see. A grumbling appendix, the doctors said, and had the nurses put a thick layer of ice around the appendix side. The pain didn’t stop, though. The appendix’s torture only made way for some more agony due to frostbite. In the end, however, it had turned out that they better should have applied some heat to the area. Supposedly, this is how you deal with a urinary tract infection. It was also found out that one of my kidneys – the one on the right-hand side – was way smaller than the one to the left, and severely crippled. A future kidney donation for monetary benefits has never been an option for me.

As a good German at the tender age of twenty-four, I pocketed my first masters in business administration and mechanical engineering. I was also offered a fully paid PhD research position to further the studies of my thesis. But for some reason, I decided to do something completely different.

At the age of thirty-one, I found myself working as a kindergarten teacher in a pre-school in Wuhan, China. My cheeky monkeys were all between the age of four and five. They had become quite fond of the exotic and hairy creature from the West. Sometimes they would even gang up on me, tackle me down and climb around on me. On one of those occasions, numerous tiny hands were all over my face, getting hold of my beard. I had been studying Chinese for quite some time and even passed for a native speaker (on the phone where I could hide my Caucasian features), but dialects and children’s voices made me walk right into the trap of homophony. With their little fingers combing through my beard, their high-pitched giggles and mumbled words sounded like they were calling me their big ape. That was when I started to call them monkeys, as kind of a revenge and also because most of them were born in the year of the monkey. It was only later that day, sitting in the bus on my long way home, when I realised that they weren’t calling me 大猴子 (dahouzi), big monkey but 大胡子 (dahuzi), bearded.

After mastering in Chinese and Mongolian literature, a friend of mine planted the idea in my head to work for his company, which also had a couple of offices in Ireland. Mainly to improve my English, which back then was not anywhere near a position to compete with my Chinese in terms of proficiency.

Now I’m here in a city situated on the picturesque Wild Atlantic Way, doing creative writing classes and again an idea of doing something completely different came out on top. And again, the countdown has started: five, four, three, two, one …

The Great Escape

I shouldn’t be doing this. Not at all. I’m not allowed to remove myself from the premises. The head nurse had pointed out, only yesterday. What am I doing here, then?!

Ah, there you go. I’m on my way into town. That’s what I’m doing here. You see, my memory isn’t always serving me well these days. Not with all this daily cocktail of pills, anyway. To be honest with you, I’m still looking for a way to get off the premises. And then I might be going into town, because I haven’t been there in a while. Pubs and all, you know?! But first things first.

I’ve sprained my ankle when I jumped out of the window in my room. On the ground floor. For a moment, I was a bit disoriented, but now I’m okay again. Also, the sludge from the bed of flowers under the window has made my indoor slippers a bit clunky.

“Linus, where are you! Are you okay!”

That’s one of the nurses. And Linus, that’s me, of course. The voice I just heard is from the one with the big and hairy hands. Pete is his name, I guess. He helped me dress tonight. He called it my pyjamas, but I wouldn’t call it that.

Out in the gardens it is pitch black. The lights have already been turned off. But I know that close to the gates and along the fences to the outside there are motion detectors connected to floodlights. Here is no light at all, though. I can’t be anywhere near the free world, then.

Shhh … it! I trip and roll, head over heels, down a little slope behind the main building. Given my temporary limitations, there is almost nothing to stop me. … Oh, there is. A thorny hedgerow. It hurts awfully. Some scratches, but I somehow manage to get back on my own two feet again.

No rest for the wicked. I’m up and running once more. My eyes still have problems adjusting to the light conditions out here. Behind the big oak tree, though, a crescent moon provides just enough light for me to see some autumn leaves being whirled around by a gentle gust of wind. Their nice pale colour attracts me and I follow them. I’m filled with the wish to touch them. But the pills are still restraining me. I’m after the leaves, admiring their beautiful autumn dance, when out of nowhere one of the mighty oak tree’s strong arms knocks me out with a precise upper cut. Darkness descends quickly upon me, and a huge wave of pain, also.

When I come back to myself, the moon is hidden behind a thick cloud. I’m fed up with this whole escape thing. I had something entirely different in mind. But behind what seems like a corner of a house, I see a gleam of light.

Yes, there’s a light. And there’s a minivan right in front of me. But also, next to the entrance of the main building. Even with no one around, it’s risky. But I’ve suffered enough. And this is tempting; the driver’s door is open and the seat is empty. I start running. My eyes are scanning the ground for potential trip hazards. With a big leap, I jump inside and onto the driver’s seat. Clumsily enough to make the door close behind me, once my weight’s momentum impacts the seat.

In the van, I see that the seats are taken up by other inmates. Sorry, patients. All of them are sleeping. Except for one.

“Hey Linus!” it is him, one of the old guys in the asylum. I don’t know how old. But he keeps talking about the war a lot. Claims to be the only eye witness left. Of a war in Russia. Against Napoleon.

“Hey Mikhail, what are you guys up to here tonight?” but the moment it is out, I realise that this was a stupid question.

“I’m not supposed to tell you, so please keep this confidential. Okay?!” and without hesitation he continues, “The high command sends me and my small unit on a secret mission.” he comes closer to me from behind, cups both of his hands around his mouth and my left ear, and adds, “To assassinate that Corsican fiend. This is big, believe me. This is huge!”

While I’m listening to Mikhail, I see the key in the ignition and my heart beat quickens. But my hands won’t listen to my mind’s orders. The pills? I can’t reach the keys. And then I see him.

Pete is coming out of the main building, straight over to the van’s offside. I can’t get my hands to obey me and open the door to escape. But for some reason, I think that diving into the passenger seat’s foot well is an adequate solution to Pete’s imminent arrival at the car. So, I throw myself over the centre console and manage to relocate myself head first into the leg room underneath the glove department. My mud caked feet, however, still stick out when Pete opens the driver’s door.

“Hi Pete.” Mikhail says. I keep quiet, though, hoping not to be discovered in my unlikely hideout.

“Hi Linus.” Pete says, ignoring Mikhail completely, walks around the van and abruptly opens the passenger door. I roll out and drop onto the gravelled driveway. I know instantly that this is where it all ends.

Pete lifts me up, puts me back on my feet, and pads the driveway’s dust off my shoulders.

“Linus, Linus, we’ve been worried sick because of you. Where have you been all night?” Pete says, puts a shot into my left arm and squeezes its content into my bloodstream. And while my whole body gets wobblier with every second, I collapse onto Pete’s shoulder. Then he simply says, “Don’t do this to us, again! And, of course, to yourself! You’ll only get hurt in that straightjacket of yours.”