Sundowning Diary-part 1 Read online

CHAPTER 2

  “Strategic packer”

  Thanks to daily flights, I’ve almost become a strategic packer, if you will. Stuffing my suitcase only most needful things, no liquid no toothpaste or shampoo: just underwear, 2 pairs of jeans, one blue jumper, 2 pairs of Kashmir socks , 3 T-shirts, my lucky hair comb, wireless hair clipper (by the way I’ve recently noticed that my hairs are falling massively, so in order not to look ridiculous, I completely shave my hair into a glowing bald) etc. Another trick I mastered during this time is to make sure I put identification on my luggage, so not to confuse with other suitcases after arrival, or if other dumb passenger accidentally picks my suitcase, so he can contact me by cell phone number I marked on the sticker. Sounds very much routine.

  With modern airliner speed pushing its limits towards 4000 km/hour, I was able to save more day light with flights. Everything was just going pretty fine, until I encountered my first nightmare. Striking security personnel of the Frankfurt airport, that led to cancellation of flights to all directions. They demanded rise of weekly salaries, the local media said.

  “What should we do, chief? It is already half past one PM,” –asked my personal bodyguard holding my luggage in his left hand, and staring at the board, like a sheep staring at a new gate. Long journeys made us real friends indeed, though he had always addressed me as his boss. Let me shortly visualize his character for you. Jafar is a tall man with massive body structure just like Shrek, with brown eyes, army style haircut and qoğal –shaped face, he loved to show off his God given genes for a “strong man”, he behaved “heavily” as Azeris say for a stand-up guys. But in real he was a little dumb kid hiding behind those muscles – dumb ,very decent and polite one ….I loved him for these traits like a brother I didn’t have.

  We saw hell of quarrel going on at registration desk, as I was thinking the way-out of this dilemma. Unsatisfied passengers shouting, swearing , pointing their fingers at poor desk girls, threatening them.

  “Looks like there’ll be no more peaceful protest today any soon. It smells like riot in here.”

  “You bet it does, -I said. – Jafar, I spoke with Ata * (Papa in Azeri), he told me to bribe their manager and somehow take an emergency flight intended for diplomats”.

  “You thing these Germans, will accept it. How much did he offer to pay”.

  “He said go with 100 thousand euros, if he rejects I can bid up to one million tops”

  Jafar hesitated a little bit.

  “In cash?”

  “Jafar are you stupid, where we will get such amount of money in cash. I’ll write down a donation cheque.”

  “OK…at least we should try, but I warn you, chief, these Germans are rather stubborn and “man of a word” people, they have every right to put us in jail for this proposal.”

  “I guess not at a time of unrest like this”

  After angry passengers dispersed, me accompanied by Jafar approached the desk. Poor girl after enduring bulk of profanity and threats already looked exhausted and sighed desperately as she saw us standing.

  “Excuse me Miss, when we will be able to catch next flight to New York ?”

  “Oh my God, I want to kill myself. We already announced that all domestic and foreign flights had been cancelled until this major 48 hour strike ends.”

  “OK. Don’t get upset. Would you please call your manager...”

  “Just a moment. Her Krule, this young mister wants to talk to you.”

  After hearing his name, it had raised our doubts about possible bribery deal. Krule very much sounded that, there’ll be bad deal than no deal.

  “Yes , how can I help you.”

  “You see sir, I’m very sick person, yesterday I celebrated my 16th birthday, my name is Tural Hasanov from Azerbaijan, son of famous oil magnate Heydar Hasanov.”

  I made a pause to see whether name made any difference. Nothing just blank and pale face. So, I continued.

  “You see I was born with very acute disease, they call it dementia…”

  Suddenly he interrupted.

  “Son, I know what dementia is, not a such disease that would need to deploy whole emergency team for you…. We have one man from Munich with broken limbs and old women from England, coughing blood – in a such bad condition – who are awaiting this damned strike end.”

  “But you didn’t let me finish…Its not about dementia….Its one of the most severe cases of dementia called, sundowning syndrome…. I become very much aggressive after dusk, as I am somehow addicted to natural daylight . I become very dangerous, can attack any person, after sun is down, I cannot bear the night…So you are my last hope. Let’s negotiate this issue and you can earn some extra hundreds of thousand euroes. No strings attached… You can whether report it to your company- I’m sure that they ‘ll happily approve extra quarter a million euro income for just one tiny exclusion. It would be legally –or you can take all this money to yourself – that would be illegally but who would interrogate you for saving young kids life especially in times of such unrest.”

  His eyebrows went up…Seemed like intimidating gesture.

  “Anna, please call Herr Bauchman -- dial his personal mobile phone number.”

  Who the hell was the mysterious Herr Bauchman. CEO of airlines, chief of police department, Foreign ministry official? We heard a chit-chat going on between this stubborn manager and mysterious Herr Bauchman in plain german… It was like a miracle to see fading gloom in managers face transform into cheerful smile. I winked at Jafar.

  “You see, money made the difference I guess.”

  After a while he hanged the phoned and approached me and whispered.

  “How are you going to make the payment?”

  “You mean legal or illegal one ---- you know what I mean…?”

  My words slapped his facial expression

  “No, all money will go to company, I will only get tiny interest.”

  “Ok… I don’t have such amount of money in cash so I’ll fill out a donation cheque… Don’t worry you can verify its authenticity from your bank.”

  His pale face glistened with joy as I handed him cheque holding too many zeros within. Out of a sudden I noticed one angry looking , small, heavy mustached man staring at the manager, whilst he give me affirmative nod, that everything has been taken care of and I can now head to terminal No. 6 and get ready for emergency flight. Then “angry-face” whispers something into the unseen ears of mid-age grumpy black women who had been verbally assaulting the registration officials most of all.

  “What?” – she almost screams. “Screw them,…I’m not gonna let these f…heads bias my ass. F…. the rich people; they are not flying anywhere unless we fly.”

  This was something massive, irritating screaming of badass woman alerted the entire terminal, frustrated passengers sitting on the bench, British couple sleeping on the floor after long expectations, even those who made their way fast to a restroom for a “number one” instantly rushed out to check whether airport would decide to resume their flight.

  Angry crowd stormed to ticket counter, again intimidating the manager. Jafar stepped forward instantly, to protect me from possible smashing or accidental punches as tension escalated.

  One young thin man with heavy whiskers of wolverine from X-men, wearing ragged jacket and jeans, grabbed the manager from his hair and dragged outside, after badass black women discovered my donation cheque and showed others. There was no one to stop this raged people, as entire security personnel had been striking.

  Registration girls ran away screaming. Meanwhile, angry crowd beat the German manager half dead, breaking his nose and front teeth, only British pair and Pakistani family were not attending this vandalism. Small protest soon turned into violent riot, passengers smashing the windows, breaking the chairs and benches, shouting various slogans. One of them pointed me with his forefinger.

  “Hey , this is son of bitch who tried
to bribe the airlines”.

  Scared of circumstances I faced real possibility I was going to die. Jafar firmed his stand, getting ready for the imminent attack. He put me behind him, and took of his black suit jacket, for easily maneuvering his arms while boxing. He did not recognize my voice charged with aggressive intimidation, as my survival instinct stimulated my neurons that used to be passive before.

  “Move back, morons” – I demanded , holding a special gadget intended for working out my palm muscles that resembled very much a detonator of some kind, I also split open my shirt as for showing off imitated explosive vest –which in real was just a thick bulletproof father ordered me to wear all the time, just in case.

  “Are you deaf, move back or I’ll blow myself up, tearing your useless limbs f…k away, look I’m all covered with explosives.”

  “Jafar, kömək elə də, nə qoyun kimi baxırsan” (Help me, don’t stare at me like a dumb – i told him in Azeri, as he looked astounded, yet unable to distinguish between bluff and reality.

  Jafar realized the scam after all, began playing supporting role of associate extremist.

  “You heard him, any needless move and you’re all dead.”

  That day I discovered my acting skill, seriously...looking at their pale face, just like underage children beaten by a stranger in the absence of their parents, pondering on the philosophy of life and death, and gradually stepping backward, no sign of previous rage. False bomb alert proved helpful in this case.

  “Jafar, oynamaq vaxtı deyil, tez ol, çıxış yolu tap, birazdan itlər axışacağ (again speaking in Azeri so others don’t discover the scam)”

  I imitated a terrorist trying to pull the trigger, griping my thumb into fist to hundred percent be sure that, they all are afraid to death and won’t chase us if we make it ‘like a tree and leave’. Crowd went crazy, some of them instantly lay down, other took refuge under the desk, some ran away from the terminal.

  “Jafar, let’s go!”

  After escaping the tumultuous area of the terminal, we made a left turn at British airways’ ticket counter, encountered a young Asian kid, in the uniform of airline technical employee who very much resembled the “Shorty” from the Temple of Doom, whispering something and indicating to conveyer belt currently devoid of any baggage but still working.

  “You two, come on , lay down on load belt before you get killed…hurry up… it will take you to aircraft after sorting process…just remember, when traveling through screening system make sure to skip or somehow overcome laser rays, I’ll direct you to flying airliner from then on.”

  “But why?” I asked in a blatant tone.

  “All questions after, we are ordered to save your asses, so hurry up and follow my instructions.”

  He was right, there was whole army of police heavily equipped and armed, some kind a German special police clearing the crowd and most probably looking for us. I ordered Jafar to help me rest on conveyer as out of something my back started to pain badly. He looked shocked hesitating between choices like a broken robot.

  After while Jafar himself touched down the belt with his gigantic body, unable to conform to sleeping position of embryo… his long legs now giving him a bad time, he couldn’t stretch himself properly. Several seconds later, belt entered through square shaped hole with badly smelling straps touching our faces and all body parts and we found ourselves in labyrinth of baggage pathways which belonged to different airways, yet part of the same moving system. Vibration and irritating noise of conveyer caused strong nausea.

  “Hey boss, beware red laser rays!”

  Where I was looking,…Hadn’t it been Jafars warning, I would have been misdirected to unidentified baggage department by the automated system.It was the end of the line when some black material pressed my face before I fell onto slippery floor. It was sort of burlap sack put over my head, I couldn’t see anything. First I thought it was some kind a packing process, imposed on us exclusively as a result of technical error. But I became suspicious of unknown foul play, after heard same screaming voices from Jafar, who was very much claustrophobic as far as I knew. Seconds later blow to my head out of somewhere and total blackout. The next time I opened my eyes, yet burlap sack over my head, unable to see anything, it happened to me that we had been kidnapped and currently were in a van driving as fast as 120-140 kms/hour.