RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK
I was walking by the lake with Selma
one morning. That was our last day at the holiday house. Selma
kept questioning if we were making the right decision to move.
She loved the idea of Paris, but making another life-altering
move only just after we had settled down in Washington D.C.
as carefree empty-nesters seemed too radical a move. I was
annoyed by Selma's skepticism and thoroughness, probably because
I wanted the whole thing so badly but didn't have the right
ammunition against Selma's valid arguments. I decided to play
the card of our prospective life in Paris to induce and assure
Selma that our decision was the best thing for us. Still,
I had a feeling that I was losing. Suddenly, I saw our cab
driving away from the holiday house so I ran quickly to stop
it, not knowing who was in it.
"Where are you going?" I shouted to Linda when I
saw her in the driver's seat. Instinctively I stood in front
of the car to block her way.
Linda pushed open the door like she was in too much of a hurry
to even wind down the window.
"Jump in!" she shouted, as my confused eyes met
Selma's. "Come on, both of you. Hurry, hurry, hurry!"
Linda was obviously running away from somebody again. We could
only guess, of course, so Selma and I jumped in the car without
question.
"What is going on, Linda?" I asked her once we were
in the car.
"Damn scheduler!" That was all she said as she sped
away from the lake house back to civilization.
"Scheduler?"
"I told you about my insurance policy."
"Insurance policy?" I was struggling to follow her
thought process. Linda would just start throwing words at
me when she was stressed, and I would feel like a retard not
being able to understand to what she was referring.
"Yeah, you know… the messages that would send to the
media if something wrong happens to me?"
"Yes?" I was trying to connect things, but Selma
was surprisingly faster than me.
"Don't tell me they were already mistakenly sent."
Selma said it casually, like she was telling off a kid that
had forgotten to do his homework, but I was well aware of
the implications, and I could feel chills as my legs weakened
in anticipation of the worst.
"No, not yet." Linda's words sounded like salvation
from Christ. However, what followed was less comforting. "But
they will be, in less than twenty minutes."
And with that, Linda stepped on the gas.
I checked my watch. It was 10:43.
"If the message gets out while we're still alive, we're
gonna look like idiots. They would surely use this opportunity
to discredit us and make us look like evil liars. We will
be so vilified in the media that even someone like OJ Simpson
would look like Mother Theresa, so pure of heart, giving condoms
at the Gay Pride."
Linda was already back on the main road, driving toward any
shop or house that potentially had Internet access.
"Where are you going?" I asked her.
"I have to find Internet access by eleven or we will
be stuffed."
"Hurry up! It's quarter to eleven already."
Linda stepped on the gas, aggressively overtaking a car.
"Turn left here. There are some houses on the left. Go
there!" I was trying to navigate, which was really hard
without maps.
I didn't know where we were, but Linda kept racing like she
knew where we were supposed to go. She was racing and cutting
off cars, but surprisingly Selma didn't say a word. I was
grateful for that. She must have been shocked by the ride.
10:51.
"Oh, we're not gonna make it," I started panicking.
Linda didn't say a word. Suddenly I was pulled by the braking
force and screaming tires. I didn't know a taxi could be driven
like that.
"I hope she will make it." That was the only thing
Selma was able to say.
I just nodded.
Linda got out of the cab and ran into a store while the engine
was still running.
10:52.
She came out running.
Obviously she didn't finish the job. She jumped in and pressed
the gas, leaving a burnout behind.
10:53
I was again amazed at how focused Linda was in highly stressful
situations where her life was on the line.
She stopped a couple of buildings later and ran out of the
car.
10:54
Selma and I were just watching each other. My legs were shaking.
10:55
10:56
Linda ran out of the shop, but instead of coming back to the
car, she quickly walked into a building next door.
10:57
10:58
10:59
I was hoping that the fact that it took Linda so long in that
building was a sure sign that she had finally found Internet
access.
11:00
If she did not do it by now, there was no way back.
11:01
I felt weak. I tried to think up alternatives, but I couldn't.
"Zoki, što cemo sad? 21"
That was the only thing Selma asked.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
11:02
11:03
11:04
Then I saw Linda walking casually towards the car. I couldn't
figure out from her face whether she had been successful or
not. Linda slowly opened the car door and sat down while we
were staring at her with apprehension.
"I took care of it. It's all good. Let's go for drinks."
That was all Linda said and I sighed with huge relief.
***
Daniel continued teasing me about my
pacifism.
"You know, for a Serb you are too politically correct
and peaceful."
"It's because I went through so much. Actually, I consider
myself lucky despite being drafted. My family suffered way
more than me during war. I know how bad it is and why it should
be avoided at any cost."
"Oh, don't be so naïve. The entire history of mankind
is just a long series of wars. Remember your history classes.
You probably knew about when and how Napoleon conquered Europe,
but what you probably didn't know was the fact that they hadn't
worn any underpants and that the majority of them didn't have
so much as a bed to sleep on in their own homes. I believe
the latter two pieces of information that I have just mentioned
are more important historical facts than any of those you'd
find in history books."
"That was all in past. It does not have to be like that
anymore. Look at me. I am Serb from Bosnia, driving taxi in
America. Ask me what is my country and what kind of national
pride I have. I certainly don't want to fight for just anything
or anybody. And soon there will be more people like me than
pureblooded people living in their own national country and
ready to fight for their own nation or religion."
"National interests, religious pride, or whatever. That's
not important. It's always about the money. People like me
will always be able to find a reason and grounds for conflict
... even in the new world that you are referring to. Black
versus white; Anglo versus Hispanic; gay versus hetero; rich
versus poor; Democrats versus Republicans; Ivy League versus
public school alumni, and the list goes on ..."
"In America?"
"Anywhere where money can be made."
"And you are proud of what you do for living?"
"Not generally, but occasionally it makes me happy."
"I can't believe you are not even ashamed to say something
like that."
"Oh, calm down please. I never killed anybody. You are
giving me way too much credit, like I'm some all-powerful
man. I am just a simple cog in a big machine."
I did not want to argue anymore. It was obvious that Daniel
would always defend himself and his conscience, if he had
any. Still, I was curious to find out how he ended up like
this.
"So, I guess there is no school for becoming evil spin
doctor."
"Oh, don't make me sound so psychotic. And yes, there
are no schools for what I do. It just happened that I was
in Africa at the right time and saw things that my psychic
had told me would happen. That's how my career started."
"How?" I asked.
"I told you, I was in French Congo at the time when the
country was under threat by a communist movement. Don't forget
that the Europeans were getting diamonds from Congo. In order
not to lose this key business, the Belgians, with the help
of the CIA, fairly soon realized that a civil war in the areas
outside the diamond fields would keep the locals busy, and
their heads far away from any communist ideas. The ingenious
move was that instead of trading something useful to the locals
for their diamonds, they managed to barter with firearms.
Pure brilliance! Any business school would've told you, for
cases similar to this where mass bloodshed was avoided, that
you have just developed the perfect business model. Thanks
to Congo, the Belgians soon became one of the leading exporters
of firearms in the world!"
"But you were in French Congo."
"Yes, before De Gaulle gave them independence. So I just
moved to the neighboring Belgian Congo, where I was more or
less a courier, which helped me to understand the art of organized
conflicts."
"So you are saying that their civil war was created by
Americans and Belgians just to keep getting diamonds out of
country."
"To make money."
"Money, money, money. How much is enough?"
"There is never enough."
"You are right," I said while I being disgusted
with Daniel's attitude. "The entire Western culture is
based on greed and exploitation of other nations.
Daniel laughed and remarked cynically. "Oh, don't go
that far. Do you think your Slavic nations are any better?
I don't want to ask you about the Russians, but what about
your glorious Yugoslavia? How do you think you managed to
have such a great standard of living with one of the fastest
industrializations and economic growths in the world?"
"We never exploited anybody."
"Oh, please spare me. Why do you think President Tito
was spending all that time in Africa? Safaris? Come on."
"We were helping them."
"Helping? Do you know that even during the war in Bosnia
while you were fighting for whichever side you were…"
"I wasn't fighting in that war!" I protested, but
Daniel just ignored me.
"…your Yugoimport was selling weapons with mercenaries
to Liberia. And not just any mercenaries, but the best Serb,
Croat and Bosnian fighters that were fighting against each
other a day before."
"What are you talking about?" I couldn't stand any
more gibberish.
"We all made a huge mess of Africa, so please don't preach
to me about the evil West and the all good East!"
Daniel was all over the place with his story. Some of the
bits and pieces he was telling me didn't fit together. Or
did they? One thing was certain; this guy was giving facts.
How many Frenchmen would know of Yugoimport, the largest Serbian
weapons exporter, and what they did? This guy knew his stuff.
Daniel continued on with his story, but this time he was more
composed. Maybe because he felt that he no longer had to defend
himself because, in his eyes, I was guilty also.
"Every war is the same; always fought because of money
and power. The only difference is how you sell it to the public.
It's all just a matter of marketing. You just pick and push
one side, like supporting Coke over Pepsi. It all depends
on who's paying you.
