Future Writer Chapter 15 (12 pages)

Chapter 15

I knew I was probably going to lose my job if I called in sick too often but something had to be done. I sold back my stocks to the board members which they were very willing to do at a discount. I didn't mind because I walked away with just under a million dollars. I put in for a leave of absence at work and to my surprise it was approved. I had three weeks.

I tried to remember where she said she was from. It was so long ago. She told me back in the jungle of South America. Then it occurred to me, I wrote it down in the ledger. I looked it up and she told me Ta'jif'istan and that it was just north of Afghanistan. I looked on a map I the closest country to her description was Tajikistan. I looked up what information I could on Tajikistan from the Internet then everything fit. She said it was a bad place because of a civil war. She talked of a Farmers Market. This has to be the right country. I called the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I called the number so often that it is still stuck in my head, 7 (3772) 211 808. Finally I got through. I told them that I was seeking a temporary visa and they told me that it would take at least fourteen working day to process the paperwork. On top of that I would need, three passport size photos, a valid ten year passport, a stamped letter of acceptance from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a fee, and self addressed stamped envelope. I told them that I was going there as an alibi for a local

woman who was extradited from America for the murder of her husband.

The person on the other end of the phone asked, "Is this about Alexia?"

I told him that it was. He told me that this is in every newspaper in the country, and that there are people with more justification than her to killing a warlord like him. The man at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs personally felt that she was innocent so he put a rush on the paperwork. Later that day I faxed him the application forms and he faxed back the approval letter with instructions to pick up my visa at the Tajikistan Embassy at 136 East 67th Street New York. He told me in a note that I was to report to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Prospekt Rudaki 42, in Dushanbe where I would be given directions from him on where to go from there. Once all of that was done I called every travel agent in Corpus Christi and they all declined my business due to the warnings about foreigner entering that country during their civil unrest. I decide to contact an old acquaintance that I knew from last year in South America, Greg Stewart (the pilot). He said that he could squeeze me in to London then from there I would have to make arrangements through Moscow, Tashkent, Khujand then to Dushanbe. I told him to put me on the next flight possible.

Two days after I spoke with Greg I was meeting him at the airport. He told me that airline employees are allowed one guest passenger per month and he put me in that spot. The flight that we took stopped in Dallas/Fort Worth, New York then direct to London. Once in London, however, I was on my own. As we traveled I filled him in on Alexia and how she was extradited to Tajikistan for the murder of that man that was shooting at us in South America. He assured me that if anyone should be to blame it would be her husband for the murder of the Yanomamo tribesmen.

He dropped me off at London's Heathrow airport. I had some time to kill so I decided to update the ledger. Between the lining and the cover of the ledger I had a handful of the magical mind reading leaves. I made sure that the lining was sealed tight. The alcohol I was hoping to purchase while I was there. Taking a break from writing, I walked around the airport. The airport seemed a lot smaller than I'd remember it. Could it have been ten years since I was last here? I last passed through here upon my discharge from the Navy. It didn't seem that long ago, yet the airport seems so different. Perhaps my memory has chosen to remember it through rose colored glasses. The time came for me to board the plane into the world unknown.

In flight I notices that the sun went down rather quickly. This was due to the plane flying against the sun. As we flew, darkness fell upon the land. There was nothing to be seen by looking out of the window.  I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep. I awoke to the plane passing  through turbulence.

Being that I never left the international section of the airport, I did not have to pass through customs again until I came to Moscow.

I began to wonder if the dogs at the inspection counter would smell the leaves in the ledger. I walked through without the dogs smelling a thing. The customs agent asked me where I was going and why. When I told him, he sent me to an room where I was told to put all of my belonging onto a table and take a seat.

"How long do you plan on being in Tadzhikistan?" he asked.

"No longer than three weeks," I told him.

"What is the nature of the visit?"

"I am to testify in a murder trial."

"Murder is very common here. Why would anybody warrant your summons?"

"The person on trial is somebody I know."

The whole time he was questioning me, he was searching through my belongings.

"This person must be pretty special?" he asked.

"This person is a woman who was said to have killed her husband. I know that she didn't."

"Ivan and Alexia?"

"Yes. That's the one."

The man stopped searching and said, "You will need an entrance visa. Re-pack your things and follow me."

I followed him to a desk where he made a phone call. Before long a car pulled up outside of the airport. A tall thin man with a furry hat and overcoat walked from the car to the desk and handed the custom agent an envelope. The man walked back into the car and drove off. The customs agent stamped the contents of the envelope then stamped my passport. On the visa he put all of the cities I planned to visit. He told me that I had three day to get there and that I need to get an extension from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. He pointed me to a gate where I sat for about an hour. From there I boarded a plane heading for Tashkent.

After a while I put on headphone the listen to what was available. "<<<<<<>>>>>>>[The cease-fire is a welcome relief...]," was the first sound I heard. To an untrained ear it sounded almost Prussian.

I continued moving the tuner until reaching MHz 12.10 and I heard a British voice saying, "The president is still denying allegations that would compromise his standing in the next year's elections... From London, this is Roger Cogsworth of the BBC..."

I continued tuning until I heard, "This next song is from Johnny and the Delphonics here on the Voice of America, fifteen thirty A.M. ..."

I left the radio station at that frequency until my ears became tired. I tossed and turned, not knowing what to do with myself. What was I going to do when I got to where I was going? Before I left, I had printed all on the Internet home pages on Tajikistan I could find. I thought it wise to find out all that I could about this country. After reading all of the printouts that I had I realized that all I had to work with was encyclopedia description and a very brief history. Nothing told me what is acceptable and what is not. What food do I ask for at a restaurant? What clothes do I wear so I won't offend the locals? How do I find a toilet? I was really having second thoughts about this trip. Just then the man sitting next to me lit up a self rolled cigarette. This is a smoking plane! I asked the man if he had an extra cigarette paper and he handed me one. From the flight attendant I bought a small bottle of alcohol that was made using the same grain content as the mind reading solution. I put the bottle in my pocket and grabbed the ledger and walked to the restroom. Once in the restroom I looked closely for hidden surveillance devices. All that I saw was a smoke detector and a mirror. I turned my back to the mirror as if to be urinating. I placed two crumpled leaves into the cigarette paper along with two to three drops of the alcohol then sealed the cigarette. Once all of the items were concealed I turned to face the mirror, washed my hands and walked out. When I returned to my seat, I sat down and asked the man next to me for a light. He told me that there were complimentary matches in the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. I took the matches out, put the cigarette in my mouth and struck the match. I began to inhale as the match came closer. Before the flame touched the cigarette, "Wush!" The cigarette flared up like a torch. The man next to me jumped in his seat. Before I could react the cigarette was ashes and the smoke was in my lungs. All I could do was cough. The man next to me didn't know what to do. He just stared at me with eyes as big as silver dollars. Before I could stop coughing I began to feel the thoughts of those around me.

"What was that?... Where'd that smoke come from?... Son of a Bitc..!"

It didn't take long for the smoke to clear and the commotion to die down.

Surprisingly, nobody confronted me with what it was that I was smoking. I'm glad nobody did. I wasn't sure how I would explain what had happened. I kept reading the thoughts of those around me for some time to make sure that nobody else inhaled the smoke and was reading minds as well. I amused myself reading different people's thoughts on the airplane. After a while I focused on Alexia.

"...What am I doing.... How did I get in this....What is going on here?" I felt her thoughts faintly.

Her signal is getting stronger. I must be going to the right place. The signal soon became gibberish as she went to sleep. I kept consecrating on her and I began reading flashes of a dream. She is walking along a road.... big mountain.... she is now eating with somebody at a restaurant..." The dream seemed to be her mind wandering through moments in her life. I didn't receive any thought flashes of myself as I'd hoped for. The plane made its descent. We no sooner landed at the airport in Tashkent when our plane was ready to take us away.

It was a small twin engine aircraft with approximately forty seats. Less than half of the seats were filled. In less than an hour we were making our descent into Dushanbe. Once on the ground, the airport seemed mysteriously barren. We stepped down onto the tarmac as a bus pulled along side of the aircraft. The bus dropped us off at a door to a long building. Above the door the sign read,

"Intourest". As I walked from the bus to the Intourest office gunshots could be heard in the distance. I was hoping that the shots was just some hunter target practicing but I somehow doubted that. I sat in the waiting room for some time expecting something to happen. Nothing did. I picked up my bags and walked to the front of the building. I walked passed closed tobacco and alcohol shop as I walked towards a taxi.

When I reached the taxi I knocked on the window. The knock startled him.

"Can you take me to a hotel?" I asked him.

"Kalau Kadu-i amrikoi, baroi chi to bevaqt gashted-mi? [You are an American fool to be out this late at night.]"

I did not understand him but he motioned for me to get in the taxi, which I did. We had not been driving for more than three minutes when the driver told me,"<<<  >>>>> Papers!>>>>>>" from over the seat.

I did not understand. He repeated himself then held his hand out as if to read a book. "Passport!" I thought to myself. We came to a spot in the road where military style trucks were parked on either side. The driver slowed down as a man in a uniform motioned him to stop.

"Az moshin baroed! Ku. [Out of the car!]." said the guard while motioning me to get out.

I stepped out of the taxi and handed him my papers. Everyone at the checkpoint was heavily armed with a Kalashnikov assault weapons. Near one of the trucks were three men dressed in all black and mask over their faces. They were very intimidating. The guard motioned for me to set my bags on the ground which I did. He opened up the backpack and began rummaging through it. He pulled out the ledger then fanned the pages as if to be looking for something. Leaving everything on the ground, he motioned for us to continue.

"<<<>>>>>" he said.

I picked up my belongings and hopped back into the taxi. Five minutes later we pulled up to a nine floor building which was the hotel. I didn't see much of the city because of how dimly light everything seemed to be. I held up a dollar to the driver. He took it and looked to the date. The date was 1991. He pointed to the date and said, "No." I pulled out another dollar bill which had the date 1994. He pointed to the date and took the dollar with gratitude. I wasn't sure if that was enough or too much. I later found out that I paid him a small fortune for that short of a ride. I also later found out that the reason he checked that dates on the bill was because of the large number of counterfeit American dollar bill in the area. Although the hotel was also dimly lit it was considerably brighter than the rest of the city. The man at the front desk spoke English quite well and gave me a room. From my fifth floor window I could see that I was in one of the taller of the buildings in the city. I could make out a lot of trees, and very close, very tall, mountains. The night breeze felt nice blowing in through the window.

"Bap, Bap, Bap!" more shots rang out into the night.

Other shots could be heard in the distance.

"What am I doing here?"

I decided to update the ledger. I had difficulty with the lighting. The dimly lit room could not be lit any brighter. I felt as though I was working by candle light. I did manage to get the ledger updated then I fell to sleep, until the room began to shake and plaster fell from the walls. It was an Earthquake. I went to the lobby expecting to find chaos but everything seemed normal. I felt as though I was living in the twilight zone. The next morning I awoke to the sun shining brightly through the window. I looked out the window and breathed the crisp morning air. Across the street I saw people in brightly colored silk outfits walking across Lenin Park where statues of Tajik poets were erected.

A water truck drove by spraying the street clean. There were very few motorist. Most of the people were walking. The most breathtaking sight of all, however, were the massively huge mountains that towered over the city. They seemed to be less that twenty miles away. From where I was at I could see that the tallest building was just slightly taller than the hotel, and after last night’s tremor I could see why. I could tell by the rays of the sun that this day would be hot, but I had no idea how hot. I decided to take a shower and greet the day, however, when the water came through the shower it was a muddy brown color. I decide against taking a shower that morning. In my backpack I put in the ledger and my travel documents, then went to the lobby. In the lobby I saw a man who looked to be American.

"Are you American?" I asked.

"Yes. I am," he said.

"I just arrived last night. Where would you suggest I eat?"

"Do you speak Tajik?" he asked.

"No."

He pointed out the front door of the hotel along the street named Rudaki. "There," he said, "...is probably the only decent restaurant in town. Any other restaurant you can expect to get sick from the food."

He turned to me and asked, "What brings you here?"

"A murder trial."

"Watch your butt."

"Excuse me?"

"You're here for the Ivan an Alexia murder right?"

"Yes."

"People want to see her hang as a scapegoat."

I looked at him in a puzzled way.

"... If she is found guilty, she'll be executed and there won't anymore about it, but, if she is found innocent the rival warlord will be sought and the militia relies on his rival for financing through drug money. If that happens there will be even more blood on the streets."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Killings, assignation, murders... It's a way of life here. I know it's unjust but if she hangs for this there will be a lot less bloodshed."

"What bring you here, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I'm with the Central Asian Development Agency. We provide training and relief program for underprivileged communities."

He turned to me and said, "If I were you, I'd invest in a translator. There are many to chose from at the university, in fact I'll ask the man at the desk for you."

He walked to the desk and spoke to the man there. He walked back and told me that he will send a university instructor to meet you at noon. It will cost you about ten dollars a day. Don't feel like you're short changing them. That is good wages for them. I have to get to work. If you have any question give me a call. Oh and don't drink the water."

He handed me his business card and walked on his way.

I walked outside to see mountains on three sides of the city, to the north was the Hissor mountain range, to the south and east was the Pamir Mountains which include Pik Kommunisma, the highest mountain in the former Soviet Union.

I walked to the restaurant but along the way I lost my appetite when I saw a lamb being butchered on the street by a local vender.

I continued along Prospekt Rudaki until I came to a long, three floor, pale red building with the number '42' over the door and a sign that displayed 'MID' (meed). It was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The building seemed to be relatively new in architecture yet it had portions of the cement wall falling to the ground. I walked in to find many people standing in long lines waiting similar to a bank lobby. I waited in line. When I finally reached the front of the line, I tried desperately to pronounce the name of the person that issued me the letter of entrance. After many attempts to communicate another person came to me and said that he was not there that day.

I went back towards the hotel. Along the way I watched as a man flagged a van with a number on the front. The van stopped, the doors opened and the man squeezed in. I reached the hotel to find that the electricity had been turned off. The man behind the desk told me that this was quite common. I went back to the room in the dark. By this time I was really beginning to get hungry and thirsty too, but I remembered what the man from the Central Asian Development Agency told me about drinking the water. I decided that a little bit wouldn't hurt so I turned on the tap into a glass and  what came out looked like coffee with creamer in it. I decided against drinking at the moment.

I went to the Bazaar and bought tea and meat filled pastries called sambosas. I think I over-paid the man by not haggling.

The sambosas did a wonderful job of satisfying my hunger. At noon time I walked to lobby. The power was still not on. The man behind the counter directed me to a man who was to be my translator. When we met it was like old friend seeing each other after a long time away. We were shaking hand for close to a minute. After the introduction, we agreed on a wage and together we walked in the hot sun to the jail. Despite the shelter of the trees, the heat was almost unbearable.

Along the way to the jail he told me all about the history of the city. It was mostly built in the Stalin era. The pale red buildings were the government buildings. During Lenin days of influence statues were erected of noble leaders but after the Soviets left in the early nineties, the statues were taken down and statues of Tajik poets went up in there place.

Street name and other sites followed suit.

Since that time, the Russian population in the city fell from 60% to 8% even though the population had not changed. That was because at that same time, people from outside of the city move in to fill the vacancies.

The jail resembled a World War II concentration camp. Prisoners were marched from place to place in a military style. We were directed to an office where we were told to wait while the guard made a phone call. I had to leave all of my possessions with the guard then he directed me to a building inside the prison.

Inside was Alexia talking with her family and crying. She was surprised to see me. I told her that I was there to help in any way that I could. She didn't know what that would be. Then I had an idea, I told her that I was going to look for the real killer.

"But how?" she asked.

"I don't know," I told her, "but there's got to be a way."

We went back towards the hotel but along the way the translator told me that he was getting hungry. We stopped at the restaurant that was pointed out to me earlier that day. We ordered from the menu but the translator told me that they'll bring you what they have regardless of what you order.

After eating the translator wanted to ride the bus even though we were only four blocks away. He told me that the buses only run when fuel was available and this was one of those times. So we squeezed into a bus and rode it for four block to the hotel. The good part about that was we avoided the haggling sidewalk venders that were selling breads, alcohol (mainly generic vodka), beef and lamb kabobs, and tobacco products.

It seemed like everywhere we went we heard the sounds a sunflower seed shells crunching under our feet, and rare was somebody not smoking.

After what seemed like hours of hand shaking I left the translator and returned to me room. I immediately began having Clancy write of a person being guilty of the murder. I wrote that he was discovered and Alexia was to be released. The person that Clancy wrote as being guilty was derived by taking two names from a phone directory and taking the first name of one person and the last name of another person and combining the names so the person would be completely fictitious.

The next day after a sleepless night of gunshots and earthquakes she was knocking at my door. She hugged me so tight I couldn't breath. She told me of the guilty person just as Clancy wrote it.

She invited me as a guest to a friends house. As we walked there, she told me that she use to live in that same neighborhood. Her family had moved out in the early 90's. We stopped at a sidewalk vendor that was selling sweets. We bought a cake and pastries as a gift to demonstrate our being happy to be their guest.

Her family was going to be at her friend’s house as well. Street after street we walked. The houses had walls taller than my head with gate leading into the yards. You felt like you were walking down a wide hallway when walking down the street. She stopped at a gate that lead into one of the dwellings. As we walked in, we were greeted by her family and friends. The men placed their left hands over their hearts while shaking hands with their right. I thought the greeting would never end.

Most of the men were very drunk and offered me a bottle of vodka of my own. I never was much for getting drunk but I didn't want to be rude either, so down the hatch it went. We were directed into a guest room which was an open room with a carpet in the middle and cushions along the walls. We were seated in the furthest spot away from the door as a sign of honor. Tea was brought in and we talked and talked and talked some more. Nobody could understand me and I

couldn't understand them but after drinking the Vodka, nobody really cared. We just had fun doing it. Somehow during our rambling conversation fruit was brought in. They kept handing me peeled apples and pomegranates until I just couldn't eat any more. I had to tell them no more to get them to stop. After I was and stuffed with fruit the main course was brought out. It was a mixture of an oily rice and beef. It was very tasty.

"Where were they getting all of this food?" I thought to myself.

Then after all of that came the sweets. I could hardly stand up by the time it was over. I asked Alexia where the toilet was and she directed me through a door that lead outside. I staggered to the outhouse. On the return trip I saw where the food was coming from. Behind the house was an outdoor kitchen. A fire was smoldering under a large brick stove. The water was left running from the tap.

I was going to turn it off then I realized that they may be doing that to flush to pipes. When I got back inside I asked Alexia about whether they heard of indoor plumbing. She told me that they have a believe of evil spirits where toilets are concerned. Even in the Russified houses the plumbing is removed and an outhouse is set up outside. Toward the end of the evening, most people at the house were passed out drunk and I was feeling pretty sick. Alexia walked me back to my hotel room before the sun went down she told me not to leave the hotel after dark because of the fighting. Everywhere we looked we saw armed men in uniforms. She told me that they were the 201st Motorized division. Without them the city would crumble even more than is has. The fighting has escalated and people are fleeing. Everybody in Dushanbe mourns the loss of a loved one.

That is why her family no longer lives there. They have moved north to escape the fighting. The fighting is why people drink so heavily, to deal with the sadness. Her sobering conversation overwhelmed me with sadness.

A couple of days later, we boarded a plane together and heading back to Corpus Christi. Traveling with her was a lot nicer than traveling alone.