LAST CALL FOR MR. NIELSEN!

I woke up and I opened my eyes and I saw no difference, neither day nor night, and I knew that this was The End, hot and damp and yet I was freezing like a skinny old secretary bird and my stomach squeezed by the hand of the Big Unseen, and it wasn't the National Security, no, neither the white nor the black nor the plain-clothed and not even that Russian agent with plutonium in his take-away sushi, it was the good old plagues of Egypt that had finally counted me out as they had once counted the mission of he who came before me, of Niebuhr, from five down to the one and lonely, the eternal stranger, the I. – I ..., I whispered and that was all, my stomach was squeezed by a series of convulsions and finally went into a meltdown, but I wasn't able to move. And there I lay for years or days or minutes on end until finally the film crew gently knocked on my door, - I ..., I croaked or peeped, and in she came. She turned on the light. I looked like corpse. I was. – Weren't we supposed to ...? she said. – I ..., I whispered and shook my head. – Oh! she said.  She stepped onto my bed and dragged the dustheavy curtain aside and opened a small hidden cupboard and dragged out a dirty white towel wrapped around the hard disc containing the entire video recordings. – Maybe it is better that I bring it with me, she said, - in case they might show up. – But where would you ...? I mumbled. She had met a young Dane and now she would bring the hard disc to him and ask him to hide it in his suitcase and bring it out of Egypt. – And you ...? I said. – I'll manage. Do you want me to bring you something? – No, I said, - ... just water. She brought me a big bottle of water and left me in the darkness. And there I lay listening to the state of emergency, that strange Egyptian modus vivendi or modus moriendi, the sound of constant panic, thousands of cars unable to move, going and getting nowhere, the third world production of nothing but noise, exhaust fumes, garbage and uproar, le honk pour le honk, there is no future and you ain't getting nowhere, but there is this horn in your car, your freedom of speech, - I am! Here! I am! The millions of voices moving like bubbles in a boiling soup, the medieval bray of the fruit seller down in the passage going like a metronome through the sound of the twentieth century exploding into the twenty-first. I all the time I was waiting for the moment when they would finally knock on my door or just step right in and pick me up and do away with me. Why not? They had been following me, investigating my mission, they knew who and why and exactly where I was, there was only one thing left for them to do: close the casket. But why? I wasn't going nowhere now, finally I had turned into my own double lying as pale and white and still in my darkness as he in his. I was no good or bad or threat to neither them nor my contractors nor History nor humanity and the world. I didn't even mean anything. I was nothing, not even a sign to misinterpret. And so no one came. And outside, the state of Egyptian emergency slowly faded into a slumber, an indolent mumble that wasn't the end, but just the transition from Thursday into holy Friday. And when mullahs started weeping I crawled out of bed and into my grey suit, dragged my corpse down the corridor and into the elevator. The sleepy aging elevator boy held out his hand towards me and I looked into the open palm and it was dry and chapped, a landscape of narrow dirt roads, a story with no beginning and no end, and I shook my head and pressed the button and down I went. Outside in the Tala'at Harb Street the film crew was waiting for me. – Oh, Mercy! I mumbled and hailed a white cab and fell into it, - just take me away! – What? said the illiterate driver. – The airport! the film crew said and turned the camera on me. – Me? I mumbled. She nodded. – This is the end, I said, - and what have I done? Nothing. But at least I tried. I went as far as I could, didn't I? She nodded, and did her thumb up. – I went as far as I could and then even a little further, and everywhere I was stopped. But even then I kept on walking, didn't I. I failed and I failed and I failed and here we are and what have I done? – Great! she said. – What? I said. I was talking about world history, the clash of civilizations and the new world order. She thought about her film. – The history of the world is no film, I said, - not even a documentary. Or maybe it is. – Here we are and what is the outcome? I said, - lots of stories, but no change. Take a look, I said, - everything is exactly as it was. The supposed statue of the Prophet Muhammad is still in his box untouched and unseen by the peoples of Egypt. And the impossible walk that should have taken me, the twenty-first century Moses carrying the Flag of the Future, the law of a new world order through the land of Egypt, past the pyramids and into the light of a new desert dawn ... it all imploded into the darkness of room no. 5. Or maybe I'm wrong, I mumbled and looked out into the state of emergency, the long line of military complexes, fences, dust grey gardens and somewhere behind, the presidential palace, - maybe I actually went there, all the way through the Cairo, through History and Mankind and out on the other side, past the pyramids and into the desert, and this ..., I said, - is this just a dream?

At the check-in I collapsed. They kindly picked me up and placed me in an old wheel-chair and wheeled me all the way to the gate. There a man was waiting, plain-clothed. - I am the doctor, he said. He took my temperature, pulse, blood pressure, absorption of oxygen. Everything was too low. – I am afraid I have to keep you here, he said. – Here? I said, - in Egypt?! He nodded. – No, I said, - no! And then nothing. And then the sound of a voice from the PA: - Last call for Mr. Nielsen ...