Pulling the Strings II
As I said my job title changed to „Third Secretary“. My father’s dream to see me as an “ambassador” one day was thus no more unrealistic. You can imagine how important I felt. I even forgot who I was and where I came from. I walked conceitedly and people’s respect increased accordingly. That was balm to my soul and self-confidence. Marriage proposals poured over me and the Foreign Ministry preferred to see me married before any transfer. Rumours were around single diplomats often didn’t go back when they were transferred to Western Europe. London, Paris, Berlin, Stockholm, Washington were popular because of high pay, spending spree and fair game.

I didn’t want to get married so soon but my body and soul were crying for female touch. A little female finger was enough to send me to the skies. Sometimes even a female voice could turn me mad. I often listened to the radio and watched TV when the reader was a woman. I was practically living on a volcano or sitting on a powder-keg. But women seemed unreachable. My colleagues were married still they knew about some places I could go to. Usually such places were forbidden by law. When one of the ladies touched me the first time, my skin turned to goose-pimples and started trembling as well. My pulse beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of my body.The poor woman must have been shocked to see such a famished boy starved to death.

A colleague from another department phoned me one day and said: I have great news for you. You have been transferred to an embassy of your liking. I thought he was pulling my leg for everybody knew without nepotism you will be transferred to the capital of a Third World country in Asia or Africa: Mauritania, Bangladesh or Mozambique … I had no idea but he came and showed me the ministerial order. Me, transferred as a Third Secretary to that capital. Is it true? Unbelievable. When I went home I danced and cried out for the capital as loud as I could till I lost my voice and all my family gathered around me thinking I had gone mad. I was supposed to leave in two month’s time.

The day before I left somebody from the Foreign Ministry came to our house and said: You need to go to the Intelligence Department immediately.The news froze the blood in me and my family. Why do they need me? What have I done? I put on my suit and hastened there. An official greeted me when I went in. He said: We know about your language skills and want you to help us in Europe. Somebody in the embassy will meet you and will say: Ad sends his greetings as a code. He will then tell you what to do. I have got some information for you. Would you like me to put it in an envelope? I wanted to say: you know what, stick it. You know where, where the sun don’t shine. My enthusiasm waned. They were using me as a means to an end. That’s why they wanted me in the Foreign Ministry. “Wait and see bastard” I thought “you will never see me again the moment I leave”.

Some relatives and my family (except my father) accompanied me to the airport. It was the first time for me to fly and I had not been to an airport before. Some officials checked our passports and when it was my turn an official quickly handed me back my red diplomat passport as if he burnt his hands taking me for a very influential party member. I laughed and he laughed too. My mother cried and cried and told me to send a telegram the moment I arrived. The plane took off and that took a load off my mind.

Jamshid
Bremen, 6 September 2007