I met Paul one
steamy day. The heat haze was rising from the tar. My hair felt bedraggled
around my shoulders as I entered the coolness of the coffee shop.
He kept me
waiting. He had asked for this interview and had chosen the time and place so
how dare he keep me waiting? A reporter does not have time to waste on
stupidities. As I waited, I got angrier. The waiter came to my table and asked
if all was well.
“Yes, thanks. I am
waiting for someone, but I am just about to give up.”
A warm blast of air
pelted my back as the door momentarily blasted open.
“Is that who you
are waiting for?” he asked.
I turned around to
look at the shabbily dressed man who stood hesitantly in the doorway.
“Maybe, I don’t
know. He asked for an interview, and the paper sent me.”
The waiter walked
over to the man and was soon escorting him to my table. My eyes took in the
disdain of my fellow patrons.
As he slid into the
seat, his eyes shifted nervously from side to side.
“Are you Paul?” I
asked
He nodded as he
whispered, “Did you come alone?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“As instructed.”
“They are out to
get me. I have to be careful.”
Oh boy! Another
nutter.
“Who is out to get
you?” I asked.
“The government.”
And just as I was
about to pooh-pooh his idea I looked into his eyes which dragged me deep into
his soul. I read fear, despair, and loneliness. If he was a
nutter, he really bought into his fear.
“Would you like to
explain?” I asked as gently as I could as I indicated to the waiter to bring
two coffees.
“I’ve been on the
run now for a week. I haven’t dared to go home. They know where I live. I feel
smelly and dirty, and I could really do with a change of clothes.”
“I’ll see what I
can do about that, but would you like to let me in on the secret?”
“I am Dr. Paul
Fielden. I am a research scientist at the university. Part of my job is to
search the internet for any scientific breakthroughs in the world. Somehow or
other, I got into the dark web. I don’t know how and I doubt if I could do it
again. As you know, our ruling party is extremely divided at the moment. I
thought it was divided into two parts, the one who is making the rules and the
other is fighting the rules.
“I was horrified to
discover that there is a third breakthrough. This section hates what the other
two divisions are doing, and they are formulating a plot to spew civil unrest
into the mix. I know the date and time and where and how. I just couldn’t stop
myself reading once I got in, although the horror of what they were planning
made me fear for the lives of every South African – Black, White, Indian, and
Coloured. No one is going to be safe. If you are not for them, they will come
for you.”
He paused as the
waiter brought our coffees.
“Can I have a glass
of water, please?” he asked the waiter.
“You said you
didn’t know how you picked up the site? Could one of our techs get in?”
He picked up his
right hand, index finger raised as he brushed his hand back and forth in front
of his mouth as his eyes darted to where our waiter was walking back with the
glass of water.
“Thank you!” he
said as he drowned the water in one massive gulp.
“Wow! You are
thirsty,” I remarked.
“I have hardly had
anything to eat or drink this past week. Fortunately, the homeless are very
caring towards the newbies on the street. That is until they manage to get you
hooked. Each newbie that gets hooked on Whoonga brings cash in hand (or
whoonga) to the referrer.”
“Can I get you
something to eat?”
“Something quick. I
can’t afford to sit in one place too long. They are tracking me. I don’t know
how but I know why.”
“Would a Chelsea
bun do it?”
“Perfect big and
filling with a bit of sweetness.”
I called the waiter
and asked for two Chelsea buns.
“Do you want to
carry on?” I asked gently as a warm blast found my back. The coffee shop door
was opening again.
I watched in horror
as his eyes opened wide with terror as two extremely smart men took the table
near us.
“That’s them"
he whispered.
“They won’t do
anything in a crowded shop,” I whispered back. “Let me think.”
I was struck with a
brilliant thought. My cop boyfriend could help. I texted him shielded by the
tablecloth.
Hi sweetie.
Big problem. Interviewing a genuine case of asylum. He is being threatened.
Pick up my GPS and help please.
“All sorted,” I
whispered, then continued an imaginary conversation with him. “Have you seen
Sarah lately?”
I can’t believe how
quickly he picked up the conversation ball.
“No. I think she
moved to Cape Town.”
“Lucky devil. I
would love to relocate to the Cape. Can you believe I have never been there?”
“It is a beautiful
part of the world. Dave followed her, but I think they broke up.”
Our Chelsea buns
arrived, and Paul grabbed his hungrily. I didn’t eat mine as it was a spare for
Paul to take with him.
Our conversation
stopped as Paul gulped down the bun and his coffee. As he took the last bite,
there was a rumpus outside, and the warmth flew in as two uniformed policemen
entered and approached my table.
I winked at Paul as
one of the men grabbed him and roughly pulled him to his feet.
“We have been
looking for you, Stefan Visser. You are coming with us. Please don’t struggle.”
The second cop
cable-tied Paul’s hands behind his back as they marched him out.”
I watched as Paul’s
eyes relaxed and his soul whispered “Thank you for believing in me.”
© Vera Alexander
