Sleeping with Enemy

Characters:

Place: Eisenach, a city in Germany

Mr. Khemka: An Indian businessman aged about sixty on a business visit to buy used machinery

Mr. Jagtar Singh Randhawa aged about fifty, a resident of Frankfurt, our friend and guide in Germany

Hilda: A bar tender, aged about thirty five, a former communist party spy

Heidi: Deceased elder sister of Hilda, a talented gymnast

“Good night Frau Hilda”.

Mr. Khemka got up and winked at me to carry on.

His Frankfurt based friend Jagtar reluctantly dismounted the tall stool; he didn’t seem ready to leave the tastefully decorated bar after only two drinks.

Mr. Khemka prevailed and he had to bid a reluctant good bye. I knew they were exhausted and immediately left for their room. Mr. Khemka was not eager to listen to my mundane talk with Hilda, the vivacious bar tender. But the lively Jagtar didn’t seem to mind and was curious about my questions. The day has seen grueling long drives, a dreary visit to a ghosted plant and concluding in a business meeting extending late in to evening. The Germans were hard negotiators and wanted a better offer, matching the crafty Chinese.

A smiling Hilda handed me a drink looking amusingly at my departing friends. She loved to practice conversing in English and was seriously taking language lessons as so many others there. She had son from her failed second marriage, and was worried about him as any single mother would be. Our stay in the modest hotel has been about two weeks long and I managed to develop an admiration for her and wanted to know more about her life during communist rule in East Germany. A worried Sardar Jagtar has warmed me not to ask political questions or I am destined to get a suitable thrashing from hurt and angry Germans.

I found myself alone facing Hilda at the bar. The guests have preferred to watch and participate in a fashion show in next door.

“Do you find my English better than before?” She asked less haltingly.

“Yes you have improved a lot in last few days.” I said admiringly.

 “Are you sure?”

“Damn sure I am Hilda.” I was assuring her, as she did look suitably disposed to tell me about her past. A very tricky venture, as she was also prone to relapse in her own thoughts and ignore my attempts to seek her story.  The sad eyes did betray a hard life led under repressive communist rule. Or I thought that was my own biased presumption, as she might have been happy leading a team of welders in a now closed big automobile factory.

“You have been to Frankfurt many times; do you think I will find work there?”

It was an innocent question but difficult to answer.  Being a foreigner and totally clueless about the employment scenario there. But knew a positive reply would certainly edge me nearer to my own selfish motive.

“What work do you think I could find?” Hilda seemed eager to know my answer, displaying a childlike curiosity.

“A bar girl as you are now.”

“I don’t like it, I want to do some thing else.”

“As a welder perhaps, that was your job in factory here. Wasn’t it?” I reminded her.

“No. Not that. What else can I do there?”

I was again speechless as the repertoire of her skills was not yet disclosed.

“I wish Heidi was there to help me.” She suddenly had moist eyes and voice betrayed suppressed emotions.

I decided to keep my silence, as she wiped away her tears.

“Heidi was a talented gymnast. Every one thought she will win a gold medal for us at Olympics.” 

“She was my elder sister, three years older and I used to feel very secure when she was around. Now I feel so lost and insecure with no one to guide me.”

“She died last year.”

Hilda was silent for some time, thinking with her elbows resting on counter, face held by her slender hands.

“Do you want to know why and how she died?”

I didn’t know how to say yes in such a situation. I was tense and did want to let her unburden herself. She looked at me to judge my interest in story of her diseased sister, and must have read my morbid interest oozing out shamefully.

“Ok. Let me be relieved in few minutes, than we can sit down and talk.”

On eve of two holidays, I could afford to retire late, with out a phone call and rebuke by my friends.

………..To be continued

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Sleeping with Enemy

(Part 2)

“That man in turban wants to sleep with me, doesn’t he?”

              I was taken aback by her question and speechless. Being silent was to confirm her; a denial would have lead to many more questions.

              “Who wouldn’t?” My own question seemed natural. She laughed heartily and then fell silent for a long time.