Shirin
I broke the written rules of the gym but nobody seemed to mind. I left my card at the reception, got a towel and a key to the locker room and Kamara, the young local trainer came to the desk. He had built some serious muscles in the last eight months and he was going to get married in a few weeks. I had seen her sitting at the back of his scooter outside The King Kong Bar and she looked lovely.
”How is it going?” He gave me a friendly jab on the biceps.
”Give me a month and I will tell you.”
”And this?” Now he gave me a low jab on the thigh.
”Well, my knee has been hurting for a while. I had meniscal surgery on the knee a long time ago, and now I have been wearing the wrong kind of shoes that put a stress on the knee.”
He glanzed at my leg, and if he noticed the flip-flops I was wearing he pretended not to see. His eyes beamed with sympathy, but I told him everything was okay and I would start working on my legs in a few days. I congratulated him on his forthcoming wedding and he gave me the happy smile and we shook hands.
It was not the first time I had disobeyed rules, even though wearing flips at the gym was a petty thing. I guess everybody sometimes brakes the rules of one kind or other. And if not, I'm not going to feel sorry for them. It's important for the individual to now and then go against the norms in any given society. I'm not talking about robbing a bank or driving your vehicle on the wrong side of the road just for kicks; stealing or destroying things that don't belong to you, which is more or less the same thing, and it doesn't matter if it's private or governmental property – this is about something else. About reacting against conformity; we are individuals for god's sake. It's about ethics too; don't hurt other people. Unless they hurt you first. Well, that could be said about anybody, and everybody has a slightly different view of the world, but some people are more easily offended than others.
Here's what I mean:
In the evening I went to The Temple for crossaints with ham and cheese and Shirin was sitting next to my table. I had met her before because she was Arthur's friend and he was deeply in love with her. I invited her over and she sat down with her glass of beer and a pack of Marlboro lights. She looked great with her long black hair and those misty eyes, like they held a secret, always a little smile even when she talked about serious matters. She had turned thirty just two days ago and she was from Iran. She spoke flawless British English with this little sing-song patois when she got carried away. She had traveled in Europe and she loved the cold snowy winters in Denmark. She said:
”I hate the veil. In Tehran I have to wear it all the time but I take it off as soon as I get out of there.”
”I read somewhere that things are loosening up in Tehran. With the women's rights and...”
”Yes – the young people don't believe in the religious doctrines anymore and there is more freedom these days, but it takes time to change the old ways of thinking, and they are still deeply rooted with the older population.”
”It's funny. In my country the muslims seem to be more religious than back where they come from.”
”I can believe it. Many muslims feel alienated when they have moved to Europe and the religion makes them feel more like they are at home. But I tell you one thing – Europe is going the wrong way with the massive immigration wave. Too much islam is not good, and you see what's going on in France for example, with different areas that are totally being controlled by the muslims.”
”Yes, segregation. And the politicians are talking about integration. It's a smoke screen, and there's an agenda somewhere they are hiding from the people. The Leftists are supporting the inflow because they always need a victim to justify their own existence. They have obviously forgotten what happened to the communists who braced the take over by Ayatollah Khomeini in 1979. After the revolution they could be seen hanging from the lamp posts in Tehran.”
”Yes. We are living in very strange times.”
Then she yawned. It was contagious and I started yawning too. She was tired and so was I. It had been a long day.
She was going back to India in a few days to finish her PhD thesis. She gave me the title but I'll keep it to myself. And Shirin is not her real name. Governments, including the puppets in my own country are scouring the Internet for dissidents.
It was twenty past two after midnight. We said ”good night” and ”sleep well”. I walked back to my place and went to bed. I fell asleep in a few minutes and plunged into a vivid dream where I was flying around and looking at people from above.
