HOSTESS ISCARIOT - THE BEGINNING

By: Emmanuel Coleman

Kwaku Kissi was running from the Polizei and immigration officials. His crime? He was an illegal economic immigrant. The day before, he was nearly accosted because someone informed the police of his illegal status. He had to take flight to avoid deportation. He had clambered down the fire escape of the next door and hid in a drain until the cops left before he could get away. He did not have anywhere in particular to go to so he headed in one direction hoping that he would get as far as possible from the long arm of the polizei and immigration. He walked through back alleys and took care to avoid contact with people.

He trudged on and on, famished and knackered, until he found himself in the countryside. He kept on with his journey to God knows where.

Now and then a truck passed him by. Now and then a lone car whizzed past. On one occasion, a polizei patrol car cruised by but thankfully the occupants paid no attention to the lone hiker on the road. He walked on, following the quiet country roads for several miles, through verdant fields and copses of firs and birches and elms. On and on he went through the serene countryside.

At last, he saw a sign post which read SAINT ALBRECHTKIRCHEN.

Kwaku soon entered the vicinity of some lonely farmhouses widely set apart by fields of wheat and apple orchards. As he trudged on for a couple of miles, he reached a quiet little village with neat lanes and quaint cottages. The lanes were bordered by rows of hedge and the cottages had apple trees and flower and vegetable gardens and pines in their yards. The village was quiet and sleepy. He could hear the occasional yapping of a dog as he passed by a cottage.

He was beginning to feel cold. He needed to find a place to lodge for the night.

Gerda was out for a walk this evening. She was feeling a bit restless. She had been indoors the whole day. Not something unusual since she hardly ever went out except to work and for groceries. She was a lonely young woman and had very few friends. Gerda strolled leisurely along the lanes towards the church square.  Now and then, she met a neighbor who nodded in greeting. She rounded a bend and went towards the park. She spotted a free bench and went to it.  She sat there quietly and observed her surroundings. She listened to the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds returning to their nests. That was when she saw him. He was standing there as if he was lost, with nowhere to go.

He was a Black man and rather good looking. Gerda wondered what he was doing in the village. Her first instinct was to reach for her cell phone and call the police but something, something about him made her stop. He looked so lonely and lost like a little boy without his mother in the middle of nowhere. Gerda felt sorry for him.  She felt like talking to him, something she had never done before - talking to a stranger. She smiled and waved to him.

“Hi!” she called out to him.

Kwaku gave a start. He had seen the young woman on the bench but didn’t know she had seen him, much more expected her to talk to him. Even though he was stranded and looking for somewhere to lodge for the night, he was trying to avoid people as much as possible.

Gerda realized he was startled. She now really wanted to talk to him. Why did he seem scared? She rose and strolled towards him, still smiling.