279. Freak Out

It gets dark early and by eight o’clock I am working on some drawings in the silent hotel room when there is a quiet voice at my door. I start to open it and then I remember the child’s warning in the afternoon and decide not to. The voice becomes louder and the doorknob moves. I don’t answer, but the voice gets more persistent and the door moves to and fro being pushed from the outside. This hotel is a one-story affair—a series of rooms built around a little courtyard.. There are no other guests here and the office is dark. I am alone.


With my pocketknife in hand I turn out my light and peer through the curtain of the small window. In the empty moonlit courtyard a man in robe and turban, waving a scarf, gestures for me to come out. I reflect that even a scarf can be a dangerous weapon and yell for him to go away.


He does, but a few moments later he is back scratching softly on the door. He’s really got me good and scared if that’s what he wants.


My body is so tense it might welcome the release of a fight, but I would no doubt lose since I am no fighter. I decide to stay in the room. If someone wants to get me he will have to break down the door. I have visions of the entire community from the brickworks lurking in the dark outside ready to lynch “the American Spy”: me!


After a few more shoves on the door, the freak-out man leaves. I stand tense and alert for maybe half an hour, then I push a light table and the bedstead against the door, toss the mattress into the darkest corner of the room, lay down on it fully clothed and fall asleep with my pocket knife in my hand.

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