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Accetto Chudi

A refugee from Freiburg

by Matteo F.M. Sommaruga

It is during one night spent out looking for girls and wasting money on cheap beers, that I have met one of the most extraordinary creature who has so far populated my adventure. She appeared to me like the queen of the night, suddenly. A log left along the Isar after the great flood was covering her from my sight, when, humming a XVII century melody. "Come unto these yellow sands", she was telling me. I gave her my hands, to provide an hold and allow the young lady to show herself in her whole figure.
I was getting home, after having spoiled my time. I would have procrastinated once more the most important tasks I had on the agenda. Including further working on my last novel. Yet experiences, the oddest as well the most common ones, are the true inspiration for my blank pages. This one has been essential to the development of my story.
As the lady came out, I immediately approached her and tried to speak. I was aware that it would have scarcely be possible even the slightest reply. Against the most optimistic expectations she smiled to me, looked around and proposed to share a dessert at her own place. It was so early in the morning, or late in the night, that it implied some practice quite common at Versailles. Where the most dissolute aristocracy had been able to come to light amongst the ruinous effects of a socialist economy.
I followed her and we were neighbours. I laughed, I had never noticed her before. It was quite common in a city where most of the people respect each other privacy. Apart few ones. Her name was Nadja. I got for my apartment, to brew a liter of americano and fill it in a thermos. She waited downstairs with the cake and few other items for a quick picnic on a large lawn along the river, just 50 yards far from us. While the water was boiling, I had a really essential shower and recovered some energy. At least that required to be awake for a couple of hours more.
She was beautiful, pale, dark hair, deep eyes, a regular face slightly oval, slim and long hands. She came from Fribourg, a not so small, thriving city, mainly working on the local University and some industry born as a direct spin-off of some successful and pragmatic research team.
A good quality of life, compared to the harsh and greedy underground of Munich. My new acquaintance had to flee the peaceful atmosphere of the academic centre, systematically persecuted for her own not aligned ideas. Freedom of speech was one of the few privileges not conceded to the cultural elite in the town. Perhaps not even of thought, if the subjects of such a confined dictatorship were sensible enough to censor their own same intimate feelings. Environmentalists and socialists had taken over since a long time there. Nobody else could dare to be admitted to the Gotha of the local society.
It is still possible to subscribe to the fencing club, obtain some regular lessons, but to a private tea party during the week end is totally inconceivable to meet any conservative or not aligned thinker. Only the entrance to disco clubs is restricted just for mere security reasons. As the followers of Savonarola, greens and liberals would actually prefer to close such places, accused of sexism and deliberate emission of CO2. If they only had not to cope with the conservative majority of Germans, such Paladins of human rights would nicely extend the Tanzverbot to all the days on the Calendar.
I had acquired a new friend, with whom I shared a cup of hot black coffee on the riverside of the Isar and exchanged some extra good words about the positive effects of a free market society. She also explained me that the Tanzverbot is a ban on dancing parties, scrupulously observed in Roman Catholic majority areas in the whole of Germany. I was feeling als ob the DDR had annexed the Federal Republic of the West.

social social social print

On the other side of Berlin Wall

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