Lefkoşa, KKTC
Jew? Where are you? What's happened to your side of things? Did you give up on me?
I don't know if it's even a good idea to talk about this. I mean... what's happened to me.... and what happened to Heidi...
You will notice that I am a much changed man, Jew. Let's just say, after running afoul of the Austrian milch mafia, my dapper and statesmanlike mien had become a liability. Fortunately, Petey knew a reall good plastic surgeon here in Northern Cyprus. Jenny and I were able to hoe the barque down the Danube to Turnu Severin, where friends of Irina accepted 50 euros from each of us to drive us down to Thessaloniki in their mititei delivery van.
At Thessalonki, Irina's friends helped us stow away on a cruise ship headed for Antalya. Boy, that was an unpleasant trip. I came down with trichinousisf rom snakcing on the raw mititei in the Zalinescu's van, but Jenny never let go of my hand, even as I shed 18 pounds -- moost of those gained from a surabundanceo f Vienneses Sachertorte... which I guess doesn't make it that bad -- while consuming a strict liquid diet of the airplane bottles of Ouzo whcih Jenny was somewhow able to obtain from the ship's bartender, Isaak. Any was, once we got to Lefkosa, Dr. Avci was able to eliminate the infection while completing the reconstruction of my face.
From Antalya, we bought a couple of bus tickets to Mersin, eating only hard-boiled eggs and black olives while watching some kind of movie about vampires fighting werewovles, but dubbed into Turkish. It was all very strange, but in a somewhat poignant sort of way. Mersin, anotherr 200 euros got us place on a fishing boat bound for Girne. Jenny and I lay aboard under the full moon surrounded by nets full of mezit and levrek.
We whispered of alife of stopping running, of fishing tranquilly along the coast of Bilbao, of preparing our favorite recipes for each other, one day schnitzel, another day bouillabaisse. Sitting on the terrasse of a dusty T1 of T2, quizzing each other on whether we were "the mother" or "the mistress" according to the latest issue of Elle's criteria. I talked a bit about you, LIJ. Of houw I wanted Jenny to meet you one day -- that is, if we could every clear our names. I'm sure you'd get along great!
We arrived at Girne as the sun was just poking above the horizon, Jenny's hand warm and moist in my grasp. The flies had begun to amass and their bites stirred me from the sweet loukoum dreams of yesterday. Once I had shaken the stiffness out of my legs, I helped our hosts build an improvised brazier on the quai of the fishing port. We improvised a copious breakfast of grilled mezit, tomatoes, and a modling block of kasar peynir that had begun to stink more than the boat -- hell, what am I saying, more than I, myself, di.
Thus sated, Jenny and I began to make our way on foot across the countryside, relying on the renowned hosptiality of the Turkish Cypriots. As we approached Lefkosa, I unfolded one more time the crumpled SPAR receipt on which Pete had scrawled the address of Dr. Avci. It's been almost 6 months since I first stepped into his office. I first saw my face without the bandages shortly after I heard the news of the election. Jenny and I made custard for our hosts in order to celebrate.
Yes, I am staying in safety with certain people whose names I cannot mention for obvious reasons. Again, Irina has been very helpful in connecting us with some of her more esotreric networks who, for whatever reason, understand more than you or I about how to make as if some people don't exist. Some days, Jenny and I will go out into Lefkosa, or take a road trip to Gazimagusa, just to pretend that we're leading normal lives. Right now, I'm in a cybercafe in the capital. I don't want to say anymore for fear of compromising my hosts. As you may be able to tell from the picture, I am putting on some weight, perhaps not so much the bountiful generosity of our hosts as the constraints on our activity occassioned by our fugitive status.
In fact, the only reason I am able to say anything right now -- I just got a telegram from Pete. The capture of Laurent Nkunda has actually gotten him out of the sticky mess he's been in, due to the massive debt he had run up with certain elements of the Viennese underworld trafficking in Belgian chocolates and sachertorte on behalf of the Congolese rebels. They say that Nkunda might talk. That might be a good thing for Pete -- Heck, maybe even for Jenny and me -- but only time will tell...
G_d forgive us all!
