TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains violence and sickness
"It's just getting worse"
Karlsruhe, Germany 01/27/2003:
We are sitting at our dining table. Silence is filling the room like it does most days lately. My mother's stirring around in her cereal, barely eating any of it.
"Komm schon Mama, du musst was essen. Wenn du so weiter machst schadest du dir mehr, als dass du dir hilfst. Wir hatten das doch schon." ("Come on mum, you gotta eat. If you keep doing this, you'll hurt yourself more than you'll help yourself."). I keep looking at her until she nods and starts eating.
It immediately backfires. She stands up and hurries to the bathroom. The door closes, but I can still hear her throwing up. So I get up, fill a glass at the sink, soak the kitchen towel with cool water, take out some of her nausea pills and put it all on the living room table.
I enter the bathroom after she's stopped. Looking at her, having almost reached her height, I see a bit of blood on the corner of her mouth. Taking a piece of toilet paper to softly wipe it off her face, I say: "Tut mir leid Mama, ich hätte dich nicht so unter Druck setzen sollen. Ich will nur, dass es dir wieder besser geht." ("I'm sorry mum. I shouldn't have pressured you so much. I just want you to get better.").
"Ja, ja. Wie auch immer. Ich leg mich jetzt hin. Oder passt dir das nicht?" ("Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'm gonna lay down now. Or is that not okay with you?"), she answers clearly annoyed that I'm being so emotional. I try helping her to the couch but she pushes me off her. Getting to the couch she takes the pills, puts the towel on her forehead and closes her eyes. In the meantime, I clean up the bathroom and the kitchen. And after I'm done, I tell my mother that I'm off to school. I leave the house and make my way to the center of the city instead of the closes train station that would take me to school.
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I arrive at the back entrance of a bar on one of the smaller side streets. The owner, a middle-aged Italian man with a slim but tall body and a whole bunch of tattoos, who goes by the name of Marco, is taking out some trash. He greets me with a short, tight hug.
"Kathi! Wie geht's dir? Wie geht's deiner Mutter?" ("Kathi! How are you? How's your mother?").
"So wie immer. Was steht heute an?" ("As always. What's planned for today?"). I avoid his question, knowing that opening up would give them opportunities to exploit me. It's bad enough that they know about my mother.
"Ich weiß nicht. Musst du den Boss fragen. Er und die Jungs sind drinnen. Frühstücken." ("I don't know. Gotta ask the boss. He's inside with the boys. Eating breakfast.").
"Alles klar." ("Alright."). I pat his shoulder and step inside.
The boss, a man who could be considered "big" in every way, is sitting at one of the tables with a bunch of younger men. Some of them under 18. He sends some of them away when I get closer.
"Katharina, so gut dich zu sehen. Siehst gut aus. Setz dich doch bis die Jungs fertig sind. Dann könnt ihr los. Ihr macht heute mal was anderes. Es wird Zeit, dass du ein bisschen mehr Verantwortung übernimmst." ("Katharina, so good to see you. You look good today. Why don't you sit down till the boys are done? Then you can go. You'll do something a little different today. It's time you take on more responsibility."), he says with a relatively thick Italian accent.
"Und wie stellst du dir das vor? Ich verkaufe schon eure Drogen. Zugegeben ihr bezahlt mich gut, aber du weißt, dass ich nicht zu eurem kleinen Verein gehören will. Ich arbeite für euch, nicht mit euch." ("And what do you imagine that to look like? I'm already selling your drugs. To be fair you do pay good money, but you know I don't want to join your little club. I work for you, not with you."), I say with a mixture of seriousness and irony.
"Keine Angst, wir haben nur einen freien Platz und niemanden, der ihn so füllen könnte wie du. Nimm es als Kompliment. Wir vertrauen in deine Fähigkeiten und deine Loyalität uns gegenüber. Wenn man bedenkt, dass du erst 14 wurdest, ist das schon ein Risiko, dass wir eingehen. Aber wir glauben, dass du uns nicht enttäuschen wirst." ("Don't worry, we just have a a gap and no one, who could fill it the way you can. Take it as a compliment. We trust your abilities and your loyalty to us. You should consider that us trusting you like this is quite a risk since you've just turned 14. But we believe that you won't disappoint us.").
"Na gut. Also was soll ich machen?" ("Fine. What do I have to do?")
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The car stops in front of an apartment building in a rougher neighborhood. I swallow hard at the thought of what I'm about to do. I close my eyes and think about what - or rather who - I'm doing this for. I think of the terrified look on my mother's face I caught, as I wiped the blood off her face. I open my eyes and get out the car to go up three stories together with the other five guys. Luca, the bar owner's son, is in charge. He's leading us to one of the doors. He signals me to open the door, so I get my set of picks out and open the door within seconds. The guys storm in, each one going into one room. I follow Luca to the living room, where he has found the guy, they're looking for. We're looking for.
He pulls him up from his crappy couch and pins him on a wall. "Hast du das Geld? Mh? Wo ist es?" ("Do you have the money? Mh? Where is it?"), he shouts at him.
"I-Ich hab das Geld noch nicht zusammen. Ich brauch mehr Zeit!" ("I-I don't have the money yet. I need more time!"), the young man trembles. Mark punches him in the stomach and I hear him gasp for air. I feel sick and my stomach feels queasy. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't let them do this. But I stand by, watching everything closely, not saying a word.
"Komm schon, Mann. Ich krieg das Geld schon zusammen. Ich brauch nur ein bisschen mehr Zeit. Glaub mir!" ("Come on, man. I'll get the money. I just need a bit more time. Believe me!"), he pleads. His eyes wander the room and fixate on mine. Before I let the empathy rise, I shove it deep down. His eyes plead, but I look back cold.
Luca gets impatient. Apparently, he had hoped for a different outcome. Disappointed he takes the man over to his dining table and pushes him down on one of the chairs. The biggest of the boys fittingly called "Großer" ("Big guy") steps behind the debtor and grabs the man by his shoulders holding him tight. One of the others hands Luca a baseball bat. He takes it with a sick, grateful smile.
"Danke. Genau das was ich jetzt brauche. Pass auf, es ist so...Irgendwie musst du zahlen und wenn du das Geld nicht hast, tja, dann müssen wir sicher gehen, dass alle anderen wissen, dass man so nicht mit uns umgeht. Dass man uns entweder bezahlt oder... Naja, du kannst es dir bestimmt denken, was passiert, wenn uns nicht gefällt wie man mit uns umgeht. Aber um sicher zu gehen, zeigen wir dir mal wie sich das anfühlt." ("Thanks. That's exactly what I need right now. Look, it's kinda like this...One way or another you have to pay and if you don't have the money, well, then we have to make sure that the others know, that it's clear we won't be treated like this. That we're either getting paid or...Well, you probably have figured it out by now what happens when we feel like we're being mistreated. But to make sure you know, we'll give you a taste.").
He doesn't give the man time to react to his fate and swings and hits his shin. The scream that follows is agonizing but is interrupted by a second swing, aimed at the exact same spot as before. This time the scream gets caught in his throat and ends in crying. The tears run down his face, while he's struggling to breathe through the pain. The big guy nods at me, signaling Luca that it's my turn. Luca passes me the bat. I hesitate to reach for it but grab it when I see the impatience in Lucas's eyes.
I stand on the other side of the chair and tighten my grip on the bat. 'You know, why you're doing this. Come on.'. I swing at the man's left shin. I look up hoping they'd let me go, but they just cross their arms. So, I swing again, pushing my fear and disgust down. I hit his kneecap. Still no sign to stop. I strike again, again and again. The shin, the knee, the shin again. The adrenaline rushes through my veins. I feel alive for the first time this year. I hate it as soon as I look up at the man. He has almost collapsed, the only reason he's still on that chair is that the big guy is still holding him.
"Schlag ihm in den Bauch!" ("Aim at the torso!"), Luca demands. I look up at him with big eyes, shocked by his order. He just looks right back at me. No sign of regret. No sign of withdrawal. So, I raise the bat to rip height and swing. The new source of pain seems to rip the man out of his trance. He cries out. Luca's hand goes up, telling me to stop.
He squats down in front of him to explain: "Jetzt, wo wir uns sicher sein können, dass du verstanden hast, was passiert, wenn du uns nicht zurück zahlst, können wir dir ein bisschen mehr Zeit geben." ("Now that we can be sure that you know what it would look like if you don't pay us back, we can give you a bit more time"). He shows a tiny gap between his fingers and gets up. "Du hast bis Ende des Monats. Verstanden?" ("You got till the end of the month. Got it?").
The man gives him a small, tiered nod.
"Gut" ("Good"), he says satisfied and slaps the man on the shoulder. He then proceeds to put his arm around my shoulders and walks out with me.
"Schau, war doch gar nicht mal so schlimm. Du hast dich wirklich gut geschlagen. Genau genommen hast du besser geschlagen als unser Großer da hinten." ("See, it wasn't even half bad. You did a great job. Even better than our big guy back there. One could say you really hit it off with that guy."), he jokes without looking at me.
If he did, he'd probably notice the tears in my eyes. My world got blurry and my mind takes me far away from where I am. Somewhere, where I don't have to listen to those dumb jokes, don't have to go back to a home, that doesn't feel like one and especially far away from the room where I just tortured a guy.
"Was passiert, wenn er das Geld nicht rechtzeitig zusammen hat?" ("What happens if he can't get the money in time?"), I ask when we're in the car.
"Dann hat er ein richtiges Problem. Aber darum musst du dir jetzt keine Sorgen machen." ("He'll be in serious trouble. That's not something you have to worry about, though.").
"Mh. Muss ich heute noch verkaufen gehen?" ("Mh. Do I still have to go sell today?"), I ask, hoping that I could go home and hide away under my sheets.
"Ne, du hast genug gemacht heute. Wir finden Ersatz für dich." ("Nah, you've done enough for today. We'll find a replacement for you.").
"Okay."
For the following days, I lose the desire to speak. I feel like a ghost in my own life. Detached from reality, unable to look at myself in a mirror. All of that eventually fades. The one thing that stays are the dreams. His screams, haunting me at night. But those nightmares are my chance to pay the bills.
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I hope you enjoyed this one.
It's quite a bit longer, but maybe that's not a bad thing.
Let me know what you think.
Thank you for reading it. It means a lot:)
~2091~