Spring in Berlin

The day my parents returned from their trip to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of having met, I had been waiting for them for a long time to tell them in person everything that had happened, The last weeks, during his absence.

It seems that time is passing faster and faster. Three and a half weeks ago today I was thinking: if everything went as planned, at this moment my parents have to walk in some Mayan ruin of the southeast of Mexico.

A few days after my parents left, I was assigned to write something to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the 2020 pandemic, that hit almost every corner of the planet and that, today we know, only began to be controlled in the middle of 21.

While I was discussing the details of the job, in the editor-in-chief's office, I remembered that my mom had told me, many times, several anecdotes about it, and my boss, Mr. Vidal, a Catalan lover of history, old handmade books, of jazz and good Italian reds, He told me that my parents would surely remember “the pandemic of the twenties”.

When I start writing, I started to put in order all the information that my mom and her husband, my adoptive father, they had given me through a thousand talks. Those talks on all possible topics, they were his favorite resource, and mine, to make me sleep as a child. By the way, my parents, each in their own way, they were excellent storytellers: my mom was a teacher, retailer, ordered, entertaining and very funny; but he was my dad, perhaps for his writing profession, the one who always managed to satisfy my curiosity as a child, and answered all my why, until i fell asleep.

An afternoon, rereading "Don Quixote" I got distracted tying up dots and recreating, once again, what I had heard so many times. I came to the conclusion that not only had my mom actually been an eyewitness to many events of the time, but surprisingly, he had also been one of the main characters, just like my dad, of an event whose chronicle was published in the Toronto Star, a canadian newspaper, dated June 1, 2020.

When I felt the first draft was finished, I realized that when writing, although it sounded colloquial, as I had proposed, lacked information. Details were missing, some gossip and general information; so I asked don Roberto Vidal for a little more time, and I started to thoroughly investigate the Covid-19 case, that rather happened in the twenties.

What little by little I was discovering, it wasn't new information, but a series of coincidences, strange causalities and connections, one of those that makes one doubt if the destiny really exists, or if fatality and the inevitable are real things.

Many stories and legends have emerged about the 2020 pandemic, stories and legends that have become part of the collective memory. Now, we mainly remember things, which according to us, they were the product of the ignorance of that time:

Lack of preparedness to deal with a public health emergency, the little attention and seriousness that some governments showed, especially in “developed” countries the total denial of the evident reality, rampant neglect and other aspects of human stupidity. Today, History has established that these events were decisive for the virus to spread excessively., and in some cases, totally out of control.

Fortunately, the most relevant data is excellently documented, and for those interested in statistics, graphics, scientific details, etcetera… there are enough sources of information: from light items, to essays and theses with strictly scientific rigor.

They did not miss, Of course, idiotic speculations and theories, that everything was the product of a conspiracy, and depending on the perpetrators of such "theories", the invented culprits, they were always different.

In a relatively short time, only fifty years, the changes in communication sciences and practices have been intense, And fortunately, for good. At the time (the twenties) anyone could post their opinion about everything and everywhere, without your opinions, writings, "Investigations" etcetera, were checked, or corroborated by anyone. They abounded like this, “News and opinions” that declared, All of them, be the only truth, not matter in the least that the origin of such “truth” had been carried out by some advanced research organization, como Johns Hopkins Medicine, or that they were only absurd speculations of an illiterate revealed in front of a monitor, in some little room in some boring suburb; or the opinion of a ball of corrupt and ignorant politicians, saying bullshit at the government house, then situated, in the capital city of what was united states.

Today, it is difficult for us to understand, because that practice, that only contributed to increasing stupidity and chaos, it wasn't just allowed, but encouraged and applauded.

The massive and almost universal abuse of the so-called social networks, fostered the belief that everyone was the possessor of absolute truth. The internet gorged on publications declaring such absurd things, like the Marxist and Muslim terrorists had created a biological weapon to sabotage the now-defunct capitalist system, that everything was the product of the financial interests of the laboratories, that the Chinese were the only culprits, that the virus was the product of jehovah's anger, or any other nonsense like that. There was also no lack of ludic ideas about "miracle remedies", of the panacea at hand and extremely absurd things were heard and published: inject chlorine bleach into people affected by the virus, It was also argued that chlorine dioxide, not only did it heal, but it prevented whoever took it from contracting the disease, as: – “está científicamente comprobado, that chlorine helps white blood cells and the entire immune system to function better ”.

Unfortunately, Current biotechnical statistics and research show that despite countless warnings from the scientific community and health organizations, during the 2020 pandemic; many healthy people died due to the use of any of these "miracle remedies" in their ignorant attempt not to get it.

In the course of my research, I found the Toronto Star article, that immediately caught my attention because he was referring, precisely, to the story that I had heard my parents tell so many times.

In Berlin, like in other big cities in the world, some of the recommendations to safeguard public health, such as keeping a safe distance from other people to reduce the risk of contagion (two meters minimum), they became law as a means of coercion for fools to comply with such a logical and necessary thing. That way, offenders, they abounded, could be fined with a financial penalty.

One of the many measures taken in the world of the pandemic, was to paint red lines on the floor, or yellow, every two meters outside the shops, so that the people waiting to enter, stand in line and keep the distance required by public health authorities. further, only the entrance to the establishments was allowed, to a limited number of people.

On a spring day Saturday morning, came to one of those waiting lines, a weird guy who got too close to the person in front of him: a woman in her twenties, quite attractive and visibly pregnant. Girl, he adjusted his mask and moved forward to give himself more room, but not so much as to make the person in front of her uncomfortable: a dark man, also in their twenties, charging a camera. Newcomer, with a clueless attitude, he moved towards her and got even closer to her. The pregnant girl, turned to see him with a gesture of discomfort. I couldn't find out if the guy was aware, and simply ignored it, or if he really didn't even realize what he was doing. He was a man in his twenties too (Or thirty?) corpulent, but fat, and although it wasn't dirty, he looked unkempt, maybe for bringing some unbuttoned sneakers, with black socks, and wear guango shorts and an exercise shirt. His movements were awkward and forced, and the almost golden facial hair, scruffy and uneven, made him look unpleasant.

Later I found out, that this individual, He was a diehard soccer fan and worked hourly, and for cash, in various construction jobs, despite collecting unemployment insurance from the Berlin government, your natal city.

Surely, it also contributed to his not being very aware of what was happening around him, the fact that as later it became known, was not very smart. further, was totally gone, gotten to shout curses on your phone. And while he kept gibbering bullshit on his cell phone, it was getting closer and closer, to the pregnant woman in front of him.

This time, Sofia shot him a challenging look.

– ¿Qué te pasa, any problem? – Preguntó él, removing the phone from the ear.

With low voice, but sure, she replied please keep your distance.

Fat, ignoring you completely, and with an attitude of challenge, came even closer. This time, closeness outweighed discomfort, because the distance was so short, that even without being in the middle of a global epidemic, bordering on invasion of personal space, and in the “short time” especially because the scoundrel kept shouting stupid things at the top of his voice on the phone. Sofia turned to see him once more, but this time with a face of disgust and anger, which did not seem to the big guy, who asked him again, more aggressively, if I had a problem.

-Yes, she replied, -you are too close, you must keep at least one streak away. –

– ¿Una raya, which stripes? – preguntó él, in a haughty tone.

– Las que están pintadas en el piso – respondió Sofía, pointing down.

The type, which was a stubborn bully, foolish and abusive, did not welcome Sofia's comments, and his arrogance, ignorance and total lack of control, they immediately pushed him to answer, shouting, a litany of tacky insults.

The people around him were surprised, but she remained silent. For an instant, nobody said or did anything. The momentary stupor filled the bastard with a kind of euphoria, an obtuse feeling of power.

– Cómo te atreves a decirme lo que debo hacer, fucking old idiot. To me the pandemic, the stupid rules, the stripes and you, me valen madres – vociferó.

At that moment, and as per action reflects, the slim and handsome man in front of Sofia turned, he shot his camera several times, and challenged the aggressor.

– Oye, the lady is right, if public health experts are demanding a minimum distance, we all must abide by the rules. –

– ¿Y a ti quién te mete, fagot?, Besides, I have nothing. –

– ¿Cómo sabes que no tienes nada? – le preguntó Sofía.

– Porque esto del Coronavirus es puro cuento del gobierno para controlarnos. –

– Pues fíjate que, according to yesterday's data, we have already passed the six million infected, and there are 350,000 dead around the world -, Sofia replied

– ¿Puro cuento, idiot? Added the photographer.

Before the fierce discussion continued, the bastard, llamémosle “Bob”, launched it against the camera, first kicking and then pushing and punching; not at all accurate, by the way. A failed hit, made Bob fall to the ground, so the other being more agile, I take the opportunity and it was on him. She slapped him in the face a couple while they were on the ground, but Bob, heavier, neutralized him by hugging him until their faces were almost together. In that instant, almost like a frozen image, Sofia warned that the journalist, although not profusely, bleeding from the nose.

For reasons I still don't understand, it seems that Bob's real name was never released, and although I checked in various government files, I have never been completely sure of his true identity. I doubt if it was from Berlin, as he professed. Apparently he was enrolled in the army, quartered for a time in northeast Germany, near the border with Poland.

My mom told me, that at the end of the fight, also the fool had blood on his face, but he couldn't make out if he was the one bleeding, or if the blood was from the photographer, since when they were struggling on the ground, their faces were so close, like to exchange fluids.

When the police comes, the first to be arrested was the journalist, and it has never been clear to us if the reason was because at the time the police officers got off the patrol, he was on top of Bob, or because he was visibly Arab, and the cops and Bob, visibly white.

A couple of days before the altercation, the news of the murder of two black civilians, unarmed, at the hands of white police, in United States (the last country in history, in practicing slavery) caused the escalation of racial tension. Public protests and marches, who organized wholesale, were brutally "controlled" by the police forces and in some cases, with the intervention of the army. The protests spread to almost every major city in the world; and like the virus, These disastrous incidents profoundly affected the development of daily life in almost all corners of the planet.. Berlin, was no exception.

The people who witnessed the incident only saw an absurd lawsuit, caused by a foolish and boastful guy, that did not happen to older. Even the most observant, they could never have imagined what time was weaving.

The night my parents returned was a unique event, not only because of the long wait and the excitement of seeing them again, but because of the talk we had, full of mysteries and coincidences.

It was a long talk: we start in a little cafe at the airport, with the whole family: my parents, my sister Lucy and her husband, my niece Laura and I. We continue with a stop at a bar drinking beer, and we all ended up in my parents' study, drinking red, late at night.

Among other things, they told us that at a dinner for the international press, which was held in Toronto, one of the people with whom they shared the table, was one of the journalists who had covered, fifty years ago, the wake of an important character, In Berlin.

During dinner, strange coincidences were also revealed: my dad and his recent friend, Monzur, they had grown up in two very close cities in Iraq, south of Baghdad; their families migrated when they were children: that of Monzur to Canada, my father's to England, and they both studied journalism, although my dad is more a poet than a journalist, and since then, only dedicated to journalism as a resource to earn a little money. They also learned that Monzur was the author of the Toronto Star article., dated June 1, 2020.

curiously, neither my mom nor my dad knew for sure, despite the clues they caught on the flight the night of dinner with Monzur and his wife, of all the details of the case, and they were only fully cleared the day we went to pick them up from the airport, upon returning from his trip to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of their first meeting.

Following the incident in the waiting line, my mom started a relationship with the man who defended her, who would later be my adoptive father. Time after, rainy friday night in september, my parents met at a funeral home where my dad had got a job freelance photography. The wake, I was on the way between the school where my mom worked and my dad's studio. For me, I also, without knowing it, i was there that night, and would be born the next day.

What has always caught my attention in cases like this, it is the sequence of events that arise from apparently fortuitous and disconnected encounters, and they usually go unnoticed because, normally, we don't pay due attention.

On the day of the brawl that lined up to enter a store (whose name I don't want to remember) – el muchacho delgado de aproximadamente veinticinco años, que intercedió en favor de una mujer embarazada – así lo describió Monzur en el periódico, was in the most contagious period as a carrier of SARS-CoV-2.

His case was not serious, and after a couple of weeks with mild symptoms, isolated and at home, fully recovered. His third test was negative.

On the other hand, only after several months, of being listed as serious, en la unidad de cuidado intensivo – el bellaco que maltrató a una mujer embarazada y golpeó a un periodista – salió al fin del hospital.

Only his closest family members attended his funeral.

On another whim of the, let's say destiny, one of the reporters who was covering the funeral of a famous person, which was taking place at the same funeral home the same day and at the same time, was the same journalist that the dead man had hit, several weeks before, in line to enter a warehouse. Of these facts, Bob never had a chance to find out.

Taking the precautions suggested by public health experts:

No one came too close to the coffin.

V.M.

7/VII/2020