The keepers E-Book

Michael Silberer

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 512

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Time and again, a certain story accompanies Michael through his childhood days. This book captivates him in a mysterious way and never lets him go. Why does the city of Tashkent cast such a spell over him? To satisfy this longing, he decides to visit the supposedly foreign city one day. In fact, the opportunity arises unexpectedly due to professional circumstances and offers him the chance to get to know the country and its people better. But when he arrives in the distant city, his life takes a completely new turn. Not only does he meet the love of his life, but he also finds out where his longing comes from - because this is where his roots lie. His family history holds many secrets that need to be uncovered.

Leseprobe

Poem

You sweet calm,

overcome me,

give me strength,

to unfold in silence.

1 - Sweet calm

Night fell over the town many hours ago. St. Joseph's Hospital lies quietly guarded by stately old trees on Ringstrasse 60 in Braunau am Inn, the border town in the Innviertel region of Bavaria. An old green car drives into the hospital parking lot at excessive speed with a squealing fan belt. The woman hurrying out of the car is only vaguely recognizable because the old streetlights cast their light sparingly onto the square. She opens the door at the back of the car with a flourish and drags a small bundle, wrapped in warm blankets, from the back seat of the car. A soft, painful whimper emerges from under the blanket of the bundle, which the woman carries with hasty steps into the hospital. She desperately rings the bell at the counter with the "Emergency Room" sign in the entrance area because reception is no longer staffed at this time of day. She notices the second hand on her watch ticking menacingly as it moves forward step by step on the clock face. Beads of sweat form on her forehead as she knows that every second counts and she can feel her heart beating so wildly in her chest that it takes her breath away. After what feels like an eternity, she hears footsteps and a light is turned on in the back room, which she can see through the frosted glass at the reception desk. "Yes, please, what can I do for you?" she hears a sleepy female voice sounding tinny from the loudspeaker. "My child ...", the young woman stutters, trying tensely to stay on her feet, "... you have to help him!" Her voice is shaky and quiet and finally fails at the end of her sentence. "What's wrong with your child?" The lady in the emergency room on the other side probes and sounds annoyed because she can't yet grasp the seriousness of the situation. "He's dying, please come and help him!" the woman chokes out with the last of her strength and then collapses on the floor with a loud bang. Now the nurse on the other side of the intercom is wide awake and runs across the corridor with a male nurse to the young woman and her child.

Bright light floods the white hospital corridor and shows the young woman, aged around 25, lying unconscious on the floor with the ball of blankets in her outstretched arm next to her. The woman is 1.62 meters tall, has half-length dark blond, straight hair, a pale face and a thin figure. She is dressed in a white blouse, jeans and black leather boots. Her colorful home-knitted hood has slipped off her head and is lying on the floor next to her. One of the baby's arms hangs lifelessly from the ceiling and the baby makes no sound. "Is it dead, it's not moving?" The nurse bends down in horror to check whether the child is still breathing. "Take care of the unconscious woman and I'll take care of the child!" Recognizing the seriousness of the situation, the nurse carefully picks up the child in the blanket and runs with him into the treatment room. "Sound the cardiac alarm immediately!" she calls to the nurse as she disappears into the treatment room. He takes his cell phone out of his pocket and triggers the heart alarm. He then skillfully turns the unconscious woman into the recovery position and tries to bring her back from her unconsciousness. "You're not going to die today, sweet little baby!" she hears herself say and immediately calls the doctor on duty for help. He has already received the heart alarm and is on the run when she reaches him. She opens the blanket and sees a little boy whose face has lost all pain. He looks as if he is sleeping peacefully. "What's wrong with you? You're glowing and yet you have this peaceful expression on your face. You must be in a lot of pain and you're still so small and innocent. You're about six months old, I'm guessing." The nurse speaks to him as if he can understand her. The doctor on duty rushes into the room and immediately gives him an infusion as he has obviously lost a lot of fluids due to the high temperature because his skin is very pale. "Why is his diaper dry as dust? How can that be?" He gives the nurse on duty a questioning look.

The pain is so strong and yet I no longer feel it, I think. A pleasant feeling of warmth and contentment pervades my body. The heat that was burning my body a moment ago has given way to a feeling that reminds me of my mother's embrace when she lifts me out of the bath and slowly presses me against her with my bare, wet skin and I can feel her warmth before she wraps me in a warm terrycloth towel. The pain that almost tore my pelvis apart a moment ago is gone and the harsh light that blinded my eyes a few moments ago has given way to a pastel-colored light that caresses my irises. Now I feel as safe as in my mother's lap. In the distance, I can faintly hear the voice of a woman who is definitely not my mother. She is discussing something with a man at a very fast pace and seems very excited. "I don't know what's wrong with the boy and his mother collapsed at the reception. I think he really is dying, just like his mother said." The nurse hurriedly tells the doctor on duty what she thinks. At the same moment, another woman, a surgical nurse, enters the room. "Let me see what's really going on here!" The doctor begins to examine the boy thoroughly. "Do we know what his name is?" He raises his head and looks at the nurse who has brought him into the examination room. At this moment, the young mother also enters the treatment room, having heard the doctor's question as she entered. "His name is Michael," she chokes out quietly and sits down exhausted on a chair offered to her by the nurse. It is clear that she is completely overwhelmed by the whole situation and fears that something bad will happen to Michael, that he might even die. "Can you tell me what's wrong with him?" The doctor looks over at her with a warm, reassuring look. "I don't understand why his diaper has been dry for two days, even though he's always been drinking well. It looks to me as if he is no longer able to urinate," she whispers quietly to the doctor, her eyes lowered to the floor, still very weak. The doctor briefly picks up on the thought of why she is so late and is inwardly annoyed, but doesn't let it show. He immediately performs an ultrasound, which immediately answers the question of why the boy can no longer urinate. "Look here," he shows the mother on the ultrasound monitor with his index finger, "the urethra is blocked and that's why your son is no longer able to urinate. We'll take him to the operating room immediately, prepare him now, every minute counts!" The operating room nurse immediately takes the boy into her care and walks with him towards the operating room. On the way to the preparation room, she asks the nurse who admitted him if she knows when he last ate. She shakes her head in the negative.

I can feel that things are not going well for me, but this pleasant, sweet calm spreads through my body more and more. I can hear my heart beating like a small power station in the distance and I definitely don't want to go back to the pain I've felt over the last few hours and days. It has raged through me like a roller of fire. I am aware of controlled, hurried activity around me, but it doesn't bother me at all because I don't feel that it affects me. It feels perfect to me, but a moment later the pastel-colored lights disappear and I feel myself fainting into an infinitely deep, black hole.

"Is the anesthetic already working?" The surgeon looks at the anesthetist and waits for her confirmation before starting the operation. "Yes, you can start." She checks the displays on her monitors and gives him confirmation. "This is a really life-threatening situation for this boy. We have to act quickly and hope that we can save him." The surgeon makes the first incision. "Why did the mother wait so long to bring him to us at the hospital so that we could help him?" He shakes his head uncomprehendingly. About two hours later, the operation is over. "He certainly wouldn't have survived that night," the doctor shakes his head in bewilderment because he still can't understand his mother's behavior. "I'm still not sure whether he will really make it, because his little body is already completely poisoned and permanent damage cannot be ruled out." The surgeon leaves the operating theater exhausted and informs the mother waiting in the corridor that he is alive and that the operation went well under the circumstances. "I'm very sorry that I waited so long to bring him to the hospital." Her miscalculation, which was almost fatal for the boy, is very painful for her, as the doctor can see in her eyes. She is not allowed to see her baby, as it is not yet customary in this decade for relatives to be allowed to stay with patients in hospital rooms.

2 - Children's book

"Michael, can you hear me?" A tender female voice that sounds familiar wakes me up. I feel her fingers tickling my cheek.Not again, this really can't be true. Why does this always happen to me, I think as I sit up. Once again, I've had to have an operation because of my own stupidity. My parents must be pissed off with me by now. I can feel the pain, a sharp throbbing in my big toe. The big toenail had to be removed because I had clipped my big toe several times while riding my bike barefoot and it had festered as a result because I kept getting dirt in the wound despite my mother's warning. As an altar boy at the church service, I finally fell over in front of a large audience as if I were on a show stage and was taken to hospital by ambulance with flashing blue lights. This was particularly annoying as I had planned to compete for my judo club at the national championships. With this injury, I can bury my plans. Two days later, to make matters worse, the doctors discover that I have sepsis and so I have to spend another three weeks in hospital on full board. I can only bear this because this nice nurse lovingly looks after me at night when I can't sleep. Her appearance is oriental, her long black hair, which reaches over her shoulders, has curls and her face is slightly tanned by the sun, her figure is very athletic, but she is not tall, only about 1.65 meters I would estimate. She checks on me every night and reads my every wish from my lips. We play a card game called "Schnapsen" every night. But I much prefer it when she tells me fantastic stories from faraway lands.

"Finally out again!" I exclaim out loud as I walk out of the hospital and stretch my arms towards the sky. My mother is already waiting for me in the hospital parking lot and laughs when she sees my pose. When I get home, I get on my bike straight away, but my dad grabs me rather roughly by the collar of my blue polo shirt and pulls me off my bike again. "You'll probably put your shoes on! We don't need you going back to hospital for the next infected toe!" He looks me in the eye and points his hand in the direction of the shoe rack. I pull my sneakers off the shelf, slip them on and hop on my bike with a mischievous grin. As my range of movement is still severely restricted due to the toe operation, I start devouring all kinds of books. Fairy tales, world literature, non-fiction, nothing can escape my interest. Whatever I can get my hands on, I devour mercilessly because my thirst for knowledge is almost unquenchable. These books open up completely new worlds and possibilities for me. Foreign countries come into my living room and in my imagination, where there are no boundaries, I picture myself traveling to these countries. One book in particular catches my attention. It's about the distant oriental city of Tashkent. The city is located in a distant state called Uzbekistan, which is far beyond my current ability to travel there. This city exerts an unexpected fascination on me, although I can't figure out why it does so with such intensity.What does life feel like there, what are the people like who live there?I imagine life in the hot desert to be wild and natural, but also ultra-modern in the city of Tashkent. Behind a great veil woven from the sand of the desert, this oasis of beauty rises up in my mind. This book, which captivates me so much with its story about Tashkent, was written as a children's book with beautiful drawings and little text.Why does this sparsely designed book appeal to me so much and why does the author trigger a feeling in me that I can't explain and that I have never felt before? I feel as if I know this mysterious figure who fights his way out of the sandstorm in the desert and comes to Tashkent. Have I perhaps dreamed this in one of my many wildly imaginative dreams in the past? This scene seems so familiar to me, but where and why would I have dreamed it? In the Innviertel, near Braunau am Inn?So many questions and thoughts are buzzing through my head and yet it sounds absurd. So I put the book aside because I'm already very tired. During the night, I wake up in a cold sweat after a dream because this bad dream keeps haunting me night after night. In this dream, dancing pastel-colored lights show me a path to follow, but then I keep falling into a deep black hole as if driven by a faint, in which I stay for what feels like an eternity and then wake up in a cold sweat just before I come to the light. This dream has been haunting me like my own shadow for what feels like an eternity. My memory of when I first had this dream has been wiped clean. I switch my bedside lamp back on, wipe the sweat from my forehead with a handkerchief and take the book about Tashkent in my hands once again. Something about this book awakens my irrepressible curiosity, my spirit of exploration, and the carousel of thoughts starts moving again.In my opinion, it is too complex and advanced for a children's book because it contains a lot of strange printing errors that look like codes, which I only notice now under the dim light of my reading lamp. Under the pale light of my bedside lamp, the shades of gray make up jumbled rows of numbers and letters. Have I stumbled upon something, a big secret, or is my imagination playing a nasty trick on me again? Perhaps there is something that has remained hidden from many readers and is only catching my eye?That would be far too easy for me to understand and seems very unlikely, which is why I put the book back on the page and go back to sleep.

3 - A dream comes true

"Michael, we're flying to Tashkent in two weeks. I hope that doesn't bother you," my boss lets me know in passing across the table, as if it had no particular significance. "It doesn't bother me at all. I read a book about Tashkent as a child and since then it has always been my dream to fly there one day. I'm sure it will be extremely exciting." I am delighted and excited to hear about the upcoming business trip.

I remember the book, so at the weekend I make a quick trip to my parents' house in the Innviertel and frantically search among my old things for the book I read as a teenager. My mother notices that I'm impatiently looking for a book on the old bookshelf in the hallway on the second floor. "Mom, I'm looking for the children's book that talks about Tashkent." She thinks for a moment and plucks at her lip with her fingers. "I remember it now. I gave the old thing to a flea market dealer." She stands in front of me with an apologetic gesture and lowers her eyes to the ground. "That's really annoying, I want it back. You couldn't have known, Mom. Don't worry, I'll look for it and I'm sure I'll find it somewhere." Back in Vienna, I search through various internet portals and actually find what I'm looking for. An old antiquarian bookshop in northern Germany has a copy in good condition for sale.What a coincidence, there's another copy, I think to myself happily. I immediately pay for the book online so that no one can snatch it from under my nose. I wait eagerly for it and of course hope that it arrives before I leave for Uzbekistan. The parcel arrives in my letterbox just in time for my departure. Full of anticipation, I carefully unwrap the book, which is wrapped in beautifully decorated old paper. To my surprise, it is even thinner than I remember, but the drawings still have this fascinating, fantastic effect on me. It's also like a magical journey into the fantasy world of my past. I'm going to read it on the night flight and for this reason I'm putting it in my hand luggage bag.

Everyone on the plane is already asleep, except me, because I no longer fully trust technology after a serious car accident, so I doze off. A short time later, I switch on the reading light and start reading the book. I can now look at a familiar story that captivated me so much as a child from a completely new perspective. It's exciting to see how the highly praised nuclear technology of the time has really developed over the decades. Nuclear-powered flying cars were described, but this has not yet been realized. On the contrary, due to several nuclear meltdowns over the decades, such as Chernobyl and Fukujima, this technology is being viewed increasingly critically and is being pushed back further and further because it is not as stable as originally thought and is difficult to control. The person sitting next to me nudges me gently and asks me to adjust the intensity of the light because it is preventing her from sleeping. I skillfully turn the light down to the lowest level. As if by magic, I can see them again, the alphanumeric codes that I didn't understand as a child. I make a note of the codes on my private Surface. I can't find any corresponding coding keys in the various search engines and, as a programmer, I'm not familiar with these codes. As this is coding from the 1970s, I will probably have to refer to the relevant literature from that time. The German author is completely unknown to me and unfortunately there is very little information about him on the Internet. Who was he, where did he come from and what education did he have? He only wrote one children's book and I am currently holding it in my hands. The edition was very small, only eight copies were printed and seven of them were sold. The author kept one book of his work for himself and decided not to release any more copies after the test copies.Why can't I find out more despite my in-depth research? Where did I actually get the test copy?These questions keep rattling through my head like the replay of a bad movie series. Why can't I remember where I got it? Did my mother buy it? It can't really be, as it wasn't available over the counter and no reading copies were given out to bookshops. It's a big mystery for me that I can't solve at the moment, which really annoys me. Because my eyes are getting heavy, I put the book back in my bag under my feet and doze on. "Sir, may I ask you to straighten the back of your seat, as we are already approaching Tashkent." The polite female voice of a stewardess wakes me from my doze. Some distance away, faint lights twinkling like a starry sky can be glimpsed from the small airplane windows. Below us, everything is bathed in a soft black dress. Now I am within reach of fulfilling my dream, which seemed so unattainable when I was eight years old. A shiver of joy runs down my spine. The check-out through customs goes without a hitch and our company driver is waiting in the reception hall to take me to the hotel. An exciting day comes to an end and, tired, I fall into my hotel bed, where I immediately fall fast asleep.

"Michael, can you hear me?" As if struck by lightning, I wake up and stagger out of bed, drenched in sweat and disoriented, before I can remember where I am. Now I have remembered. The book was given to me by this charming nurse in Braunau. It was she who tirelessly played cards with me every night, when her time allowed, when I was being treated for sepsis. I can now remember every detail, her beautiful oriental appearance and that her name was Nargisa. One night, just before I was discharged from hospital, she had disappeared. She had put the book in my rucksack and left a dedication on the first page. "You sweet peace, you come to him, but not today, he must walk the path through the sandstorm of time and fulfill his destiny. Please don't forget me, with love, Nargisa," she had left me on the first page of this book. What does that mean? Even today, I still don't understand this message from Nargisa. I immediately make a note of the dedication on the first page of my new book so that it doesn't slip from my memory again. As my father's friend is the commercial director of the hospital, I have an idea of how to find her. I immediately reach for my cell phone and call him from Uzbekistan, asking him to find out Nargisa's last name and whether she might have left a forwarding address. Because the data is from 1982, he has to go to the document archive, which will certainly take some time, so it may be a while before he can send me the information.

Surprisingly, I receive a text message from the company in the afternoon. "Ms. Nargisa Argentum - place of birth Tashkent". My colleague Ferusa, who is sitting next to me and catches my thoughtful look because of the text message, asks me if everything is okay. I nod and push the message away, as it is personal, and think about how I can find out her current address. "Ferusa, I need your help. How can I find out where someone lives if I only know their first name, surname and place of birth in Uzbekistan?" She gives me an irritated look and raises her right eyebrow. "That depends on how important this information is to you?" With a studious look, she wants to find out what significance this information has for me. "This information would be very important to me," I confirm to her secretively, knowing full well that this will certainly not be enough for her. "Please write your first name, surname and place of birth on this piece of paper. I'll take care of it and send you the answer as soon as I get it." Ferusa takes a pad and pen from her roll container and places them in front of me. We talk about our private lives as well as work and quickly realize that we like each other very much. She has beautiful long, straight black hair that falls far over her shoulders and dark eyes that sparkle like diamonds. Her face is as fine as ivory, her blood-red lips are delicately drawn and her figure is athletic, which really appeals to me. She is about 1.64 meters tall and 35 years old, wearing a colourful silk dress that gently hugs her lovely body and flat white leather shoes. "My father is a civil servant and my mother works at the technical university," she tells me proudly, smiling at me with her cute dimples at the corners of her mouth.

In the evening, the managing director invites the entire staff to a dinner together, as we have come from Vienna and she wants us all to get to know each other better and feel at home in Tashkent. I am very happy to take this opportunity and sit next to Ferusa because, to my delight, she has saved me a seat next to her. She is a funny, intelligent, but also very profound woman. I know that Islam is the main religion in Uzbekistan. In keeping with their faith, women are not allowed to go out with men unaccompanied. Women live with their beloved parents until they get married. In an unobserved moment, she slips me a note and, with her index finger over her mouth, tells me not to comment any further. We enjoy a very nice, exuberant and informal evening with dancing and music until shortly before midnight.

4 - Family

When I arrive at the hotel, I immediately take a shower. It's very hot and I'm soaked with sweat from dancing. As I hang my pants on the coat hook, the little note that Ferusa gave me falls out of my pants. I have completely forgotten about it. Curious, I bend down and unfold the note. She has written down the address of Nargisa Argentum. Immediately seized by curiosity, I pick up my cell phone and use Google Maps to find the exact location of the address. Lucky me, she only lives five streets away from the hotel. Although I'm already very tired, I set off straight after my shower to take a closer look at the address. I know myself, it would keep me so busy that I wouldn't sleep a wink all night and would just toss and turn restlessly from side to side in bed. The temperature, which had climbed to over 37 degrees Celsius during the day, has now dropped to a bearable 26 degrees Celsius as I set off from my hotel room. I have tied a light summer jacket around my waist to be on the safe side in case it gets too chilly. The streets are eerily empty at this time of day and you can hear noises here and there that you don't want to explore any further. I get a fright when a cat jumps down from a dustbin right next to me and throws the metal lid onto the ground with a loud bang. The avenues are lined with colorful oriental shrubs and trees. "Spring is by far the best time to travel to our beautiful country," Ferusa told me today, beaming with joy. I can only agree, it's wonderful here. There is a strong sense of team spirit and family ties among my colleagues, which in my opinion differs significantly from European culture. I continue to stroll through the streets with the help of Google Maps until I reach my destination, the address written on the piece of paper.

"You have reached your destination," I hear the woman's voice and am satisfied that I have really arrived at the address I wrote down. First I take a quick look around the street, then I stop for a while in front of the house and marvel at the beautiful colorful garden with pomegranate trees, oriental shrubs and spice beds and a stone fountain with a green hand pump. An antique, lovingly designed nameplate with the Cyrillic letters "Argentum family" is attached to the entrance gate.Did she get married when she came back to Uzbekistan?, the word "family" makes me think. Just before I press the bell, I dare to look at the clock because I've completely overlooked the time. It's already past midnight, but I can see that the light is still on in the house as it shimmers through the curtains. The antique doorbell sounds when I press the silver button on the gate with my index finger. A light illuminating the garden path is switched on and the front door opens a crack. I can dimly make out the body of a woman in the doorway. She speaks to me in Uzbek in an audibly uncertain voice. "Good evening, please excuse my late arrival," I reply in German. Unfortunately, I don't understand the Uzbek language, but I assume that she was greeting me. An awkward silence spreads between us and I wonder if I shouldn't just leave and come back tomorrow. She might feel threatened. The woman looks a little older than me and continues to leave the door open just a crack. "Excuse me, do we know each other?" she asks in excellent German and I immediately feel an extreme sense of happiness spread through me as I immediately remember this woman's voice. "Yes, I think we know each other, isn't it you, Nargisa?" My voice is overflowing with joyful anticipation of her answer, even though I already know the answer for sure. "It's so nice to finally see you again after such a long time. I was so sad when you were away and I was so looking forward to seeing you again!" I open the garden gate, which has unlocked with a click, and go to meet her. The front door springs open, but she still hesitates to meet me and now waits under the light of the lanterns that illuminate the path. "You can shut your mouth again, whoever you are! Do we know each other from Austria?" She faces me with a smile on her face. "It's me, Michael! Don't you recognize me anymore? It's no wonder, I've got a few years older. We met at the hospital in Braunau," I present myself to her with outstretched arms. "Thank you, dear God, for bringing him to me!" Nargisa puts her hands on her face and then stretches them towards the sky.Why is she thanking God that I am with her? That really surprises me. Was she expecting me? But she couldn't have known that I would come to Tashkent and look for her?She comes closer in quick steps, takes my head in her warm hands, pulls it towards her, kisses me on the forehead and hugs me warmly. Her touch is a familiar feeling, and a comforting warmth flows through my body. Tears of joy run down her cheeks, she is so touched that I am there. My mouth is still open because, firstly, I am surprised by her reaction and, although some 30 years have passed, she has hardly changed on the outside. The ravages of time have obviously spared her. I'm not sad about it because I'm very happy to see her as I remember her. "Come into the house, Michael! I'm so pleased that you've found your way to me." She takes my hand and leads me into her house. As I enter, I can already smell the many oriental flowers and spices that give the room a special touch. A small picture wall, which immediately catches my attention, adorns her hallway wall. My gaze falls on a picture of the two of us. "That's you and me, Nargisa." I take it down from the wall, stare at the picture and only now do I realize how much I have missed her and what a wound it tore in me when she left me so suddenly in hospital. Tears of joy run down my cheeks. "Michael, let's sit on the couch." We go to her couch, which is upholstered in red velvet with dark yellow cushions and stands on ornate teak legs, and sit down. There are two pictures in the frame in my hand. One in which I am sitting on her lap and we are both playing cards. I can't remember the scene in the second picture and I can't imagine that it's me. Nargisa is carrying a little boy in her arms who has obviously just had an operation. "Who is that Nargisa?" I guess the second photo. "That's you, Michael, you were such a beautiful baby. Don't you have any more baby photos of yourself? Don't you remember what you looked like?" You can see the surprise and amazement on her face. I look at her, puzzled that she has two photos of me hanging up in her house, but not a single other baby photo on the walls. "I'll put some tea on for both of us. You were closer to death than life when I took you from your mother." She gets up and goes into the kitchen. She serves me the freshly brewed tea in a piala, sits back down next to me, squeezes my hand tightly, asks me to take a sip of tea and looks deep into my eyes. A short time later, it feels like a mirror is opening to my childhood. I look through a window into the parking lot of the hospital in Braunau and see my mother bringing a small child into the hospital, which must be me. Through a bright white corridor, I recognize a nurse picking me up and carrying me into a treatment room while my mother lies motionless on the floor. Suddenly I feel a person take me into their care and walk with me into the operating theater to prepare me for surgery. During the operation, I am resuscitated several times because my heart stops beating. Horrified, I hear the doctor give up on me, declare me dead and briefly turn away from me and the person whose eyes I am looking through. I know these hands that I see now, I'm sure of it. They are Nargisa's hands. She opens a vial, pours something into her hands and lets a bright light appear, whose spark jumps over to me and fractions of a second later the monitors show my vital signs again. "Michael, can you hear me? It's time to come back!" Nargisa gently brings me back from my thoughts, because I can't explain it any other way.How did she do that? How can it be that she can share her thoughts with me and I feel like I'm right there with her, feeling the same thing she was feeling at the time?I give her an irritated look. "I know it's all confusing for you at the moment, but I'll explain everything to you when the time is right." Her words reassure me and, above all, show me that I didn't imagine what just happened and that I'm not going crazy. "Do you want to stay here with me? I have a guest room where you can sleep." She looks at me with her calm relaxed manner. "Of course I want to stay here with you, if it's not a burden for you." My head is almost bursting with excitement. I can feel that there is so much for me to discover here. "Now I'm going to make another cup of green tea for both of us." She smiles mischievously at me, gets up and goes back into the kitchen to put on a fresh pot of water. "How did you actually find me, Michael? What are you doing here in Uzbekistan, in Tashkent? Are you here on business?" She waits eagerly to hear what I have to say. Only now does it occur to me that she certainly has many questions for me that are still unanswered, although I get the feeling that she already knows a lot about me, no matter where from. Nargisa has the same green eyes as me, which surprises me because I hadn't noticed it before. She still has her stunningly beautiful charisma. "It's a coincidence that I found you. Ever since I knew I was flying to Tashkent from the company, I've been thinking about Tashkent again. I read about Tashkent as a child because I was given a children's book, I don't know who it was by, but I assume it was by you. From that point on, my inner voice whispered to me that I should try to find you." Now we'll see how she reacts to my assumption and I wait spellbound for her reaction. "Admittedly, I'm amazed that it's so easy to get my address. Where did you get it?" She probes further because she wants to know where I got it and deliberately ignores my earlier assumption. "I asked a colleague whose father works at the Ministry if she could get me your address." I wait anxiously for her reaction. I have the feeling that she doesn't like it when her address is so easily available. "Your father must be an important man in the ministry if he can provide this information so easily." She looks worried, picks up the teapot and pours more tea into our teacups. "In your case, I don't mind, but I'm glad you got it." She sits back down on the couch with me and puts her hand on mine, which is resting on my thigh. "Michael, it was my wish from the beginning to bring you here to this wonderful place, to this house. I always hoped you would be inspired by the book I left you, and it worked. Will you show me the book I gave you?" She looks at me with curious eyes. "Unfortunately, I no longer have the book you gave me, Nargisa. My mother sold it to a flea market dealer who was looking for that very book. I found the book from the same edition in a second-hand bookshop and bought it immediately. Unfortunately, I can't show it to you now because it's in my briefcase at the hotel." I raise my hands in the air sadly. "It was probably a coincidence that it was for sale and was bought by you." Nargisa looks at me with a mischievous grin. The feeling that this is no coincidence creeps up on me more and more. She solves the riddle after a short pause, which should serve to build up the tension. "Michael, you have to listen to me carefully now. I only opened the virtual antiquarian bookshop so that you can get the book back when the time is right. The book is of central importance for your future tasks and it served to help you find your way back to me. There is a key hidden in the book that you must decipher." She strokes my hand as she tells me the story about the children's book. Although I still have a lot of questions, I am suddenly overcome with tiredness. I lie down on Nargisa's couch and quickly fall asleep while she strokes my blonde hair and covers me with a hand-embroidered blanket. Nargisa sits next to me for a long time and looks at me. She is proud that she was able to prevent the sweet rest in which I was already immersed. The tasks that have been assigned to me must be fulfilled.

I wake up very early the next morning. The first rays of sunshine tickle my nose. For the first time in decades, I didn't wake up drenched in sweat, but slept calmly and relaxed. "Why has this nightmare suddenly stopped? It's been tormenting me for decades, how can that be?" Nargisa is already smiling at me from the kitchen. She must have got up early today because she has already picked up fresh pastries and fresh fruit from the nearby market and the coffee smells temptingly good. My gaze wanders through her living room and kitchen. During the night, I hadn't noticed that the rooms are full of antique pictures and antiques, which must be of immense value. The furnishings are very tastefully chosen and don't look cluttered, creating a harmonious overall picture. She signals to me that breakfast is ready and that I should sit down at the table. I am happy to comply, as my stomach is already giving clear signs that it wants what smells so tempting. She sits down at the table and we start breakfast. "We have a few things to discuss, so it would be good if you could stay in Tashkent for the weekend," Nargisa begins the conversation with a serious undertone. "I have planned to spend three weeks in Uzbekistan, so that's no problem. I'm happy to fulfill this wish." I speak with my mouth full, which is very rude, but it just tastes too good. She smiles at me, visibly relieved, and we start to talk a lot about the years we haven't seen each other, what we've experienced. "You're welcome to sleep here every night if you want to. The guest room has been prepared for you and you would make me very happy." She cautiously makes me the offer. "That's excellent, Nargisa, because I've already spent so many nights in my life in hotel rooms that I don't feel like sleeping in one again unless I absolutely have to. On the other hand, I don't want to be a burden." I'm delighted with her offer. "Michael, then it's settled. You'll sleep here in my house from now on. We'll get your things from the hotel tonight and bring them here." She makes a clear announcement, which I really appreciate. "That's what we'll do. I'm off to the hotel now because the company cab will pick me up in ten minutes. See you later, Nargisa, and thank you for making me feel so welcome." I hurry out of the house, but out of the corner of my eye I see Nargisa standing in the doorway looking after me. I turn around once more and wave goodbye to her.

Ferusa, who is already waiting for me in the foyer with the company driver, is surprised when I walk into the hotel early in the morning. Curiosity about where I've been on foot so early in the morning is clearly written all over her face. "Good morning. I'll just run up to the hotel room, get my laptop and change my clothes," I inform them on the way to the room. To be polite, she doesn't ask me what I've been up to so early in the morning. "Thank you so much, Ferusa, for getting me Mrs. Argentum's address!" So as not to keep her in suspense unnecessarily, I indicate where I've been and place my hand on hers. A smile flits across her face and she guesses where I've come from. "Did you find the person you were looking for?" Ferusa looks me in the eye cautiously. She doesn't want to appear pushy. "I did and I thank you for giving me this great pleasure, I'll never forget it!" I let my hand continue to rest on hers as she shows me that she doesn't mind and that I also really enjoy being close to her. That evening, I check out of my hotel and take my things to Nargisa.

"Hello Nargisa, I'm already here," I wave to her and hope she likes the surprise. She is busy weeding the garden, but jumps up happily as soon as she sees me and comes to the garden gate so that she can open it for me. "Come on, I'll show you the house and your room." She takes off her shoes in the entrance hall and places them on a drip tray, which I do the same. "The house is a bungalow with a cellar. I'll show you the cellar later. First I'll show you the guest room so you can put your things away." She opens the first door on the right, which is in the corridor to the left of the entrance. She slowly opens the door and walks through the room to close the window she had opened for ventilation. The room is lovingly furnished and doesn't look like a guest room to me, more like a child's room. "I really hope you like it, Michael." Nargisa looks at me expectantly. "It's beautiful, Nargisa. I admit, it looks like a child's room to me, but the kind I've always dreamed of. May I take some books from the bookcase on the right-hand wall, if that's all right with you?" The room inspires me. On the opposite wall is a modern desk with a monitor and office chair by the window and the box next to it on the wall. The bed is on the left and the walls are painted an unobtrusive pastel green. "You can read any book that interests you, you'll make me very happy. I've put the Wi-Fi password on the table so you don't have to use expensive data roaming. The next doors in the corridor are the bathroom and the toilet. Make yourself comfortable here first and then join me in the living room so we can talk some more." She leaves the guest room and waves to me sheepishly before closing the door. Once my things are stowed away in the box and trolley under the desk, I take the book out of my briefcase and walk into the living room. Before dinner, I place it on the sideboard in the living room, where there are several picture frames with pictures of people I don't know, eagerly awaiting the answer to a few questions. She approaches me attentively, picks it up and leafs through it, pausing for a few seconds at each page as if she is checking something and then nods with great satisfaction. "This is the correct book you bought, and I'm glad you remembered my dedication and wrote it back in the book," she confirms with satisfaction that it is the original, then calmly puts it back on the sideboard and goes back into the kitchen. She keeps me in suspense throughout dinner about what the book is all about and why it is so important to me. "Patience, Michael, after dinner!", I hear over and over again like a prayer wheel when I glance towards the sideboard at the book, which drives me up the wall, to say the least. I feel like a small child standing in front of the Christmas tree and not yet allowed to open my presents. After the meal, during which lots of oriental delicacies were served up again, she finally gets up and relieves me of my torment.

She picks up the book and then goes to the dimmer switch on the wall to reduce the light in the room, sits down next to me and puts the book on the table. "What do you see?" For the first time, she looks me in the eye with a penetrating, demanding gaze. "On the cover on the outside, I see these printing errors in the picture again, which look like codes that I can't explain. They are strange alphanumeric words that I discovered on the inside pages when I was a child, but even then I couldn't explain them. These codes on the outside create a picture that looks like a monument I've seen in a travel guide to Uzbekistan." As I trace the building with my index finger, I continue to examine the picture. "Correct, I'm sure you know the building." Nargisa pulls a travel guide to Uzbekistan from her antique bookshelf, opens it and points to the monument. "It's a building from Tashkent that commemorates the victims of repression." She pushes the book across the table so that I can read the details about the building and its history. "With the appropriate key, you can read and understand what is written here." She taps on the codes, hundreds of which appear on the various pages of the children's book. "Your first task is to learn how to decipher these codes. At the moment, only I and one other person have the ability to decipher them." She gives me a meaningful, mysterious look. "Despite my IT training, I have no idea how these codes can be deciphered. I've never seen anything like this before and they make absolutely no sense to me." Perplexed, I leaf through the book. She smiles at me and touches my hand tenderly. "Like I said, only two people can master this code and you'll be the third. Let's call it a night, come with me!" She stands up in a good mood, hooks my right arm, pulls me up from my chair and walks with me to her terrace in front of the house. "Come on, Michael, let's sit on the bench and watch the magnificent evening sky." A cool breeze touches our bodies. There is a peaceful silence that we absorb for hours. "It's nice to sit here with you and enjoy the evening calm in Tashkent. Come on, let's go to sleep, tomorrow is sure to be a busy day." She gets up around midnight and brings the tea set into the house. I sit for a moment and then follow her. I quickly fall into a deep sleep in my bed and experience a dream that feels very real. I sit on a bench in front of the memorial and breathe in the silence. My gaze glides over the massive marble columns that rise high into the sky. They carry an impressive green oriental-style dome on their shoulders. The marble plaque in front of the memorial commemorates the many victims of the war. The sun's rays still fall on the floor slab even though dusk is already falling, which is very strange as it should not be physically possible. What's more, despite the sun being very low in the sky, the rays are reflected into the dome. I have to take a closer look, get up and walk to the memorial. The marble slabs are arranged symmetrically and have been polished smooth. Kneeling down, I look at the stones, but despite my close examination of the position of the stones, I don't notice any inclination or warping that could explain this scattering of light. The dome is now brightly lit, which is why a special feature catches my eye. The same signs are set into the ceiling that I have already seen on the book cover. It almost looks as if they are dancing in the ceiling.

Nargisa wakes me up by gently touching my arm, bringing me out of my very real dream. "Michael, it's already 8:00 in the morning." She laughs because I get up confused and drowsy, staggering to the bathroom as if drunk while rubbing my eyes with my palms. My head is spinning because I'm still trapped in this dream. I can't shake the feeling that I've seen these signs before, it's almost like déjà vu. Nargisa notices that I'm still stuck in my thoughts after the bath, but doesn't try to get me to talk. We sit together in silence, enjoying the heavenly peace and pleasure, which comes to an abrupt end when our driver sounds the horn of the company car. He signals to me that he has driven up and is ready to leave. On the way to the company, I see that we are driving right past the memorial, which I hadn't even noticed yesterday. I tap the driver on the shoulders and ask him to drive to the Memorial Center and stop the car briefly in the parking lot. He accompanies me and sits down next to me on the bench where I was in my dream. A short time later, I get up and walk to the memorial plaque. Everything is as I experienced it in my dream. The symmetrically arranged smoothly polished floor slabs, the high marble columns and the green domed roof in oriental style. The view upwards almost takes my breath away. The ceiling of the dome is decorated with Arabic ornaments. I can't see any of the characters I saw in my dream in the dome. My mind must have led me astray. My driver Nikolai politely signals to me that it is already late and that we are expected at the company. Once there, I join my colleagues in the meeting room and start training them on the new ERP system processes. During the first break, Ferusa carefully takes me aside. "Michael, can I ask you something personal?" She waits politely for my answer. "Ferusa, of course you can ask me a personal question. Whether I answer it depends on what you want to know?" She surprised me by acting so mysterious. "Will you tell me more about this woman you asked me about and whose address I got for you through my father?" I am very impressed by her polite and reservedly respectful manner. She seems to be a woman who is obviously interested in my concerns and perhaps hopefully also a little bit in me, because I like her very much and that would make me very proud. "Dear Ferusa, this woman saved my life. I can't tell you why, but I feel that she is a very important person in my life. I can't explain it to you at the moment because I still don't know what role she has played in my life and how she came into my life. There are so many questions that I can't answer for you right now." I look deep into her eyes. She looks at me in surprise, but doesn't probe any further as she feels that I have answered her honestly. Before she turns around and goes into the tea kitchen, she gives me another smile. She comes back with three cups and hands me one. The green tea she has prepared for us is a poem. It has a tangy note with a dash of lemon and a leaf of mint. This woman not only has class, she also has exceptionally good taste and excellent attention to detail. I really like people who appreciate attention to detail. During the lunch break, she talks to Nikolai, our driver. She looks at him questioningly after he has obviously not answered her question satisfactorily and then continues talking. Unfortunately, I can't hear the content of the conversation and wouldn't understand it either, because they are probably talking in Uzbek and I don't understand a word of the language. Nikolai shrugs his shoulders as he looks at me and then quickly back at her. He has noticed that I am watching her, says goodbye to her with a hand signal and sets off on another business trip. In the evening, Nikolai drives me back to Nargisa's house without asking me where he should take me first. She is already waiting for me in the garden and waves to me. "Mr. Michael, do you need me for another ride today?" "Please wait a minute, Nikolai!" I get out of the car and walk to Nargisa. "Nargisa, do you want to go to the Memorial Center?" I hope that she wants to come with me. "Yes, we can do that, but we're not going with your driver, we're taking my car. I'll get the keys in a minute." Nargisa disappears into the house. "Nikolai, I don't need you anymore today. Thank you so much for waiting! I wish you a good evening and a safe journey home." He starts his car, politely says goodbye and drives off along Avliyoota Street, where the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary rises high into the sky. It is a Russian Orthodox cathedral, which was built in 1871 and has been repeatedly extended and renovated.

Nargisa comes towards me with her bunch of keys in her hand. We get into Nargisa's sporty little Abarth and set off. Evening is already falling as the sun is already low in the sky. We walk along the streams in which Japanese koi carp swim. We watch them as they swim elegantly through the water. The air is still very hot and dry, but it is already getting noticeably cooler. Many people can now be found in the public gardens. It's much more pleasant to walk outside at this time of day. I choose the bench where I sat in my dream. "I have to tell you about my dream today. It's been on my mind all day. Last night you showed me the monument on the cover of the book. In my dream, I was on the very bench where we're sitting now and I saw how the dome was brightly lit just before nightfall, even though that's not possible and the character codes were dancing in it. I'm sure you're thinking that my imagination is running away with me." Nargisa sits next to me and listens attentively. I keep getting the feeling that a smile flits across her face at some parts of my story. "It's a good thing that the sun is already very low tonight. Let's see what happens?" She leans back, relaxed, and waits with me for the sun to set. We both watch as the sun begins to dance on the horizon and is swallowed up by the emerging night. "Look, Nargisa, it's really happening!" I sit up to see exactly how the last rays of sunlight are collected by the floor plate and reflected into the dome. The dome lights up like a ball of fire. Only now do I realize that something very strange is happening around us. The people are standing still, as if they have been cast in wax and preserved for all time. Only Nargisa moves and watches me as I react to the situation. She stands up, wordlessly takes my hand, leads me to the Memorial Center, stands with me in the middle under the dome and lifts her head upwards. "Look up and take note of what you see and the rest of your questions. I'll answer them later." She remains silent. We both watch the dancing code characters in the dome. From the initial confusion, I recognize a pattern that I have the feeling I have seen before. In what feels like the blink of an eye, I'm back on the bench with Nargisa. The sun has dipped into the night. People stroll past us and it feels like I've just imagined what I've just seen. "Let's go!" Nargisa stands up and waits for me to offer her my arm to hook. After I get up, she hooks me on the way back to the car. I am very quiet in the car. I'm still trying to understand what has just happened. "I'm sure it's just another one of my fantasies playing tricks on me. Even as a child, I always had moments when I thought I had seen something that everyone else hadn't seen. They thought I was crazy. Later, I didn't talk about it when I saw something again or perhaps imagined it." Nargisa looks at me from the side and ends my search for the truth, as she realizes how much I am preoccupied and tormented by what I have just said. "Michael, you're not crazy, nor did you just imagine it." Her soft, pleasant voice reassures me. "You saw it too?" Astonished, I look over at her. "Yes, I saw it and I'll explain it to you at home, like I promised you while we were standing in the middle of the dome." Her eyes rest on me as we stop at a red light. A short time later, we arrive home and get out of her car. "Wait, Nargisa, is it okay if we sit on your bench for a moment?" I take her hand, walk with her to the bench and sit down with her. The birds, which were still so busy in the treetops and bushes in the morning, filling the air with their twittering, are already asleep in their nests. The leaves of the pomegranate trees in the garden rustle. They are caressed by a light breeze that is just coming up.