THE SCAPE

In London, Nubky waited in the cell while looking for an interpreter to question him. He had been there for two hours. The pathetic moon of that place did not do justice to the moon of his country. Even more being seen from the small, barred window of the cell. It was the same moon he knew, but geographically the English were disadvantaged from their contemplation compared to Nubky's countrymen. He leafed through some books and magazines that were there on a little table. There was also a bottle of coffee, but the coffee was bad and it was cold. When the policeman came to open the cell, he was accompanied by the interpreter. The interlocutor gave the order to approach the railing with his arms crossed behind him. Nubky did as he was told. As he took him down the hall to the interrogation room, the policeman made jokes and laughed at him with the interpreter, but he was still serious, with his head down. But untimely and unexpectedly Nubky got rid of the handcuffs and with movements as fast as a kung-fu fighter he tore the baton from the agent's waist, charged at him, pressing him against the wall and choking him with the stick. The interpreter ran out to try to escape. But while delivering a well-calculated blow to the man's throat, which made him pass out, he took out his weapon and used it to shoot at the interpreter's two legs. A policeman appeared on either side of the end of the corridor, each pointing a gun. He threw the gun to the floor and raised his hands in an attempt to surrender. But his inexplicable movements were again put into practice and Nubky with one hand snatched the weapon from the man on his left and then kicked the other agent's weapon, killing them both, each with a shot to the head. The delegate, upon hearing the confusion, called for reinforcement. The police station was small and did not have enough agents to act in that situation. Nubky, already outside the building, was hiding in the shadows. While a car that had answered the call of the deputy and was nearby, was making the rounds for the place. Suddenly Nubky comes out from behind the garbage cans, where he hides and appears under the streetlights. The car immediately accelerates and runs towards him, but instead of running from the vehicle, he runs towards her. The police look scared, not understanding that. Then the impact of the broken glass leaves them stunned and temporarily deaf, in addition to being badly hurt. Before the impact, the police tried unsuccessfully to open the door, but desperation made them fumble. Nubky jumped on the car and dug his feet into the windshield. Without suffering a scratch, he, with some difficulty, tried to open the door to get them both out. But while getting rid of one, the other managed to get his gun and shot him in the back. He turned and started strangling the policeman, while the policeman shot him. Two shots to the chest, another two to the face and neck and shots that did not hit him, as the man was struggling and already felt weak, until the ammunition ended, as well as his life, extinguished by the strong hands of the Eskimo. Driving the vehicle and dressed in the clothes of one of the policemen, Nubky was driving through central London, trying to guide himself through the signs. The drawings and symbols made them locate themselves and head to the airport. The shots and hit him did not pierce his flesh as before. It was getting stronger. The perforations of the projectiles were superficial and caused no damage. At the airport he parked the car and took a good look around, analyzing the movement. In a taxi dispatched from an open trunk, the taxi driver helped to dispatch the bags. He waited furtively for the opportunity and when the man carried one of the bags to the entrance door of Nubky Airport he snatched a backpack from the compartment. One of the people saw and shouted: "Thief", but Nubky disappeared without a trace. The place where the car had parked was now surrounded. Three vehicles surrounded the place, in addition to others that were blitzing outside and at the airport entrance. At bay he hid behind a tower, which served as a support for a water tank. However, I was not sure. He had to get out of there as soon as possible. He heard the sound of footsteps. Someone was approaching. The person stopped and looked in his direction. - Who's there? He asked. Nubky recognized the familiarity of his homeland in his accent. There was no reaction. Until the person spoke again, stating that he knew someone was there and asking him to show up.

- I'm armed. Are you looking for? At that time Nubky appeared and said, in his language:

- Yes it's me. Do not shot. I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to finish what I came here to do.

The girl, who was an immigrant, responded in Russian, Nubky's second language.

- You killed those policemen at the police station. The newspapers are only talking about you on television. You are a murderer.

- Put that gun down, please. You can't hurt me, see, "he said, pointing to the reddish circles that marked his skin like footprints of a table on a low carpet," are shots. I do not die.

- He approached her, but she walked away, with the hand that held the gun shaking asked him to stop or she would shoot. But Nubky leaned his body against the barrel of the gun and asked her to shoot.

- Go ahead. You do not believe me? Shoot.

- You are crazy. He's one of those crazy suicides who wakes up one day and decides that life is worthless and that he has to make the world pay for his life to suck. It's full of crazy like that. All day on TV.

- You are right about one thing. My life sucks. But I really don't have life. I had a life in Zesmick, where I came from. I left something behind there. But I don't remember any of that. As much as I try. Everything is mixed with confused dreams, forming a tangle of nothingness, wrapped in a cloudy past, which despite this, is still the only truly genuine thing in me. The only thing that belongs to me. But of which I know nothing.

- You don't seem like a threat to me. Well, but I'm not the best at judging people. I always end up trusting the wrong people. But you are a foreigner, like me. I know what it's like to be surrounded by accusing looks. I know what it's like not to belong to my world. Be in a place where you are analyzed all the time.

- Thanks. I don't need this anymore, "he said, unloading his gun and throwing it away," You are armed now. I'm your hostage. You can trust me.

- What's your name, hostage? - Nubky. And yours?

- I'm Ania. My car is over there. I'll get you out of here. At the exit of the airport the cars leaving and entering were being searched. Nubky had hidden in the trunk, covered with a blanket. But when Ania showed her badge that said she was an airport employee they released her without the magazine and she passed by without being disturbed.