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  The next day, the 29th of March 1982, I kept our appointment at the parking lot. An hour later and she still hadn't arrived. I became impatient and a little worried, I was turning around in my head the thousand ways I could best take advantage of the money I'd be getting back. Half would go for my debts, half for setting up a business in Turkey. I thought that it would be best after this comedy of errors in Germany and Austria to go back to Turkey for good. Lost in thought, I heard a little noise an thought, "There she is, at last!". Suddenly the glass in the door on the driver's side shattered into a million pieces, scattering chunks of crystal all over the interior and covering half of my face with tiny cuts. I didn't understand what was happening until an automatic pistol attached to a green uniformed sleeve was shoved under my nose and I was hauled onto the pavement by an enormous policeman. Ten other policemen were aiming their service weapons at me as the gorilla handcuffed my hands behind my back and others ransacked my car, tossing the only thing that they found, the toys for the children back home, here and there in the parking lot. I was then thrown into a paddy wagon and driven off at top speed, sirens wailing, like a hardened criminal straight to the city's central prison complex.
   I was out of my mind with fright and hadn't the faintest idea what the motive was for this brutal arrest. I couldn't bring myself to believe that this was a trap set by my pretty little friend, but after a few hours of reflection in the cold cell, it was obvious that no one else had information of my whereabouts at that time of day and that this little trip to jail was her farewell gift to me.
   Why? She was in my arms only yesterday, she said that she would die if I went to Turkey and never returned…I could see only a small corner of sky from my cell and I thought it was like the thin slice of truth that I'd been able to see all these months. I had been sold, traded for domestic tranquility in an unhappy home. Halfway through the first night, listening the rusty springs of my dirty prison bed,
I thought that I would go mad.
I never repeated the same word so many times :
Why? . Why? Why? …                                                               poety-turkich


(Police prison-Vienna)