I start to feel uncomfortable, but he doesn’t leave the table. He even offers me hot sandwiches and a drink. Actually, I’m hungry, but I can’t eat much. I take the drink though. We’ll see what happens. I am dying of curiosity about my new work, but he says he can’t give me any more details. I’ll have to wait for the boss. He will arrive soon. After a while, a black BMW screeches to a halt at the entrance, and a tall, muscular guy gets out. He must be the one. My new boss. He is attractive, but doesn’t seem very kind. I glance at the car through the window to see if he is alone, but the windows are all dark. He says his name is John. John what? When I ask if this is some sort of nickname, he just laughs and says I’m sweet. Whatever. Details? What I’ll be doing? Nothing. He says I’ll be a great fit, I’ll love the crew.
At this point, I’m not so sure. Actually, I’m shaking in my boots. I need to get out of here. My eyes scan for the bathroom, an exit, an open window, whatever, I just need to escape. If I say I need to go to the bathroom, and I am able to get there, will I be able to climb out the window? Do bathrooms here have windows at all? Anyway, I need to try. There must be a backdoor or something in this place. I resolve to ask for the bathroom. The waiter guy nods toward the rear, and I can feel their gaze on my back as I move in the direction he nodded toward. Pretending I am not suspecting anything at all, I walk slowly, yet naturally. I finally reach it. There is no window, just the modern, tiled stalls with only a toilet bowl in them. My brain is racing. I need another option. All sorts of thoughts are running through my head, but I’m so scared that they don’t settle on anything plausible.
Then something occurs to me, a desperate step – I pull out my phone and call my mom. It’s ringing. Come on, mum, pick it up. I don’t care if you kill me afterwards, just save me now. Getting killed by you would be a thousand times better than being enslaved by these guys. Or getting raped. Or being sold as a sex worker. Oh, how could I be so stupid… Mom, I love you so much, please come and rescue me. I swear, I will not argue with Bloopie, not even when he is deliberately being annoying to me. Come on, Mom, please pick it up. I dial again. I try on Messenger, I try on Viber, I try on the regular phone. Nothing. Mom, please, please, please! I can hear the guys approaching. “What’s taking so long?” the BMW driver shouts-asks. I hollar that I’ll be out in a few minutes, but I know they are waiting for me right on the other side of the door. Mom doesn’t pick up.
Shall I call the police? No other choice. I dial the emergency number and lock the door from the inside. And I pray they don’t break down the door before the police do. While I’m here, I might as well sit on the toilet, and wait. The police dispatcher says they are on their way. This is a small town, but large enough to have its own police station, so I might be in luck. The waiter and the boss are losing it, they start shouting and banging on the door. I tell them to calm down, I’ll be out in a few minutes… I don’t know how long I can hold out. Why didn’t I take karate classes when mom told me to? Or boxing. Or whatever. I hear footsteps. Please, let it be the police, please, please, please! I can hear the waiter’s voice, inviting some guests to a table, asking them what they would like to eat or drink. Sounds like they are regular guests, an older couple. They sit at one of the tables, which is great for me, because it at least keeps the boss from banging on the door. And I am in luck. I can hear footsteps approaching. The footsteps of a lady, wearing heels.
I rush to the door and open it up before she arrives, because now I have a plan. When she enters the bathroom, I can hardly tell her about my predicament. I am trying to be fast and tell her everything all at once. She just looks at me like I’m crazy, and anyway, why would she trust me, I’m young, and she’s old, and so on. But then I just ask her for one more thing. I beg her to stay with me until the police arrive. Now she is a little more friendly, and she does that for me. Soon she believes me, and asks all sorts of questions like what my name is, where I live, where my parents are, and last but not least, why I am here. As I was just getting to the point where I could explain to her how silly I was to escape from home, we can hear the police officers. They are knocking on the door, calling my name.
I’m finally safe, thank goodness. But I know I’m back to where it all started.
Transadaptation Volume 6 – Meaning? – Uncertainty, Instability and Extremes Transadapted
January: A Regular Train Trip – Mateusz Tymoszewski (Poland)
February: Growing Up – Adriana Uribe (Columbia)
March: Mess – Veronika Groke (Austria)
April: The Roads We Take – Svetlana Molchanova (Russia)
May: Need – Nadia Silva Castro (Brazil)
June: “Next Sunshine” – Jonay Quintero Hernandez (Spain)
July: Intentions – Narantsogt Baatarkhuu (Mongolia)
August: Planet Kyiv – Anastasiia Leonova (Ukraine)
September: Torn – Ulrike Bergmeister (Germany)
October: Stories of Outcast Souls – Armine Asryan (Armenia)
November: Ronaldinha – Alejandra Baccino Uberti (Uruguay)
December: Aimlessly – Krisztina Janosi (Hungary)
Background – Context
Transadaptation Volume 5: Of Flowing Vicissitudes – Life Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2024)
Transadaptation Volume 4: Material Dissent – Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2023)
Transadaptation Volume 3: Evanescent – Young Adulthood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2022)
Transadaptation Volume 2: Conceived – Childhood Transadapted, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2021)
Transadaptation Volume 1: In the Middle – Prelude to a Contemporary Transadaptation, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2020)
Peripatetic Alterity: A Philosophical Treatise on the Spectrum of Being – Romantics and Pragmatists by Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
La Syncrétion of Polarization and Extremes Transposée, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2019)
The Codex of Uncertainty Transposed, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2018)
L’anthologie of Global Instability Transpuesta, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2017)
From Wahnsinnig to the Loony Bin: German and Russian Stories Transposed to Modern-day America, (eds.) Angelika Friedrich, Yuri Smirnov and Henry Whittlesey (2013)
Emblems and stories on the international community
Perception by country – Transposing emblems, articles, short stories and reports from around the world
Credits
Single left, middle and right column: Budapest, Hungary – Üllői street – That guy from Hungary (Shutterstock)
Left tripartite column (top to bottom): 1. Budapest, Hungary – By sea, by road, by rail – J. Wang (Shutterstock); 2. Velence, Hungary – At the train station – Posztos (Shutterstock); 3. Budapest, Hungary – At the train station – Csiki photo (Shutterstock)
Right tripartite column (top to bottom): 1. Szeget, Hungary – The courtyard playground – Fotogurmespb (Shutterstock); 2. Budapest, Hungary – On the rails – Jiamin Huang (Unsplash); 3. Velence, Hungary – Lake Velence – Csiki photo (Shutterstock)