20TH OF SEPTEMBER 2010
The bright rays of the sun entered the open space in that early morning. The engineer hardly realized to have successfully digged an hole under the wall of the KZ chosen for him by the HR. Recent events had upset him so much that he had to conquer back the solicitousness that allowed him to becam an Indian on the prairies of the Democratic Republic. Beleaguered in his own box by toutings of the Labour Unions, the official ones, those who had their roots in the Party, he had to restore his forces for the last chevauchée. An act of braveness that could have gained him definitive freedom.
A different and artificial light was the aim of the hero, who tried to escape the boundaries of a Socialist Paradise. Such were the very same neons in West Berlin, that appearead so sweet to the DDR buergers entrapped by stampels and egalitarian burocracy. Some of them became so ingenious that they could patent the very same instruments adopted on the flight and sell them at the best bid in the free market they now lived. The engineer didn't posses so effective skills to produce, or even conceive, a new device. The sort of prison he was confined to didn't offer the chance, to a troubled mind, to acquire a pragmatic knowledge. On the contrary the nature provided him a brain apt to analyze the world he was surrounded by and write, with the painful blood of his own memories, a valuable account to be shared with many other lucky expatriates.
Politically speaking, he was still living in the East, while the more proper geographical East lied still miles away. Paying attention to avoid the indiscreet glances of the comrades was essential. Among them more than one confident was scrupoulously serving the Party, often outrageously manifestly. They would have willingly dropped a dime on him with the hope to get a promotion within the ranks of the local Stasi. The most evident victim of their close surveillaince was seating before the engineer.
A wrenched woman, in no better condition than the fantastical creature that sometimes could be spotted in the Socialist cinema, reenacting the witches of a Shakespeare drama. A former biologist, still convinced that the Red Revolution would have soon brought justice to the suffering of the working class, she didn't object the punishment to have assisted for so many years a prominent conservative scientist at the University. Actually, the Committee, summoned up by the most authoritative gossip of the co-workers, just assigned her some low level jobs, assuming that no matter how long she previously worked, yet her experience valued nothing. Having achieved a degree in a top level academy, she was on the contrary enough to be countered among the socially priviledged that the incoming Regime was promising to fight.
He would have written the story of such a creature, had he not to more carefully work on his own plan. The humble shelter he had built to reduce his workload would have resulted essential, since for a while he should have sustained the strict schedule of an intensive double life. At least while erecting a solid career based on evidence in his virtual exhistence of an Asian computer whizard. Nevertheless he required to rest, like had he just touched the right bank of the Donau and walked across miles of the harsh Yugoslavian forests and woods, up to the frontiers of Italy. His brain was drained, feeling the hangover for his success and the fear of the army of Alexander when they reached the Indus.