Spring time! We move our planning meeting for the next conference of Catholic Singles to Schönbrunn park, sit in the sun and drink coffee. On the way home I realize: My cell phone is gone.
A friend who called my phone lets me know that a man from some foreign country had answered and given her an address where I could pick it up. Aßmeyergasse Nr. 62. I put the kids to bed and head off at nine in the evening. A poor district in Vienna and completely unknown to me.
I am busy and I want to use the quiet evening to do some writing. Well, maybe I could get there and back within 30 minutes? I hurry… and get to the street - most unfortunately at the wrong end. Number 1! There is nothing I can do about it. I walk fast and use the time for praying. God, this is such a waste of time. You want to teach me something, no? I am listening, speak clearly.
Nr 22… Nr 32… Nr 42… my conviction grows that something will go wrong. Nr. 52…Almost there! But no!!! After Nr 60 there is 62a – a nightclub and the next house is 66!!! There is no 62. And of course, I can’t call anyone: I DON`T HAVE A CELL PHONE! The street is dark, abandoned, and it starts to get scary.
What do I do? There is no one… but the lit up night club. “0-24 non stop” it says. I must go inside. I ring the door bell.
The girl isn’t wearing much but stripes and supposedly sexy underwear. I ask her for Nr. 62. She doesn’t know. She hardly speaks any German. She is maybe 23. She is just a girl like us, no different. I look at her face. I could be anyone of us, just for the clothes…. She is kind, and lost, and embarrassed. I leave.
What now? The neighbouring house – my last chance. I ring the bells of all apartments. One voice answers. Would you be able to tell me where I can find Nr. 62?? Wait, I’ll come down. Bad German, but someone coming down to talk to me. Bring your phone, I add.
He is from India. About forty years old, nice guy. Speaks hardly any German. English? Tampoco! I did not go to school, he says, I did not learn English. He walks around the block with me. Still no Nr. 62. Can I use your phone to phone mine so that that guy might tell us? But he does not answer. We wait and I ask the man from India about himself. He distributes newspapers. Starts at 2 am. It’s weird, he says, to sleep during the day, and to work in the night. He has not had a free day in seven years.
Still no answer on my phone. Come to my house and wait there. I have Indian food, he says. Do you have a family? No, but friends upstairs eating, don’t worry, we will not hurt you. In the staircase I change my mind. Not from fear… but I wanted to go home and work, use the sleeping time of the children. Let me phone three more times. Then I say, now, this is the last time I try… and that guy finally answers my phone.
He comes down to the junction where I am waiting still in company of my new Indian friend. Young, handsome, Armenian maybe? His German is rather good. He had given me the wrong number because he thought I would not find his correct address, a sit was a bit complicated. He had expected me only the next morning, so he had not answered my phone. Here it is, he says, I did not do anything with it. I did not think you would have done anything. No, I really did not, you can check it, check it!
Boy. This man finds my phone in the park, helps me to get it back – and defends himself like a thief caught in a stranger’s house. What’s wrong?
I saw poverty today. And goodness. The same city, the same human species, the same children of God and completely different lives. Just because of being born a couple of hundred kilometres away. I cannot stay in their world. But I glad I saw it.
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