Germany: Cologne to Munich

Travels with Evie in Munich

Looking out of my hotel window in Munich, I saw a young woman staggering along the sidewalk across the street. She would stop, lurch forward, sway slightly as if thinking, and then stagger forth again. I called Maureen and she agreed that there was something wrong with the girl. We didn’t know if she was having a medical emergency or was completely shitfaced. So I went down to investigate.

I arrived in time to escort her safely across the street and while doing so she asked me, “Are you a writer? Are you going to write about this?” I was surprised. “No!” I said. She was unnerved by this possibility. What would give her that idea? Am I doing exactly that right now? Of course not.

Call the Munich Police

Having been silently rebuffed, I walked back to the hotel. Maureen suggested I call the police which I did. “Do you speak English?” “Yes”, said the man. I told him about the girl and where she was. He said he would send someone. Still worried about her, I went back with a bottle of water.

I found her sitting on the sidewalk trying to collect the contents of her purse that had spilled out and were lying all around her. Copious amounts of thin, white rolling papers were scattered everywhere taking off like little white butterflies in the slight breeze. I tried to grab them but it was no use. I crouched down, handed her the bottle of water, and started to pick everything up, putting it back in her purse.

I am a Liar

She drank that whole bottle of water in one chug. I watched as she did so. She finished the bottle, looked at me and said, “Thanks”. I stared at her and said, “What’s wrong with you? Are you drunk?” She nodded yes and said, “I’m drunk and high”. That was sort of a relief. I mean I can deal with that. “Where are you going?” She mumbled something I didn’t understand.

I finished putting everything away, zipped up the purse and stood. I tried to detain her by asking inane questions as long as I could so the police would come and put her somewhere safe, but they never arrived. Suddenly she managed to make eye contact and said sharply, “You didn’t call the police, did you?” I was shocked. She can read my mind. “No, of course not,” I said. I’ve now lied to her twice in 10 minutes. I can’t seem to stop myself.

Irish English is Still English

We started to make our way slowly down the street and around the corner. I wondered if she knew where she was going. “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked. “Yes,” she said. “Where?” She answered but I didn’t understand.

“Where did you learn English?” I asked her. “I was in Finland when I was fifteen,” she said. A lot of Finns speak English, I thought. “And my boyfriend is from Ireland,” she added. Even though you can’t understand what they’re saying half the time, I won’t argue with this because the Irish do “speak” English if you can call it that. The Scottish are even worse. They might as well be speaking Gaelic.

“Oh, that’s nice,” I said in an encouraging tone. At least she has someone in her life. She’s not all alone on the street having to fend off unwanted male attention. “He’s in prison,” she blurted out. She explained that his imprisonment was a mistake. But, go to any jail or prison and that’s what they all say. I guided her over to the leafy side of the street to walk in the shade. Her skin, especially her face, was burning from the sun. Scars and scrapes covered her arms. Some wounds were fresh, others had healed. Her dark sweatpants were dirty and had holes in the knees.

Questions Questions

She was a solid girl with thick, short blonde hair, blue eyes, and full lips pressed together in a pout. She looked like a Hummel doll. “What happened to your arms?” I asked her. “Familie!” she howled. I checked myself. I was about to ask about her mother but decided not to.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Evie. What’s yours?” she shot back, so I told her.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty six. How old are you?” she mimicked. I answered her.

“Where are you from?”

“Ingolstadt. Where are you from?” she mocked. Ingolstadt is a small city just outside of Munich.

Judging by this tit for tat, I had the feeling she’d been through this before with some other good samaritan. She probably resented being asked questions. And then, perhaps reconsidering, she said a little sheepishly, “I like your dress.” I was surprised she could even see my dress considering how plastered she was. “Thank you. I like it too,” I said. She smiled.

Object of Scorn

We turned the corner and were back in the sun again. This had an immediate effect on her. She slowed right down, stopped walking and her speech became impaired. I was really concerned about this abrupt change. I couldn’t touch her, so I repeated her name so she would focus and keep walking. Store owners had piled their wares partly on the sidewalk and I tried to keep her from tripping over the produce.

Had the police arrived at this point, I would’ve been relieved. Instead, we were suddenly confronted by an African couple dressed in colorful wraps. The man yelled at Evie in a language other than German. He was angry. I wanted to yell back, “Leave her alone!” Would he have publicly berated her if she were black? What’s to gain by verbally assaulting an already crushed person? Does the idiot think we understand one word he is saying?

Shelter from the Midday Munich Sun

We turned the corner one more time and I realized that we were coming into the home stretch for a walk around the block. “Evie, are we going the right way?” She nodded yes, said “number 43”, and pointed to a large “43” on the side of a building. We arrived at a courtyard with a few parked cars and people milling around. We entered a long room filled with couches and armchairs. It was dim and felt cool.

Directly in front of us, behind a counter, stood three women and a man. I said, “Does anybody speak English?” The man said, “Yes, I do.” “What is this place?” I asked. He said that it is a place for drug addicts, alcoholics and homeless to take a break from the street.

Dragons

One of the women handed Evie a glass of what looked like tea. A man walked up and reached out to touch her but she turned away from him. She wanted to stay beside me even though she didn’t say anything.

“Do you have a bed? She told me she wants to lie down,” I said. The man explained that they do have beds but they are only accessible at night. “And if she’s looking for a place to sleep she knows where to go,” he added. That doesn’t sound good. Nothing about the street sounds good. I said, “It’s very dangerous for her out there. People say mean things, she could get hit by a car, and men will hurt her”. He nodded in agreement with everything I said.

How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave. Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us.

― Rainer Maria Rilke, Austrian Poet and Writer 1875 – 1926

The terrible part of Evie was her vulnerability. It is hard to watch a defenseless person hover so close to destruction, even if they are a stranger.

Godspeed Evie

They stood looking at me, listened politely, even sympathetically. The man said, “Thank you for taking care of her.” I said, “Sure.” I looked at them and realized they were waiting for the other shoe to fall, especially Evie. What kind of do-gooder would I turn out to be? What was my angle, my agenda? I didn’t have one.

I said, “There’s nothing wrong with her. She just needs…help!” Touching her ever so lightly on the shoulder with just the tips of my fingers, I leaned forward and said, “Don’t go back out there, Evie.” I meant that with all my heart. She said, “I want to thank you so much for not calling the police.” Would it have been that bad? Judging by her relief, I guess it would have.

I felt useless. What can you do? “Well, I’ve had an adventure with Evie in Munich,” I said, and left. I didn’t leave any contact information, and didn’t go back again. I’m sorry I didn’t look for her to say goodbye.