Tales You Never Suspected

By Kim Ekemar

Eight hilarious stories narrating things you never imagined would happen ...

My Thousand and One Last Suppers; Arabia, 1973 – 1976
An arrogant jet setter ends up condemned to death in an Arabian jail. Using his vast gourmet knowledge, he cunningly strikes a daily deal to cook for the small country's ruler in exchange for a few hours of extended life. As his skills expand, he will have the Sheikh's stomach at his mercy – but his head belongs to the Sheikh.

Time to Go to Work; Mexico City, 1996
Patience and plenty of time are required in this Latin American megalopolis where new events constantly distract the narrator in his challenging task to get to work.

A Slight Imperfection in the Balance; Madrid, 1990
When you bet on a box-office draw, the final screenplay can turn out very challenging to the author of the book that it is based on. This satire about the vanities and cynical pursuits in the movie industry is based on the records of a brainstorm around a film project.

Standing in me Own Shadow; England, 1952 – 1988
Success may be just around the corner when you least expect it. From his recollections for an unfinished autobiography, here are the challenging memoirs of a recent self-made millionaire hunting for all the pleasures money can buy.

The Hawk and the Bull; New York; 1988
Talking for the goods and selling the wares is the trade of this successful advertising conglomerate. Although destiny works against the boss’s initial decisions, the resulting mix-up works out to the best for everybody.

The Secrets of the Secretaire; Paris; 1782 – 2006
An antiques dealer’s successful bid at an auction leads to several enriching discoveries about the provenance of the writing desk he has bought.

Promising Stars; Paris; 1997 – 1999
A couple of starry-eyed swindlers try to hit the big time with small-time schemes, until they finally stumble upon an idea with astronomical potential.

The End of the Wild Strawberry Days; Paris – Bristol; 1969 – 2004
Passion belongs to youth, and youth is a limited resource quickly wasted, never to return. Over the years Paula and Gaston’s passionate days in the past become diluted into a faded memory that not even wild strawberries can revive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim Ekemar
• Release date: Oct 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463150177

Kim Ekemar

I've been fortunate with opportunities to travel the world, counting Mexico, France, Sweden and Spain as my home at one time or other. In the past, a good part of my life was dedicated to business ventures: an art gallery, an advertising agency and commodity trading, among others. My travels have taken me to faraway places and amazing situations. I arrived in Mongolia just as the revolution for independence from the USSR started. I have been taken up the Sepik river by crocodile hunters in Papua Guinea. I've climbed Mount Kilimanjaro in Kenya, gone horseback riding to where the Río Magdalena in Colombia begins, crossed the Australian desert, hiked the Inka trail the wrong direction in Peru, and much more. However, the experience with the most impact that I've lived through was to be arbitrarily jailed in a centre for torture in Paraguay during the Stroessner dictatorship, under the absurd accusation of being a terrorist. (More about this in my illustrated non-fiction book in Spanish about the dictator, "El Reino del Terror".) During the past two decades, I've been focused on artistic expressions – painting, photography, design and architecture, but mainly on writing. The sources for the things I'm interested in writing about are the passions of people; places and customs that I've experienced around the world; and stories or situations from life that intrigue me.

Book preview

Tales You

Never Suspected

by

Kim Ekemar

TALES YOU NEVER SUSPECTED

Copyright © Kim Ekemar 2010

All rights reserved.

Without the express permission in writing from the author,

no part of this work may be reproduced in any form by printing, by photocopying, or by any electronic or mechanical means. This includes information storage or retrieval systems.

Go to www.kimekemar.com

for more information about permission requests.

Edition: 2001-01

Published by

Bradley & Brougham Publishing House

2010

Contents

My Thousand and One Last Suppers; Arabia, 1973 – 1976

An arrogant jet setter ends up condemned to death in an Arabian jail. Using his vast gourmet knowledge, he cunningly strikes a daily deal to cook for the small country's ruler in exchange for a few hours of extended life. As his skills expand, he will have the Sheikh's stomach at his mercy – but his head belongs to the Sheikh.

Time to Go to Work; Mexico City, 1996

Patience and plenty of time are required in this Latin American megalopolis where new events constantly distract the narrator in his challenging task to get to work. Explanatory footnotes for the Mexican colloquial expressions, left in for local flavour, are provided.

A Slight Imperfection in the Balance; Madrid, 1990

When you bet on a box-office draw, the final screenplay can turn out very challenging to the author of the book that it is based on. This satire about the vanities and cynical pursuits in the movie industry is based on the records of a brainstorm around a film project.

Standing in me Own Shadow; England, 1952 – 1988

Success may be just around the corner when you least expect it. From his recollections for an unfinished autobiography, here are the challenging memoirs of a recent self-made millionaire hunting for all the pleasures money can buy.

The Hawk and the Bull; New York; 1988

Talking for the goods and selling the wares is the trade of this successful advertising conglomerate. Although destiny works against the boss’s initial decisions, the resulting mix-up works out to the best for everybody.

The Secrets of the Secretaire; Paris; 1782 – 2006

An antiques dealer’s successful bid at an auction leads to several enriching discoveries about the provenance of the writing desk he has bought.

Promising Stars; Paris; 1997 – 1999

A couple of starry-eyed swindlers try to hit the big time with small-time schemes, until they finally stumble upon an idea with astronomical potential.

The End of the Wild Strawberry Days; Paris – Bristol; 1969 – 2004

Passion belongs to youth, and youth is a limited resource quickly wasted, never to return. Over the years Paula and Gaston’s passionate days in the past become diluted into a faded memory that not even wild strawberries can revive.

My Thousand and One Last Suppers

The chains around my wrists and ankles lacked the extra link necessary to catch the cockroaches – not to speak of the more meaty rats. No matter how I tried they kept just beyond my reach. Perhaps with time the rodents and the bugs had learnt the exact reach of the prisoner fastened to these particular chains – it certainly seemed that way.

Imprisoned and condemned to death. François van der Schmesserweissbad, European Lebensman, leading intellectual of the Riviera jet set during the summer and of the St. Moritz Shah set when it snows. Presently held up in depressing quarters on these southern latitudes thanks to circumstances forced upon me to comply with certain parties’ interest that I should stay away from Europe. More to the point: Monique, a pretty creature with whom I fell in and out of love with in the space of eighteen hours, somehow managed to get pregnant precisely during that interval. Obviously it took her a little longer to discover her blessed situation, and another month for her old man to fully comprehend all its implications. To make things worse he knew my father quite well and had done so for many years. In an attempt to make this disagreeable story less long winded, I was, about five months after Monique got myself into this vexing situation, forced to make a choice.

I must admit I dislike situations where I have to make choices. That is, choices of significant change and to my disadvantage. In this case I was left with three options. Marry the girl; be disinherited and not receive another penny of support for as long as I live; or leave Europe for at least five years.

If you had been in the very same tailor-made clothes as yours truly I am sure you eventually would have come to the same conclusion as I did. Of course I couldn't marry the girl – imagine me marrying someone who gets pregnant on her first date! Certainly not the kind of woman you would trust with such an all-important thing as marriage. To be disinherited was equally out of the question, it would have meant an intolerable life of long working hours and the boring penny-pinching situation of the middle-class.

Therefore I quickly opted for leaving the continent until things cooled off. I could always sneak back and no one would be any wiser, I thought. It seems I will not be able to return to Europe, however, because after less than one week of touring the Middle East I managed to end up a prisoner condemned to death.

Unbelievable as it may sound, it is really what I have become – a prisoner condemned to death; me, in the flower of my years. Condemned in a most summary way, for certain, because of differences of opinion with the natives in this godforsaken Arab enclave where sand and heat and camel dung have ruled for millennia. I had been sentenced to be put to death after serving one week in the ruler's dungeons. It is quite difficult to say which part of the punishment will be the hardest to endure. But, allow me tell you from the beginning.

After a farewell bash in a prominent old restaurant in Paris, with my closest one hundred friends or so to see me off, I was the following morning somehow helped to the airport and led aboard a plane. In Marseilles the stewardess had to shake me quite violently to wake me up. When I got off the plane it took some time to get hold of enough taxi drivers to caravan me and my luggage down to the pier.

Since I slept most of the first day it took me almost thirty-six hours before I got into full swing aboard the cruiser. For starters it was pleasant, but as always things tend to get boring after a while. I got off the tub in Greece, spent a few nights in the capital and began to long for something more exotic, something more of a . . . challenge. The following afternoon I went to the airport and took the next plane with a first class section out of Athens. Its destination happened to be to a minuscule, oil-rich sheikdom on the Persian Gulf.

*

There is no doubt it has taken my forefathers generations to breed the unique person I have had the fortune to become. As far back as I care to remember my relatives have increasingly done their utmost to live life to its fullest extent. Finally I arrived to crown this family achievement. Money is a help in these matters, and conveniently it was my ancestors who did the wearisome toil of putting our family fortune together. To my great disappointment it is kept from my disposal as long as my father is alive.

In France I am called viveur, in Germany Lebensman. In every country I have visited there is a word for my style of living – except in this sorry backward country where the local glossary in this respect is on par with the Neanderthals.’ In the emirate where I am presently a guest – food and accommodation courtesy of the top sheikh – there exists no adequate translation. This is due to the fact that before I arrived I was a phenomenon unknown even to the ruling class.

Like any cultured person I look for information regarding foreign soil I am about to visit. Usually I look for a booklet or brochures or the flight magazine or something, depending on how long time the flight takes. As far as I could find out there exists no tourist bureau in Athens promoting this particular emirate. An enchanting stewardess at the airport, whom I happened to discuss the matter with, suggested I read the Koran. Temporarily seduced by her long eyelashes I followed her advice. I was lucky to find a copy in French, which I perused after the meal on the four-hour flight. Although my previous crash courses on similar subjects have been successful, I have to admit the Koran was even harder to stomach than the overdone veal served by the in flight crew.

Skimming the Koran did not help much, I agree. I was truly interested in getting some kind of grip of the country, the culture and the people before the aircraft I was on touched ground. Honestly, how many first-time travellers to a Muslim country have ever bothered opening the Koran? Not that it did me any good. I suppose browsing through the Koran during a four-hour flight really can't prepare you for what I was about to experience.

*

Upon arrival it took me exactly six days and two hours to get arrested. It took even less time for the ruling Sheikh – by the name of Akhbar Shammaa – to condemn me to death. ‘Quite unfair, old chap,’ I tried to reason with him, or rather his interpreter. The impact I had intended with these words was lost, however, on this royal piece of desert marble.

‘I need to see somebody from the French embassy,’ I argued. It was like asking for an iceberg. Later I found out that there was no French or any other kind of embassy or consulate in the emirate.

So what, supposedly, were the crimes I had committed? Well, for one I happened to look too closely at an unveiled woman with an extraordinary pair of legs; moreover I was found guilty of introducing illegal alcoholic beverages into the country. My luggage hadn't been searched when I entered the emirate. After the incident with the woman – whom I never suspected of being married – not only was my luggage but also my hotel room and my person thoroughly searched. As the interpreter told me with a wry smile when I was tried before the almighty sheikh himself – one bottle of champagne might have been overlooked, but two cases were definitely putting too much strain on the rules of religion and smuggling. Really, I had defended myself, it was intended for my personal use only! What was I supposed to do – spend my days in this godforsaken desert enclave without even a decent glass of bubbly?

That did the trick. The Sheikh rose, bleated some incomprehensible words and left the room where I was being tried. When I was dragged back to my cell in the caves, it was explained to me that those words were the most important ones I would hear in my entire life. Not that there was much left of it – my life, that is -, because the Sheikh had just confirmed that my head would roll one week from that very day.

Six days of bugs and rats and sparse horrible prison food later I received my only visitor since my unfortunate change of accommodation. It was the interpreter who, kindly enough, came to explain that this very same night would be my last alive. Sounding very much like the tourist pamphlet I never found in Athens, he wanted to inform me about the country's thousand-year-old custom. It thrilled me to learn that any condemned man on the eve of his death could ask for any wish whatsoever to be fulfilled. The sheikh would grant me anything I could possibly think of, save my life.

‘Anything?’ I asked him, incredulous.

‘Anything at all!’ the interpreter replied haughtily. ‘The Honourable and most Royal Sheikh Akhbar Shammaa is not only one of the richest men on earth, he is also a man who honours his word. If he has declared that he will continue the old tradition of complying with the last wish of a man condemned to death, he will beyond doubt do so.’

He bestowed on me a faint smile.

‘I can see that you need time to consider this fortunate twist of fate in your favour. Will you wish a peek beneath the skirts of some other woman, or perhaps access to one of your apprehended cases of champagne, or . . . ?’

A rat took the opportunity to run across the floor to where I had put the gruesome leftovers of my breakfast.

’. . . get a decent meal, perhaps? I will leave you now, and I will be back in exactly one hour. If you haven't decided by then, you will forfeit the opportunity of your wish.’ He left me alone.

One last wish? My god, these people were truly going to see me dead! I had better start thinking seriously about how to get out of this mess.

Well, the only man in this country that could get me out of prison was obviously the man who had condemned me – Sheikh Shammaa. Pleading to him that it would be better for all of us if he threw me