Day 212: The postman never rings the doorbell

Today, Maundy Thursday, something very strange happened to me after lunch. I was writing an email in my room when suddenly the entry phone rang. One of my flatmates picked it up (I never answer it because I never expect anyone — if someone’s coming to my place, I know in advance and I’m ready to open the door), and he said it was for me, that it was a Spanish girl who wanted to talk to me. Her name was Luisa. I don’t know any Luisa, so I thought he must have misheard and it was Isa, but… why would Isa come to my place at this hour? Would she want a coffee? We buzzed her in, and I waited by the door for her to come upstairs. Then I saw two German women in their 40s arriving, and I thought:

a) it’s the World Cup tickets (a month early)

b) it’s the police (it’s been a while since they arrested me back in September)

c) my flatmates have got it wrong and it’s not for me (most likely this…)
But then they said:

—Hallo! (while shaking my hand)

—Hallo

—Bist du Herr González? (Are you Mr González? — and they used du, which is very unusual in Germany)

—Ja…

—Do you know the Bible?

…

Boom! Jehovah’s Witnesses! And speaking Spanish! How on earth did they find out where I live? Who gave them my address? The Erasmus Initiative? The university? Someone playing a prank on me? Did they read my surname on my letterbox? Maybe they think foreigners are lonelier and more likely to convert?

Whatever the case, I had two German women explaining to me, in fairly decent Spanish (I kept correcting them as if they were my tandem partners), that paradise is on Earth, that we have to build it little by little, as Jehovah’s word commands…

I thanked them for coming to see me, but explained that I’m Catholic and not planning on changing religion, despite the many others who have already tried to convert me. Still, they insisted on giving me a leaflet while saying…

—So… can we come back another day to talk?

—Oh, come on… what for? You can see it’s not going to change much…

I’ve already given my flatmates clear instructions to tell them I’m not in if they come back — because they admitted they’d actually come another day to see me (I remembered later: last Thursday, when I was still ill, at 8:45 in the morning… my flatmates were in class and I was in bed… Thank goodness I didn’t get up to answer the door!).

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