Day 284: Something to Forget (Part One)

Everything happened like this: we had just witnessed Argentina being eliminated by the German national team on the terrace of Café Hübner's, a place next to my house, in the Nuremberg Egg. After the penalties it was eight in the evening and we still had to draw up a plan for the night.

Carlos (the guy from Cádiz) was returning to Spain the next day, and the Erasmus Code states that it was his turn to choose what we would do on his last night in the city. Of all the options he chose to go out in Neustadt, the neighbourhood with the most bars (and “alternative” people) in Dresden, on the other side of the River Elbe.

Congratulating him on his choice, everyone went off to rest and get ready. At half past ten I picked up José Antonio following the same routine as every night: I’d tell him which tram I was on and when it passed his residence he’d hop on and we’d go get a kebab. This time, before anything happened, we went to Ararat, taking advantage of the fact that the restaurant owners had just opened their own Spät Shop next door. (A Spät Shop, literally “late shop”, is a place full of beer crates where you can buy drinks and basic goods until late at night.) Once we’d eaten and stocked up on beer, we headed to the nearby Alaunpark, where we had arranged to meet and have a few drinks before going out.

When we arrived at the park entrance, Koki, the Japanese guy, was already there. Since Héctor left, the Japanese felt a bit lost but kept coming with us because Quique always told them what we were up to (this time Joda — pronounced Yoda — hadn’t come, apparently because he was on bad terms with Koki). Gradually everyone arrived: some Chileans, the Andalusians (including Carlos), the girls from Alicante, Elina the Latvian and some very nice friends of hers mostly from the Baltic, although I think there were one or two Germans.

Everyone with a beer in hand (and several spares in the bag). We waited a while for the saquitos, the group of Spanish Erasmus students who drink the most, but they texted to say they were having a drink first at Nacho’s and would join us later, so we went into the darkness of the park to start the gathering. I think I’ve already told you what these kinds of botellones are like: basically talking, singing and remembering. As the night went on, a few Sprache Tandem of the Spanish girls joined us (language-exchange partners: German guys who want to practise Spanish — and if possible, something more). I mention all this to stress that there were about fifteen of us in the centre of the park and we weren’t alone. Around us, in the dark, other groups of Germans were drinking their beers.

Then it happened. It must have been around one in the morning when about a dozen Germans came over from outside the park. They went straight to our group, perhaps attracted by the singing in Spanish. What the dim light allowed me to see was that the lads looked about 19–20 and had a very aggressive look: combat boots and very, very short hair. They clearly weren’t drunk — not like the ones who come up asking for beer. One of them spoke to José Antonio in such a strong Saxon accent that I couldn’t understand anything. Seeing that we didn’t understand much, they tried their English. For example, one said to me:
- You and ich... boxing... one gegen one
Which meant he wanted to fight me. I told him thanks very much, but I wasn’t up for it. While everyone kept arguing I called Nacho:
- Nacho! Come quick, some guys want to beat us up...
Nacho answered with a guttural sound:
- BUUUUUUUUUU
He was obviously drunk.
- Nacho?
(chants on the other end of the phone)
- Nacho?
- Piiiii... (The call was cut off)

Meanwhile the Germans from our group started talking to them while the rest of us packed our things and moved to a quieter spot. Until one of them punched a Tandem and Elina shouted:
- Schnell! Run!

So we ran toward the street, thinking that the light and passers-by would protect us. Other groups that had been around us in the park ran too, because some of the attackers had gone after them as well and were “bothering” them. When I remember that run towards the light, the scene that comes to my mind is the one from Jurassic Park II where the dinosaur hunters flee aimlessly through a cornfield. Just as the velociraptors made the people beside the camera disappear, as I ran through the darkness I felt the people beside me stop being there. When we reached the light, I saw that only the Chileans and Elina and her friends had come with me. We didn’t know what had happened to the rest of the group. I would have sworn they’d run in another direction, but I wasn’t sure. Suddenly, as we were trying to process what had just happened, we heard a girl scream. I gripped a beer bottle tightly in my right hand and went back into the darkness of the park.

When I reached the centre of the park there was no sound. It had become empty. An incredibly uncomfortable silence that was suddenly broken when a cyclist coming from a distance was knocked down and kicked. All I saw was the beam of his headlight suddenly move to the ground and start to wobble. I could hear the cyclist’s screams mixed with the ringing of the handlebar bell. A little to the right, by some trees, three others were holding and hitting a girl. I went towards them and, while shouting the only insult I knew in German (is there another?), I threw the beer bottle at them, hitting one of them on the back of the neck and making him fall to the ground. When he got up he shouted in rage and came after me. The others let go of the girl and followed him. As they ran they shouted that they were going to kill me. The adrenaline made Carl Lewis look lame next to me. One of the three tried to take me down by sliding to the ground and almost catching my ankle, but I didn’t fall. I kept running towards the club at the far end of the park, up a small slope.

When I reached the light they had stopped chasing me. I was out of breath, my jacket slipping off my shoulders and sweating. There I found José Antonio, the rest of the Andalusians and the girls from Alicante. We called Elina so that her group would come and join ours by going around the park. While we waited, green-and-white police vans started arriving from all directions with their sirens and blue lights. As they pulled up, a side door would open and five or six “robocops” would run out and into the park. A policewoman without protective clothing approached us and asked what had happened. While we were telling her, someone realised that Koki was not with us. José Antonio said he had been running beside him but that he had stopped before reaching the lamppost. When the police heard all this they radioed it in on their walkie-talkie. The tension at that moment was immense. We called his mobile but it was switched off. We went back into the darkness shouting his name. Nothing. More police arrived and coordinated with those already there to comb the park with their torches. At that moment the saquitos arrived and some of them realised the seriousness of the situation; others were so drunk they could not be bothered and kept walking towards the Sputnik. The police issued an alert for him to be searched for across the whole Neustadt. Some girls were crying. An hour had passed and Koki had not appeared.

Next post: Day 285: Something to Forget (Part Two)

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