exactly the same way that I did, functioned the same way I did, and could do several different things at the same time while driving; he noticed everything and reacted to everything on the desert track. Marc wanted to know more about this âcreationâ and Tomy answered as if it was the most banal thing in the universe.
Everything that the nucleus had needed to create the body had been naturally available in the environment, except for the small detail of certain substances in the car, such as the water. To put the body together as quickly as possible, the nucleus had needed more water than the finished body would actually contain, because some of the water would be used up in the chemical processes. He was, Tomy explained, made up of the same 33 chemical elements as we were, his molecules had the same structures, and nothing in his body was extraterrestrial.
âExcept for yourâwhat would you call itâspirit?â
âThat word doesnât really describe it that well,â said Tomy shaking his head while he expertly drove over the extremely rough terrain. âBy spirit, you mean the individual, something intangible, immeasurable or, in the case of a haunted house, a ghost. When you say spirit, youâre thinking of something like vitality, the soul, because when someone dies you say his spirit has left him. All of that doesnât really define my âspirit.â The closest I can come to it is âintelligent energy.ââ
Marc shook his head and scratched his blond hair. The more Tomy tried to teach us, the more we realized we didnât understand.
In the distance, we recognized the grey outline of some low buildings, and a couple of kilometers further on we came across Mahmutâs military truck blocking the road. Tomy stopped the car and spoke with him. Then he got out and climbed into the truck. We were to cross the Pakistani-Iranian border like any normal person; Mahmud and he would be waiting for us on the Iranian side in front of the barracks. The camp was so large we wouldnât be able to miss it, he said.
I understood immediately what the problem was. Tomy didnât have any papers, so he wouldnât have made it over the border. The commandant had obviously realized it too. So, he was smuggling Tomy, Mahmud, and the truck over the border via an illegal route, while we went through customs in the normal manner. We had whatâs known as a âcarnet de passage,â a kind of passport for the car, made out by the city where the car is registered. Without a legitimate entry and exit stamp we wouldnât have been able to get out of Pakistan or into Iran.
The Pakistan border crossing consisted of a shed with a straw roof. Four shabby-looking uniformed men with ripped vests and dirty hands wanted to look through our luggage. I offered them a carton of cigarettes, which I had packed especially for such occasions. At last the carnet was stamped, but not before the guard had spat profusely onto the stamp pad to moisten it. The Iranian border crossing, just a few meters further on, was passed without incident, excepting the usual bribes. Baksheesh, itâs called in this part of the world. We were probably in the only vehicle that these people had seen the whole week. Taftan turned out to be a settlement consisting of a few dozen houses and huts. At its center was a small mosque, next to it, squatting in front of a corrugated iron shed, were several bearded men wearing turbans. They stared at us in a greedy and unfriendly manner.
I drove aimlessly through the place, hoping that the barracks would soon appear. On the outskirts of the village, we found a run-down gas station with two pumps and lots of trash lying all around. There were old oil cans, crunched up canisters, ripped open barrels, broken axles and everywhere an overpowering stink of gasoline. I needed gas but didnât trust this gas station at all. Who knew what the attendant might be
Everything that the nucleus had needed to create the body had been naturally available in the environment, except for the small detail of certain substances in the car, such as the water. To put the body together as quickly as possible, the nucleus had needed more water than the finished body would actually contain, because some of the water would be used up in the chemical processes. He was, Tomy explained, made up of the same 33 chemical elements as we were, his molecules had the same structures, and nothing in his body was extraterrestrial.
âExcept for yourâwhat would you call itâspirit?â
âThat word doesnât really describe it that well,â said Tomy shaking his head while he expertly drove over the extremely rough terrain. âBy spirit, you mean the individual, something intangible, immeasurable or, in the case of a haunted house, a ghost. When you say spirit, youâre thinking of something like vitality, the soul, because when someone dies you say his spirit has left him. All of that doesnât really define my âspirit.â The closest I can come to it is âintelligent energy.ââ
Marc shook his head and scratched his blond hair. The more Tomy tried to teach us, the more we realized we didnât understand.
In the distance, we recognized the grey outline of some low buildings, and a couple of kilometers further on we came across Mahmutâs military truck blocking the road. Tomy stopped the car and spoke with him. Then he got out and climbed into the truck. We were to cross the Pakistani-Iranian border like any normal person; Mahmud and he would be waiting for us on the Iranian side in front of the barracks. The camp was so large we wouldnât be able to miss it, he said.
I understood immediately what the problem was. Tomy didnât have any papers, so he wouldnât have made it over the border. The commandant had obviously realized it too. So, he was smuggling Tomy, Mahmud, and the truck over the border via an illegal route, while we went through customs in the normal manner. We had whatâs known as a âcarnet de passage,â a kind of passport for the car, made out by the city where the car is registered. Without a legitimate entry and exit stamp we wouldnât have been able to get out of Pakistan or into Iran.
The Pakistan border crossing consisted of a shed with a straw roof. Four shabby-looking uniformed men with ripped vests and dirty hands wanted to look through our luggage. I offered them a carton of cigarettes, which I had packed especially for such occasions. At last the carnet was stamped, but not before the guard had spat profusely onto the stamp pad to moisten it. The Iranian border crossing, just a few meters further on, was passed without incident, excepting the usual bribes. Baksheesh, itâs called in this part of the world. We were probably in the only vehicle that these people had seen the whole week. Taftan turned out to be a settlement consisting of a few dozen houses and huts. At its center was a small mosque, next to it, squatting in front of a corrugated iron shed, were several bearded men wearing turbans. They stared at us in a greedy and unfriendly manner.
I drove aimlessly through the place, hoping that the barracks would soon appear. On the outskirts of the village, we found a run-down gas station with two pumps and lots of trash lying all around. There were old oil cans, crunched up canisters, ripped open barrels, broken axles and everywhere an overpowering stink of gasoline. I needed gas but didnât trust this gas station at all. Who knew what the attendant might be
Similar Books
