They had been arrested and taken to the Questura in Mestre, where they were unable to explain themselves, since none spoke anything but the Kobekistan...dialect of Arabic. The police had eventually contacted the Consul, because the official interpreter had been unable to understand more than about one word in four of their dialect of Arabic, but had correctly identified it as Kobekistani. Of course they had no papers so the Consul knew nothing about them. Therefore the police had been told he was. The other side hung straight. ‘Could I have your phone number and address?’ She appeared flustered, ‘Oh, of course.’ She shuffled in her purse and quickly scribbled on an old envelope. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked. ‘I’m fine… No.., no I’m not. I’m nervous.’ I chuckled. ‘Okay.’ ‘See you tomorrow,’ and I walked away. Glancing over my shoulder I nearly broke out laughing. She’d dropped her pencil, and then her foot slipped as she bent to pick it up. The keys slipped from her hand and she couldn’t. More

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