An event does not neccessarily happen at the place of its origin
The security man is sitting at the end of the hallway, keeping a straight face. Little men, pokemon like, are jumping on the green display of his smart phone. That's the only thing in the Asylum's entrance area calling up an association of spring. It is noon and on the other side of the glass door the weather is beautiful.
"Not many," Kevin answers my question. "It is so beautiful today. Why don't they go outside?" Once again, I am asking this - more to myself than to my vis-à-vis. My thoughts on participation are clouded as I make my way to the second floor, room 106.
"Come on in," Kasim lifts his head from the pillow, when I open the door. "Get up, Kasim. It is beautiful outside." "Later," he says grinning and sends me to the kitchen. Zineta is doing the cooking. I bring her some thread so she can proceed to embroider the words KUNST and ASYL in tapestry style in the covers of two backrests.
The stitches are tight, which makes her task never-ending. She has a headache, her blood pressure is high, too much worrying, and tomorrow she will have to go to federal office. "Take the embroidery with you," I suggest. Waiting takes forever over there.
"I embroider everywhere I go," Zineta says, "In the U-Bahn and S-Bahn. People ask me what I am doing." She picks up one of the covers. "That's when they see the word ASYL." In pink and purple it glimmers incomplete.
All of a sudden, the kitchen transforms into an U-Bahn wagon with Zineta, embroidering next to other passengers. KUNST and ASYLUM in tapestry - the vision of a performance that makes me happy.
Later that day, Kasim, Martha, Zineta, and Melisa spend the afternoon with us in the courtyard garden. Zineta is embroidering and Umar asks: "Do you know those letters one can eat?" Yes, I remember the alphabet tasting like gingerbread. The boy from Chechnya smiles at me. I remember too that those cookies are sold as Russian bread. "Any idea what I did at school today?" For a second I want to say no, but then I know what Umar wrote with those edible letters: KUNSTASYL
"Yes," Umar confirms, "and Aymen and Therry and Till and Barbara."
I hang the next strip of wallpaper.
An event does not necessarily happen at the place of its origin.
Umar, in the background Khaled & Ayiza