What happened to Eva Meyer the Nun? - The Way of the Farmer

Munchen, Germany three and a half years ago.

At age 36 Eva Meyer the missionary nun who once went to Africa in the moment of her youth was reincarnated as the newly appointed fine arts curator of the prestigious Neuve Pinakothek. Eva was slim, tall, chic and sported short wavy blond hair. She knew the man who came into her life just a week ago was attracted to her because she had short hair. She had an instinct about these things – She had chanced on the stranger while running errands in Odeanplatz that Summer.

There was something familiar about the Chinaman who stepped out from the jet black Masserati that day - perhaps, it was his familiar stillness and that unmistakeable blend of lingering sadness as the man fed the pigeons that morning as he stood in the wide expanse of the public square, as if lost in his own thoughts - that morning, as Eva looked on tranfixed at the lone figure she was convinced that he was none other than the man who had crossed an ocean of time to find her. The man was dressed in a stylish charcoal turtle neck, dark suit with his hair slicked back. But it was him. He was older now. But age had hardly touched him – it was still the same him, she thought. It was the quiet confident way he carried himself. The assured and precise way in which he moved like a matador. His leanest showed through as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His cadence in the way he lit a cigarette and leaned back into his chair and smiled ever so faintly. Even the way he flirted with the waitress that day was very much him. All these things gave him away. Along with the primal way he had looked at her in the way a hunter narrows his eyes ever so slightly whenever he catches sight of his prey. That day Eva found herself inexplicably drawn to the stranger like a moth to a tongue of light. This strange oriental man who had appeared from nowhere had stirred the depths of her memories and reminded her of someone who she had once known, once loved and left suddenly without a trace and now as if by sheer magic he had somehow managed to tranverse that great ocean of time to reappear here again –  he had followed her through the cobbled stone streets of old Munich that day. From time to time, Eva would glance back to see whether he was still following her. The man did not hide that he was trailing her. He seemed to look at her knowingly…. in the way another man once looked at her a man a long time ago when she was in Africa. Yes, Africa she had thought to herself. That day Eva had made it easy for him by keeping to the wide open boulevards…she had even kept her pace slow…..She remembered feeling preyed on. And she was glad for it. For deep in her heart Eva Meyer knew that the stranger was none other than the Chinaman Cocoa Planter who everyone in Northern Uganda called, Shahidi. The man even her mother Superior once described as “a rouge ivory trader, illegal goldminer, gun runner, deflowerer of women who masqueraded as a respectable gentlemen planter…the devil!” That day as Eva walked along the cobble stone streets of old munich, she realized this same man who she once loved with all her heart had returned to her. And with these thoughts as the former nun walked that day with the full knowledge that the man would always be behind her….following…watching.. the very thought filled her with a girlish sense of expectancy.

In the week days, Eva lived with Fritz, a Cheshire cat in a three bedroom apartment in the trendy section Moosach along Dallmayrplatz. On weekends she spent it in the country in a Bavarian hunting log house in Bei Freising in suburban Munchen. 

She looked at the expensive watch the man gave her. It was quarter past three. She smiled. The man would have just touched down from the Lufthansa flight from Singapore just about now. It would take him exactly 20 minutes to clear immigration and customs and another 10 to make his way to the annex of the Flughafen – in this windowless squat like building that resembled an aircraft hangar. This was where the rich and famous kept their Masseratis, Lambohginis and Ferraris. The man kept a humble paid locker. Eva knew it would take another 10 minutes for him to change into his riding leathers. Another 5 minutes perhaps to make his way to the basement where his black BMW motorcycle was fueled and readied by mechanics. By the time the man was barreling down the autobahn at 170 kmh towards bei Freising, it would probably be close to four. Eva smile again. Then she became pensive. Or maybe not. Then she walked to one of the full length windows and a mischievous smile broke out again. Maybe it would take longer. This time she muttered the words against the glass – it left a vapor mark. And she drew a heart. It was after all her birthday. She knew the man would stop at the Grossaucheun to buy her flowers. That might just slow him down abit, she thought.