The Lion and the Snake

Picture by W. Ruocco

In 1993 my wife, then fiance and I moved from South Florida to Atlanta, we were still in our twenties and both worked for national companies. We lived in Atlanta for 6 years before moving back to Florida, the sun and surf much too alluring to ignore. The following incident is true, names have been changed for obvious reasons.

The company I worked for had hired foreign students from Africa and parts of the Middle East as part of a work experience program, there were about 10-12 mostly men ranging in age from 21 to 35 and most of them spoke enough English to get by, one of them made the hairs on the back of my neck stick up.

His name was Dekri, he was roughly my age although when spoken to he refused to offer any information about himself, only telling his name and where he was born. Dekri was cold, dark and creepy.

This was the first time I had any contact with Muslims and I had no preconceived notions of them, remember this is Atlanta, Georgia in 1993. Their manners and demeanor were pleasant and I quickly was welcomed with open arms into their small world. Their home away from home, one foreigner to another-bar one.

Being foreign In America is not easy, being foreign in the south is a pain in the ass at times and having the power to destruct verbal bullshit stops many a street fight. If I had a buck for every time some hillbilly told me "You talk funny" I could retire right now, having tough skin sometimes is not enough, sometimes blood boils slowly.

Dekri was obviously the leader of this small group, he was the behind the scenes organizer and taskmaster. He often berated some of them in Arabic and none of them ever talked back to him. Some of  the American workers had decided to go on a verbal rampage about foreigners, the same old tired lines of foreigners taking "Their" jobs and "How come and American did not get hired but this foreign student did" And let's not forget this classic "How come they get a break to pray five times a day?" Same old shit different day. The fact of the matter was the students were on extremely low wages and spent most of their time studying and yes praying as their culture demanded. Ever heard of live and let live?

One particular afternoon the tension between the domestics and the foreigners was so tense that knives would dull at the attempt to cut it. I was in the middle - American fiance, American schooling, and no desire to subdue anyone's culture. I always though that America was the world's melting pot and myself as just another ingredient, no better than anyone else. Dekri and an American named Will started arguing about foreign policy and this and that and how America is being ruined by foreigners. Will turned to me and said "Not you, you are a good foreigner." My response  "Hooray for me, can't wait to run home and tell my dad that I made the good foreigner team, you asshole"

This exchange was taking place on the loading docks, isolated from the public and management. The argument quickly exploded and I was in the middle now being accused by Dekri as a traitor to my country and how it was a mistake to be friends with Americans. Few words will draw me into battle but at age 25 -

traitor to my country was on the list.

Dekri's new mouthpiece was named Abet, he was fueled with Dekri's rage and hate and I was now his target. As a boy growing up in Scotland in the 70's fighting was expected almost mandatory and I had both taken and given my share of beatings. Most men know about fight or flight, judging ones opponent in a flash determines the outcome of hands being thrown and blood spilled. I gave Abet a final warning about the words he chose to qualify my existence and he spat in my face.

The tale of the tape said that I had him beat, I had 3 inches and 20 pounds on him. To me he looked like a broomstick wearing clothes, skinny little bastard was about to get the beating of his life.

He hurdled back almost comically after my first punch, but bounced back to face me again. My left hook to his jaw created a smack and a cry from Abet and he stayed on his feet just in time for another straight punch to the face. Blood spilled from his nose, his right eye blackened from my fists, Abet lunged at me and I threw him off,  he landed on a pile of wooden pallets in the corner. My blood boiled with rage, I jumped on top of him and with my knee pressed into his chest leaving him unable to move, I pounded his face over and over until I was pulled from his motionless body. Abet looked like a rag doll thrown about by a rabid dog, he cried like a child and was attended to by his fellows except Dekri. I was escorted from the building and sent home for the day.

Abet never returned to the job, no one knew what happened to him. I asked Dekri if he was alright and he said nothing. I look back at that moment in my life and what I see is Dekri standing on the docks manipulating Abet to fight me. Was this a test for Abet from Dekri? did Abet have to do this as an initiation to something bigger? I look back and only wish to apologise to Abet, he had no fight in him, I hope he survived Dekri's command and is safe where ever he is.

Since that day I have not laid my hands on another man,  I have not been challenged to the point of hands being thrown again, luckily the previous incident did not involve time behind bars. Lucky.

A few nights back I woke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, I had dreamt of Dekri and Abet and the beating. 18 years after the incident something still haunts me,  how Dekri the master manipulator provoked the American and drew in Scotsman who provided the beating. Out of all of them I was the one in the hot seat. I remember Dekri standing alone while I was being escorted out, his boney fingers running through his greasy thin beard, the smugness on his face as if his plan had come to fruition.

I thought of Dekri the entire night and into the next day, the image of his face angered me, violent thoughts took over my soul and I wished he was standing before me now. I decided to write this because all those years after the beating I felt remorse and sadness for Abet, he was a tool, the type of tool that may have ended up in some shithole holding and AK-47 because people like Dekri told him to.

To Dekri,
I doubt that our paths will ever cross and I know if our eyes were forced to meet you would remember me. I am the Scotsman who beat your countryman, but you are the one responsible for his pain. My fists pounded his face but your hatred damaged his soul. Abet was your puppet and you his puppet master. I hope he broke the stronghold you had on him as well as the others you commanded, you are a pathetic excuse for a man, you stood in the corner as your friend was thrashed; any man would assist his friend in that situation but you stood idly bye. Fair warning to you Dekri, fair warning that if we ever meet again it will be you and you alone that will take a well deserved beating. Keep your fucking head on a swivel.
The Scotsman from 1993.
Nemo Me Impune Lacessit - Wha Daur Meddle Wi' Me