D37 Special Zone, Berlin, Germany, a place of dirt, chaos, and illegal buildings as people believe, where evils breed like rats and ants under the sun. A variety of such immigrant special zones stand in Europe, among which D37 is of the largest scale which houses whole Lichtenberg and about one fourth of the entire immigrants. It is the ruthless gate of the Confederation of European States, only few lucky dogs can pass it by chance and leave for Britain and maybe Sweden, their dream places.

At 5 p.m, December 4, riot police drive cruisers with P.K on the car bodies across the center of the street and go on patrol. Every time when the police discover foreigners – Russians especially, they will stop the cars in front of these wanderers and warn them of the latest curfew:

“From December 1 to 13, D37 Special Zone will be placed under curfew from 6 p.m. to 8 a.m. the next day. No egress or assembly is permitted.” The annoying notice is broadcast three times at 5 p.m., in English, German, and Russian respectively.

The riot police often complain about this arduous but fruitless assignment in private gatherings. After the curfew was imposed, the office in three days received dozens of cases that the police were attacked by fire bombs and two patrol wagons were burnt to scrap iron. On hearing the incident, the Berlin Council with great determination and in a quick manner issued a tit-for-tat decree with an overwhelming majority vote, which is rarely seen in democratic states. With this decree, riot police “at any time and in any place” have the “equal right of self-defense” when they feel they are threatened in any form.

Since the issuance of the decree, the once all-pervading foreigners disappear, which greatly satisfies the office. To precaution against undiscovered wanders, if any, the office increases the patrols so that this notorious slumdog will be kept as peaceful and tranquil as a library during the Berlin Summit.

However, complaints linger on.

“Bang!”

A glass bottle thrown to the windshield. The police have to stop the car. In the distance, several youngsters quickly run to the alley at the corner.

“Bastard!” The policeman holds the spontoon tight and tries to calm himself down: People there are especially hostile to the government. He could not cope with every troublemaker.

“Why? Why don’t you arrest him?” Someone at the back of the carriage grumbles in a vague voice – a drunken man, “I did nothing. Why me? Your rules are bullshit!”

His body incessantly shakes and the handcuffs “clank”.

“Shut up,” the policeman beats the back plate, “You deserve it. Why did you pee beside our car? You should count yourself lucky that we didn’t seize your tool.”

“What the fuck? He pees on the car?” The driver frowns and then shuts the plate with loathing, “your filthy swine!”

He honks the horn so hard that the Eastern European youngsters are scared and break up in a hubbub, and then disappear in the alley.

“What on earth are we doing?” The driver sighs. “Russians take us as dogs of the government. Medias accuse us for being oppressors. Why does everyone hate us? We are on our own country!”

“Hold it.” The riot policeman looks to his colleague, “After the Summit, I will request to transfer out.”

“We should have quitted early.” The driver takes a turn: “And they shouldn’t have been there, the foreign guys.”

“Hold, hold,” the policeman is worn out and looks out of the window, “Aren’t you fed up with these clichés!”

“The superior put us in such an awful mess and stand aloof,” the driver continues to complain and spits: “They just sit in the office and drink coffee, leaving us in the mess!”

“Oh, come on…Just keep your eyes wide open and check the block one last time. Wanna go home earlier? Let’s clear away the threats…For God’s sake, this is our own safety.”

The policeman speaks and casts a look at a shabby old block full of graffiti. By coincidence, he notices a shadow of light purple curling up at the corner under the dim street lamp.

“Something happens.” He pats the driver on the shoulder and asks him to stop the car, “Stay alert. I’m gonna check it.”

“Can’t you just mind your own business?” The driver has no choice but unlock the car.

The policeman opens the door, looks around, and walks opposite.

The guy in light purple is startled and stands up. The policeman then can have a closer look at “him”: The small fellow is in a purple sweater and carries a bag. “He” puts his hood up and hides “his” face.

“Hey, what are you doing here? It’s only 30 minutes left before the curfew.” The policeman asks, “Don’t you hear the broadcast?”

The “man” stays silent, tilts his head, and looks at the cruiser behind “him”, confused. The policeman holds his spontoon up and pokes “his” shoulder, “Hey man. Take off your hood.” He then puts “his” hood off.

A girl with straggled hair meets his eye. She keeps her eyes wide open and glares at the policeman with uncertainty, her hand continuously fiddling with a silver crescent pendant around her neck. It seems she is confused by what is happening. Suddenly she awakes to the situation and cries out.

“P.eace Keeper?” She swallows and covers her mouth.

“Stay calm girl, calm down please.” The policeman suddenly loses his head, “We are not coming to arrest you. We are just on our beat…”

“No Deutsch，No Deutsch！” She sobs, “Bitte，kein Gefangnis!”

“Oh, come on,” the driver rolls down the winder, “I guess she doesn’t know German.”

“All right… Don’t worry, girl…” He pacifies her, “Englisch……Sie?” He lifts one finger up and tries to gesture, “Sprechen Sie……Englisch?”

He speaks as slowly as he can, for fear that she misunderstands his words.

“She doesn’t look like an European,” the driver reminds him, “Can you speak Arabic?”

On hearing the word “Arabic”, the girl raises her head.

“Ja, Arab!” She keeps nodding and looks to the driver, “Bitte, kein gute Deutsch!”

She looks very pale under the dim light. Just then, the policeman manages to see her clearly: cerulean pupils and medium-length hair of coffe-brown, with a redundancy of hair falling in curls to her shoulders. Her baby face is dainty and round. She might from Middle-East, the police believed, based on his experience, and her long and curly eyelashes are the best testimony. His idea originates from the theory of evolution: Long eyelashes can help the desert dwellers resist the sand and dust.

“Bingo,” says the driver.

“Can you speak English?” The policeman asks.

“Yes, I can.” The girl calms down, “Sorry, I shouldn't wander.”

“It doesn’t matter. What’s your name?”

“Rawi.”

“Show me your passport,” the policeman gesticulates, “Passport…em…like a small handbook.”

The girl draws a wrinkled passport from her pack and passes it to him.

“Rawi Ayda. So, are you from Syria?” He sees it over, “Beautiful litle thing.”

“Thank you, sir.” The girl answers, “Yes, I’m from Syria…Actually my English is poor, but better than my German.”

“Did you hear the broadcast, in English?”

“Yes.”

“So you know that you are not allowed to go out at this point.”

“Sure, sir. But there is still half an hour.”

“Yes, you’re right, in principle.” The policeman explains patiently, but he finds that Rawi seems not to understand what’s “in principle”. “But all building there are curfewed at six, all apartments and supermarkets. (The girl tilts her head The man supposes she doesn’t understand the word ‘curfew’.) Well… ‘curfew’ literally means ‘you are not allowed to enter’. The doors are controlled by the computer… No…no, you will not open it even with a key. (He notices that the girl takes out a key.) If you do not come back to your apartment before 6, you will be......out. Do you understand?” He returns her passport back. “Where’s your home?”

“Home? Well, go there......down the street twice.....then left… Sorry, I don’t know how to say. But I know the way.”

“Not far from here, ha? Can you arrive at home before 6?”

“Sure.” She shakes her head, “But I’m waiting for my… my brother.”

“Your brother? He told you to wait for him here?”

“Yes, sir”

The policeman looks around.

“Are you sure?” He asks: “We did not see anybody.”

“Sir,” the girl lowers her head and again fiddles with her pendant, “He will come… He promised me… He will.”

“But I’m afraid that you don’t have enough time to go home when your brother come.” He offers his hand and tries to catch her shoulders, “We can take you around and let’s go to your brother together, OK?”

The girl quivers as if electric current has passed. Feeling embarrassed, the man holds his hand back.

“Thank you, but… I’m going to stay here,” she puts on a forced smile, “My brother would go insane if he loses contact with me, and…” She steps back: “I don’t want to stay with him.”

The policeman looks back: The drunken man leans against the window, drooling and fixing his eyes on Rawi.

“Alright. Take this.” He takes an interphone from the car, “Do you have a cell phone? No? OK, take it.” He puts the interphone in Rawi’s hand. “If you brother doesn’t come or if you are in trouble, contact the riot police with the phone. There are several cruisers around here. You can ask for help at any time.”

“Danke,” the girl feels grateful, “That’s very nice of you.”

“We will go on our beat for the last time half an hour later,” the police feels relieved, “if you still don’t meet your brother, contact us. We’ll drive you home.” He looks over the man in the compartment, “But now we have to take him to the Riot Center first.”

He opens the car door.

“Anything wrong?” The driver starts the engine.

“Nothing, just a little girl in a daze.” The policeman fastens his seat belt and looks back to where the girl is standing. Out of the window, the girl smiles and waves her hand. “Let’s go.”

The dusk fells on the street. This so-called "Rawi" girl, is still standing there, glaring at the front. She keeps rubbing her hands together and breathing onto them. Her "brother" still doesn’t show up, and the frozen boreal roars at her ears, making her muscle trembling. Her patience is vanishing, as she keeps kicking the telegraph pole behind her, shakes it with crack sound.

As her mind wandering, a cold hand pats on her shoulder. Looking back, she sees a skinny young man, whose body in all black. His stinky breath envelops the girl's face, sicks her stomach.

"Nikolai, why took you so long?" the girl curbs her temper, "We're almost running out of time."

"Tut mir leid, Natasha," Nikolai smirks, "Just encountered some damn patrol......"

"No excuse," the girl says, "I can smell it from your gut. Look how much did you drink!"

"Natasha, please, just along with some friends, you know, you gonna keep such bond-----"

"Just because they stay in a same gang with you doesn't mean they are friendly, especially when I tell you, NOT TO HANG OUT WITH THEM! You are wasting our deposit on trash."

She almost bursts her anger out. Nikolai looks so upset. He lower his sight on his toe, with a slight, apologetic sigh. The girl slaps her forehead. Willing or not, she yield to his pathetic appearance, or should she say, to his boyhood trick, again. When she realizes that she is the only person he can rely on, it's hard to push him too much.

"Forget that. Come with me." the girl gives her hand to Nikolai.

"Eh......do what?"

"Something makes you happier," the girl smiles, "Nikolai, we're gonna make a fortune."

Nikolai stares at her, with wide eyes in amazement, but then doubt in curiosity.

"Natasha, you're......not involved in some drug dealing, right?"

"What? Hell no. It's a wealthy family lives here," she points back at an apartment, "new comer, in want of eight ID cards. Think of it, eight! A bunch, and one-time pay! Maybe we can expect more on his other relatives who are still out of the country. I decide to sell €2,000 or more for each, and I tell him: five hundred more, I can get him a ticket to Denmark for guarantee."

"Sounds nice, Natasha. But......what do you want me to do?"

"It's so simple. I'm walking on the block controled by your gang, and you gonna scout for me, in case your 'friends' come and ruin my deal. Just stay by the corner, and don't feel stressed, OK?"

"OK......Natasha, if you need me."

The girl winks at Nikolai as an encouragement, tells him whistle her if he find anyone closing in. Then she walks inside the building, takes a phone call.

"Hello? Hello?"

The signal is bad. She has to repeat her words several times, "Mr? Mr. Uzmanov? Да, the one who talked with you three days ago. I'm here. You can come downstairs and get your cards."

One minutes later, the storage near the lift opens up. The girl stuns, watches a furry middle man walks out, dresses in a shabby full of patches. "Servus, Frau. Entshuldigung. Ich habe Deutsch lernen fuer wenige Zeit nur. Sorry I didn't shave myself. It was a hard time for me."

"I see. In English then." The girl says. She feels her blood is cooling, "I guess you bring the cash."

Mr. Uzmanov heisitates, "Well......yeah."

"Driver license," the girl opens her pack, "the first thing for you to get quick money. In fact, you can almost start to get a job tomorrow, so the the fair cost will be €2,500."

Mr. Uzmanov shocks.

"What? €500 more? But we......have made it clear before, right?"

"As you mention, that was 'before'," the girl raises her eybrow, "Need I inform you, new comer? I've come across ten blocks to get here, ten, it's like walking through the borders of ten lion territories. Since there's only," She checks the clock, "20 minutes left, and I will late for home for sure, it's also fair for me to get an extra pay to bribe the police, cuz every minute you waste here would eventually countribute to my future prison life in riot-center. So, are you gonna pay now, or keep vexing me?"

"I'm sorry, girl. I do't know that I put you in such risk," Uzmanov begs, with hands hold on his chest, "Forgive me, but I can hear your accent. You're not local, right? Where are you from, Belarus? Romania?"

"Ukraine, and stop relating......"

"I'm Ukrainian too, girl. You see, I used to teach in Kiev University, with decent salary! I'm so familiar with you Ukrainian accent… It's… it's like meeting my family in person. Absolutely! Please, listen to me."Seeing the girl tilting her hand, he adds at once, "Dear girl, my friend, my sibling! I cannot afford this extra. They've stolen my everything: money, passport, bankcard. I'm a mathematics, and I'm weak in health. I need this license. I have to sale my laptop to make up for the €2,000, nothing valuable left!"

"Why don't you turn to your family members?" the girl humphs, "Now I get it. No wealthy family will rent a storage. You cheat me, professor. You don't even have family members, don't you?"

"You wouldn't come if I didn't say so!"

The girl scorns, turns back and ready to leave.

"Please! Dear girl, show some mercy!" Mr. Uzmanov seizes her arm, "Please.....have a look."

He takes her to the storge, and uncover the towel on the ground.

"My daughter......isn't she beautiful, beautiful like you?" Mr. Uzmanov touches his sick girl's face, "But she's dying now, and will not beautiful any longer! I do lie to you, dear girl. She's the only family I have. They burned my home, killed my wife, my brothers and sisters, I can't lost her again!"

His daughter, about same age as the girl, coughs, trembles in the cold air. She grabs the towel little tighter.

"Seems like flu, or infection." The girl covers her nose, "OK, that works for me, in a slight degree. €2,300. No less again."

"All I have is €2,000, dear girl. If you worry about police and in need of me, I can explain to the police......I will tell them that you are helping my daughter."

"Tell a word to the cop, and you die!" The girl curses. But the whistle suddenly comes from distance, she realizes that she must leave right now, "Fine! Fine! €2,000, you glib counterman! Get your damn license and disappear!"

She snatches his money, throw his license to the ground, and walking out without looking back.

"With all my heart, dear girl!" Mr. Uzmanov bows to pick up his license. "God bless you, my dearest sibling!"

The girl rushes out of the building. As she steps down the stairs, she looks at the corner of street: Three men, apparently gangsters, grip Nikolai's collar. Nikolai shakes his head, and glances at the girl.

"Run, Natasha......" He struggles with murmur.

"Let him go." The girl says. She's not running away.

The gangsters push him against the ground, and change their target to the girl.

"So, your chick think she can fool us like that?" A man with scar on the face squints at her, speaking in Russian, "Right before curfew, think we are at home, and steal our money?"

"I'm not steal your money." the girl responds, also in Russian, "I earn it."

"All the money belongs to us, bitch!" His partner, a big tatooed guy shouted,

"Yeah, yeah! All the buildings, all the residents, the water, the electric!" another guy says, with a backwards ballcup on head, "You ARE IN DEED stealing from us!"

"I don't belong to any gang, no need to obey your rules,," the girl ignores their warning, "Let's go Nikolai, I told you they're not your friend......"

Before she finishes her words, the big guy chokes her throat, lifting her on the wall.

"Open her pack."

The other two drag her pack. Money, an interphone, fake ID cards, cigarret, and a dagger......They gather all the money, and take several cigarrets, let the rest fall out on the ground.

"Listen, the cop......on your back," the girl says, "Let go of me......"

"Oh, you think that works, honey?" the big guy still seizes her, "By your fucking child trick?"

"I......mean......serious!" the girl's face turns flush, "You don't wanna be sent to the center together, right? I'm doomed anyway," she shows him the watch, "but......but you can still get home......on time......"

The big guy seems heisitated a little. He slightly takes a short glimpse.

AHHHHHHH-------

The girl knees his crotch in a flash, and hit his nose with her forehead. He can't help loose his hand. The girl fells on the ground.

"What the......"

The scar-face, witness the attack, picks the dagger up and sticks to the girl.

"Watch out!" Nikolai screams.

The girl dodges aside, catches his hand, then elbows his unprotected chest. He kneels to the ground, retching and coughing.

"You out of your damn mind, dick-face?" the girl presses the dagger against his throat, and shows up her pendant, "Don't you fucking hear about Natasha, the girl wearing this? Who send you to follow us, your boss? Dare you?"

The third guy is scared to run, leaving the scar-face breathes in short, with sputum coughing out of his mouth.

"The......cop, behind you......"

"You think that works twice, idiot?" the girl laughs aloud, pushes the blade even harder "WHO, SEND YOU, TO US?"

Suddenly, sharp siren rings through the air. Nikolai runs to the corner and watches.

"The police!" He confirms, "You gotta go, Natasha!"

The girl surprises for a while, then she calms herself down, hold the dagger, knocks the scar-face down with the hilt.

"Move them to the trash-bin, " she says, "Come! Give me a hand."

"Hello, Rawi? Are you still there?”

It’s 6:00, curfew begins, and the police come just in time.

"Ah, we thought you are lost," the officer puts down the interphone, watches the girl walks from the corner, "Just about to search you."

"Thank you, sir. I'm so fine."

"Have you met your brother?”

The officer looks about and sees Nikolai staggering to an apartment nearby. “Is that him?”

"Yes, sir.”

"Such a rude man. You don’t live together?”

"No, sir. He likes to sleep in his friends' house for a night”

"I’m beginning to dislike him.” The man adjusted his hat. “I think we will keep an eye on him. He looks like a danger.”

"No, sir. He treats me well.”

The officer says no more, and opens the car. The girl sits on the front passenger seat, with her head lowered, and mouth shut. On the way home, she directs the way in a soft voice and never talks anymore The street is tranquil and the bright moonlight floods into the compartment, illuminating the crescent pendant around her neck.

"From today, you will probably have to carry on different work with different identities to earn a living. But remember, this pendant will always protect you. Hold this, and I'll by your side.”

She meditates, holds the pendant tight in her hand.

"But where are you...then?"