They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

112 March 2018

Roel Albazi looks pretty much as I had last seen him a decade ago. Apart from a large scar down one side of his face.

He’s smiling. But not with a lot of warmth.

‘It’s been a long journey to find you, Sandy,’ Albazi says.

‘If it’s about the money I owe you? I can pay it back — with interest. I always planned to pay you back. I have the cash — I could pay you tomorrow when the banks open.’ My voice comes out as a croak. I’m shivering.

Albazi shakes his head and gives me another smile, this one almost sympathetic. ‘It’s not about the money, now, Sandy. And just to show my bona fides on that, I’ve brought your handbag back for you. I believe you lost it when you had a little altercation — shall we say — with a taxi.’

I see my beige Louis Vuitton bag dangling from his arm. I’m shaking with terror. I think I’m about to throw up.

‘This is about my mother, my father, my grandfather, my sister and her girl,’ Albazi says. His voice sounds horrible. ‘All of them were murdered because you defaulted and disappeared. Any ideas how you can pay me back for destroying my family? No? Final answer?’

I lie there, utterly petrified.

He suddenly bends down, and then stands up holding a sheet of lined paper with handwriting on it.

My letter to Roy, I realize.

‘Give me that, please,’ I blurt. ‘It’s personal.’

He stands and reads it carefully, taking his time, taking several minutes. When he has clearly finished, he looks at me, then at the equipment around me. Then he smiles. ‘Trying to take your own life, Sandy?’

‘No, please listen to me. We can sort this out.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, Sandy, we could have sorted this out ten years ago, when I was waiting for you in my office in Shoreham and you never turned up with the money you had promised.’

‘I have the money now. I can pay you any amount of interest.’

‘Did you not hear me very well, Sandy? This is not about money any more. There is no amount of money you could pay me. No amount in the world.’

‘So... what... what... how... how can we sort this out? Listen — there were so many issues I had.’

‘Did your mother get tortured to death, Sandy?’

I look him in the eye. It was like staring into the crevasse of a glacier. ‘No.’

‘Did your family get tortured to death?’

I shake my head.

‘Did you ever spend ten years in prison dreaming of this moment, Sandy?’

‘What moment do you mean?’ I was whimpering.

He holds the letter in front of my eyes. ‘I dreamed of this moment every single day when I woke up, and I dreamed of it every long night while I slept on my shitty, hard bunk. I dreamed of meeting you again one day, somewhere. And I dreamed that the day I met you, I would kill you. But I never dreamed you would have made it so easy for me.’