April 3, 2008

Noodling on the news — The witness

On the third planet from the sun, Cecelia M. Vega wrote in the San Francisco Chronicle,

A series of new television and radio commercials, billboards and bus shelter signs will soon go up around San Francisco advertising the fact that the city by the bay is also a sanctuary city for illegal immigrants….

Officials said the public awareness campaign was prompted in part by a series of federal immigration raids around the region last year that left undocumented immigrants hesitant to come forward to seek medical treatment or report crimes, out of fear they might be deported.

Elsewhere, in a parallel universe, a handsome gray-haired man pushed open the doors of City Hall and walked quickly down the long row of marble steps toward a waiting limousine. Engrossed in conversation with a young woman, he nearly lost his footing as the rays of the western sun hit him full in the face. She reached out for his elbow, realized he had righted himself, and released her hand.

“No, I’m fine,” he said. “Just couldn’t see where I was going for a minute. Good thing the press missed my slip though.”

She smiled.

They took two steps and a man appeared below them, suddenly, as if he’d popped up from nowhere. He began to climb the stairs, staring down at his feet. A baseball cap pulled low over his forehead blocked their view of his face.

Two more steps, and he stood directly in front of the couple. He pulled out a handgun, aimed it at the gray-haired man’s chest and fired once, then ran toward the bushes that lined the stairs.

But the escape route was blocked. A short, dark man stood directly in his path, watching the encounter in horror. The assailant had no room to maneuver. He ran right into the onlooker, and the impact knocked off his cap.

No matter. He twisted to one side, found an opening in the bushes and disappeared.

The young woman screamed. “Mr. Mayor!”

Two uniformed guards ran up the stairs from the limo. One knelt beside the mayor, who had collapsed on the steps. The guard ripped open his shirt and pressed a handkerchief against the gaping wound in his chest.

The other guard turned toward the man standing near the edge of the stairs. “Did you see his face?”

The man nodded.

The guard pulled out a cell phone and called 911. The police arrived within minutes.

From this point on, the story is procedural. The police did their job. The witness did his. The mayor spent several weeks in the hospital but eventually recovered. His assailant was captured, tried, and convicted.

But that’s not the end of the story. In fact, it has two endings.

In one, the short, dark man was a Palestinian named Salim Beidas. He was an architect, trained in Paris. He had come to City Hall because it was one of the major buildings in the city, and had just happened to arrive in time to witness the attack on the mayor. He was a tourist who had been in the United States for ten days. The city awarded him a certificate of honor in gratitude for his help.

In the other ending, the short, dark man was a Palestinian named Salim Beidas. He was an architect, trained in Paris. He had come to City Hall because it was one of the major buildings in the city, and had just happened to arrive in time to witness the attack on the mayor. He was an undocumented immigrant who had worked in the United States for ten years. The city turned him over to the federal immigration authorities, who deported him.

        — Copyright Betsey Culp 2008