No one wants to be a spy. Circumstances create spies. For a young innocent boy, there was no choice. He was born to be a spy. This is the story of Teremum who begins life in Cairo and becomes my friend Louis in a small country town in Australia sixty years later.
It is a story I have been wanting to tell for more than forty years. A story of a man who lived, and then disappeared from all memory. I felt this was unworthy of a man who had sacrificed his life for what he believed to be right. Not that he always was, but in his heart he lived a life true to his morals and an understanding of a side of life we will never know.
Two world wars shaped his life as they did for many others. However Louis moved through them, between them and after them as a chameleon. Ever changing and ever re-inventing himself. He was a man of secrets. Both in his work and in his life. He was a man who had few friends, but a plethora of faceless enemies. Above all he was a human who lived an extraordinary life. A life that should not be forgotten.
This book is a work of fiction. A fictional story about a man who was my friend. As a child and a teenager he would tell me stories. Mysterious tales of far off lands and people. He would sing mysterious songs in mysterious languages. As a young boy, I had never heard of the word enigma, but now I know my friend Louis was exactly that. Louis never lied to me. He only told me what he wanted to tell me, but somehow always managed to slide around a part of a story that would have possibly necessitated at least a white lie. At around eleven years old, I clearly remember asking him with a child’s innocence if he had ever killed someone. He replied that the subject of death should never be discussed by people who did not drink brandy. At thirteen, I tried my first brandy. Louis laughed and laughed as I choked and spluttered on my first ever small mouthful of brandy. It tasted vile, and burnt my lips, tongue mouth and throat. Not one to give in easily, I tried again some weeks later, finding that very small sips rolled around my mouth until enough saliva developed to be able to swallow helped. I still choked from time to time. And Louis laughed every time. He never did answer my question directly. He did show me his 1929 Smith & Wesson .38 though. With his horse tail flapping from side to side to keep the flies at bay, Louis and I passed many, many afternoons together. For a young innocent country boy, he was my only route to the wonders of the world outside my little country town. He taught me how to imagine. It is now nearly forty years since my friend died. The right time to tell his story from the corridors of my imagination. So Louis is not forgotten.
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