Fortunately, the customs officials had already known me very well for several years and had also read in the newspaper about my serious accident in Iskenderun; otherwise, they certainly would have shot me – at least, that’s what they said when I asked them about it – as I raged around and fired away with my revolver. Solely because they knew me well and saw that I wasn’t in my right mind, they kept their distance, left me alone, and didn’t shoot me down. Quetzal: