Socksy and Bocksy are Freed

The photo arrived by email. A pair of socks. I had left them at Marina’s Paris flat when I went home to Geneva.

She is exhausted from her life as a resident and needs humor. I designed a letter from the Red Cross saying I heard that they were being held ransom and we were arranging a visit in March to check their status as hostages.

At this point copies are flying around between the US, Switzerland, Syria and France where friends and relatives are being let in on the game.

My daughter in Boston writes Socksy and Bocksy offering them hope. They write about being nearly drowned in a washing machine. Marina’s sister contributes ideas from Damascus.

The ransom price are two lipsticks, colors available in Geneva, but not in Paris. Globilization has not made it to makeup.

I arrive with the ransom. Horrors...Too late. Socksy and Bocksy are hanging from the lamp under a sign with skull and crossbones. I cut them down, even though they are blue, probably more from the dye used in their manufacture than lack of oxygen, put them in the bed and leave a label ICU. They are saved.

No one is shot at when they are returned safely to my suitcase.