One day in Europe - a short story

Stephen was no longer surprised at how easy it was to talk people into helping him with unusual projects. This particular project had more risk of harm than some of them did. But as with previous ones, after people got past their initial shock, they’d decide they were glad for an opportunity to do something that somehow mattered, and also to be a part of something that was real. And they agreed to join him.
The more refugees that had moved into this formerly nice, German neighborhood, the more dangerous it had become. They were supposed to have been general refugees from Syria. However, one couldn't help but notice that more of them were fighting-age males from Northern Africa than anyone else. How all of this had come about was not completely clear.
In any case, now that these people were here, they were here. They were displaced and not at their best, possibly traumatized, definitely angry, forming gangs, taking drugs, assaulting people, raping people, having brought the terror and chaos they were supposed to have been fleeing from with them.
Stephen didn't know if the men standing down the sidewalk were actually refugees. The more he looked at them, the more believable he found that conspiracy theory about enemy soldiers who posed as refugees in order to enter Europe, to destabilize it. Either way, he knew perfectly well what they were capable of. He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and started walking down the sidewalk. Then he realized it was important for him to make it abundantly clear that his behavior was not intended as aggressive. He took his fists out of his pockets and opened his empty palms and continued walking.
As he got nearer the corner with the three foreigners, his steps slowed, but he kept walking. The three men watched him his entire way. When he was about three meters from their group, he greeted them in German.
“Do you want something from us?” one of the foreigners asked him in English.
“Yeah”. Stephen was relieved his voice was not shaking. “My name is Stephen. I noticed you’re new in the neighborhood. If you are open to sharing a table with women and children, as men do in Germany, I’d like to invite you to have breakfast with my family, at the bistro down the street. Will you join us?”
The invitation was mad. The entire situation made no sense what so ever. Was this man seriously, intentionally putting himself and loved ones directly in harm’s way, coming out here and inviting danger to meet his family? They could easily kill him and everyone else in the building.
But then, on thinking it over, they realized what this man already knew: they could easily do that anyway.
Was this invitation on the level, or would there be an ambush inside the door? Would the food be poisoned? The unexpected, nonsensical invitation threw the three foreigners off balance. But somehow, something about it also appealed to all three of the men. Part of this was that it had been long time since any of them had been invited anywhere, or eaten a nice breakfast. And they were curious. It seemed anyway worth checking out. Anyway, if this local tried to pull anything, they could take him. “Sure. OK”.
Now that it was too late to back out, Stephen found he no longer felt afraid. He didn't know if his guests would assault him on the way back to the bistro, or if they would possibly do that once they got there. But now, it felt as if whatever was going to happen was cemented into place. All he had to do was keep walking and find out what had already been decided.
()
The four men walked into the bistro as if into a room from another world. The room smelled like baking bread and coffee. There were no obvious threats, no soldiers, no visible weapons. There was some pleasant music playing in the background. A man who appeared to be a waiter, or maybe the owner, stood with his empty hands in front of him in the back of the room, overseeing it, and smiling at the new arrivals as they came through the door. Another man, a woman, and two children were seated at a table with four empty seats, which were clearly saved for the new arrivals. There was a thermos of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice on the table, along with hard-boiled eggs, cinnamon rolls, a tomato, cucumber, feta salad, cheese, salami, rolls, and fruit salad, along the center of the table. No one had yet taken any of the food.
The expressions on all four of the faces softened as they entered the room.
Stephen began introductions. He himself was Stephen. The owner of the bistro, standing in the back of the room, was Klaus. Seated at the table were Stephen’s brother Wilhelm, Wilhelm’s wife Sophie, their son Otto, and Stephen’s daughter Greta.
Stephen then gestured to the three guests that they should introduce themselves, which they did. The one closest to Stephen, and who had spoken to him on the sidewalk, gave his name as Amal. Amal introduced Ibrahim and Nathan. And the four men took their seats.
The party began passing and serving the food. The foreigners were not accustomed to sharing a table with a woman or kids. But their world had been effectively destroyed, with them still alive. They were here now. The family-style serving plates, along with the presence of the woman and the children, and their own status as invited guests, assured the foreigners that the food was not poisoned, and they were not in danger here. Although they were still in unfamiliar territory, and they did not know or trust their hosts, it was the least threatening environment any of them had experienced in a very long time.
After talking a little, they found they shared English as a common language. Otto told a joke from his English class.
Why couldn’t Mozart find his teacher?
Nobody knew.
Because he was Haydn!
There were then a lot more jokes. And the locals told the newcomers about different places the new people should see, a great swimming pool they really must check out, and how to get around the city.
Amal, Ibrahim, and Nathan talked about their childhoods, two in Libya and one of them in Iraq. They did not say how their paths had brought them to Germany, and nobody asked them for this.
They did say that all three of them were taking German language lessons at a refugee center, and that they hoped to find work.
Klaus had come over to the table, replacing the coffee thermos with a full one. He had a friend with a construction company who could use some people. Klaus wrote down a name and address and gave it to Amal. Amal’s hand shook as he took the piece of paper.