I had travelled through half the World and knew that governments could be more or less paranoid about letting people in (and out!), but nowhere else I had witnessed such a slow and complicated process.

Not that I hadn’t be warned:

‘— Going to Molraine?! What for?!’ Stella’s tone was not reassuring.

‘— Why not? I’ve been almost everywhere, and I really want to see the Temple of God Taitei.’

‘— Look. I’ll buy you a nice book and you’ll forget about this crazy idea, o.k.?’

‘— You talk like I were going to a war zone!’

‘— It’s worse! The Molrainians are a crazy bunch. They are fanatical about sanitary safety. They invent a new rule every week. And they deeply distrust everything foreign.’

‘— I heard they can be very kind. Willing to guide visitors through the monuments and stuff.’

‘— Because they are conceited show-offs!’

I laughed. Never before I had heard the slightest xenophobic rant out of my friend’s mouth. Not even against the French. And now this passionate diatribe! She continued:

‘— Look, Mark. I will concede that Molrainians can be hospitable. I heard that if someone is willing to abide by their stupid rules, they can be lovely. But if you dare to take one step out of line…’

‘— Stella, you know me! I am a Citizen of the World! I promise you that in two days they will take me for a local.’

‘— That is to be seen,’ she said sceptically. ‘Besides, a lot can happen in two days.’

But if this conversation had any effect on me, was to heighten my desire to go to Molraine. Oh, I would love to put to the test my abilities to blend in a foreign culture. This would definitely prove everyone I was not an ‘Ugly American’.

But a three hours wait is not a sign of hospitality anywhere. Neither is the sight of men with machine guns at every corner. I noticed that the English spoken by the immigration control staff would be irreproachable, if it wouldn’t be for the seeming complete unacquaintance with the words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.

At this room, they were again screening people. Men where separated from women, and each sex proceeded through a separate door, in groups of six. Only the ones who were accompanying children came back to escort them through a third door. The others, I supposed, advanced one more step in the baroque procedure. A large banner in six languages said ‘Wait in line for the medical exam’.

After an eternity, I entered the examination room, with five other men. It was a small room covered in white tiles. The air smelled of bleach. Two male nurses, wearing masks, where discarding used gloves and putting on new ones. A military man, perhaps a sergeant, guided us sternly to six painted yellow squares in the floor.

‘—Take off your shoes and socks before stepping into the yellow square. Then strip from all your clothes.’

He was commanding, not asking, but added in what he thought was a reassuring tone:

‘— The spot where you will step is disinfected, so don’t worry.’

I was more worried about his much-too-visible gun than about athlete’s foot. He repeated the command in five other languages, while I did as instructed, hanging my clothes in a peg behind me.

‘— Now, just stay still while one of the nurses examines you.’

It was the most embarrassing experience, but none of the other men seemed to mind. I remembered my purpose of ‘blendind in Molrainian culture’ and thought to myself ‘just consider it a full body biometric scan’.

The nurses started to work in parallel, with two ‘patients’ at a time. They made a quick but through examination, examining hair, eyes, ears, nose and mouth. They felt the lymphatic nodes. Even the nails of both hands and feet were quickly inspected. What seemed worse, of course, was the ‘below the belt’ check up. They manipulated the guy’s package without any embarrassment, and then spread the buttocks to take a good look in between. The torture was over with the pricking of the index finger with a lancet, which was then inserted in a machine. The nurse would then take off his gloves, check a few ticks in a pad, put on new gloves and proceed to the next guy.

It finally came my turn. I tried to emulate the coolness of the other men, but when the nurse grabbed my buttcheeks, I secretly wished for my yellow square to turn into a hole where I could vanish.

Meanwhile, the ‘sergeant’ walked around the room, distributing some words of kindness like ‘stay put!’, ‘be quiet!’, ‘spread your legs!’ in a stern voice. When the nurse was over with me, he told us to ‘wait in silence’.

The machine with the lancets started to bip softly and spat a strip of paper. One nurse took a look at it and nodded approvingly. He spoke a few words in Molrainian to his colleague, who left the room. Then he checked a few more ticks on the pad and handed it to the sergeant.

‘— You, you, you, you and you!’, he pointed to the other men. ‘Dress up and leave.’

They started to put back their clothes, in a rush. I was wondering the reason I was not ordered to do the same, when the sergeant came directly to me:

‘— You are sick!’ he barked.

I frowned at him:

‘— Not that I know of!’

‘— You are saying you didn’t know you were sick?’

‘— I am saying I am healthy.’

‘— No, you are sick! You’ll see!’

The nurse who had left the room came back with a box, which he handed to his colleague. By this time, everybody else had left.

The nurse who had examined me before put on a new pair of latex gloves (glove-making must be a flourishing industry in this country) and came towards me.

‘— Show him,’ said the sergeant.

I was pretty sure I was in perfect health. I always did a complete check up before travelling abroad. But when the nurse grabbed my dick, I froze.

‘— There is nothing wrong there!’

He gently twisted my member to show a large and unsightly mole.

‘— Hey!’ I protested. ‘I have this since I was twelve. It is not pretty but it is not a disease or anything!’

The sergeant was furious.

‘— You may not care about your health. But we won’t let you bring disease to this country.’

I opened my mouth to retort, but the man gave a bloodcurdling shout:

‘— Be quiet!’

This left no place for further argument. Stella’s voice echoed in my mind ‘if you dare to take one step out of line…’

‘— Your obligation was to check this out before coming here. But the nurse will fix the problem.’

I found nothing to say. The nurse opened the box and took a piece of equipment form inside. It was the size of a large book and it looked threatening.

‘— Stay put while the nurse work.’

The nurse broke a seal from the extremity of the machine, revealing a hole of the shape of a 2€ coin. He handed the seal to the sergent.

‘— This shows the machine is sterile, so don’t worry.’

He really needed to work more on that reassuring tone.

But when the nurse took my penis and tried to insert it in the machine, I recoiled instinctively:

‘— What the hell do you think you’re doing!?’

‘— Stay put and shut up!’ was his answer.

The nurse tried to put me at ease:

‘— Don’t worry. We will remove the wart.’

‘— And quick,’ the sergeant added, ‘the entire queue is stalled because of you.’

Remove the wart. I was not pleased with the situation, but what could I do? Start to shout for my rights? I doubted that giving a tantrum would be the right attitude. Anyway, I was not upset for getting rid of that mole. Only I preferred to do it in a nice clinic, at home.

The machine was turned on and started to swallow my dick slowly. The sergeant shouted ‘stay put!’, but he didn’t have to. The devilish device had got a good grip of my meat and would not let it go. The tug grew to a very uncomfortable level and then all sensation disappeared.

‘— What the hell…’

‘— Anaesthesia,’ the nurse said, while pressing a few more buttons.

‘— Stay put!’ the sergeant intervened. ‘It will be a short wait.’

The machine made some awful gurgling noises. Stupid idea of operating on standing people! The thought on what would be happening inside that box started to make me dizzy.

‘— I don’t feel so good.’

‘— It is almost over.’

Indeed, a minute later the device biped gently. The nurse spoke something in Molrainian, which I could not understand. The sergeant translated:

‘— We will take off the machine now.’

The nurse pressed a button and the tugging sensation came back in all its previous intensity, but now it was decreasing instead of growing.

I was curious to see how neat that kind of ‘surgery in a box’ would be. My cock would certainly look nicer without that mole. I only wished it would heal fast, so I could share the benefits of my small cosmetic surgery with a nice Molrainian girl.

The sergeant cleared his throat and said in a softer voice:

‘— After we remove the machine, try to keep your calm. Please.’

Keep my calm? ‘Please’?! This was the first time I heard the word in Molraine, and it didn’t hit me as a good sign. For some reason, he moved behind me.

The machine relaxed completely its grip and the nurse took it away.

Nothing could prepare me for that shock. My eyes were surely playing tricks on me, otherwise I wouldn’t be seeing that tiny stump in the place occupied by my cock a few minutes before. On the hope my fingers would expose the deception of my eyes, I reached for it, but felt only a pitiful stub. When I blacked out, the sergeant was ready to catch me.

I woke up in a very small room, completely dressed. The nurse took my wrist and felt my pulse.

‘— Hope you are feeling better.’ he said. ‘I am pleased to say the admission process is over and you are free to enter the country.’

I couldn’t decide if I was more shocked or furious.

‘—What have you done to me? You said you would remove the mole!’

‘— And that’s what we did,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘— You can’t do this to me! I’m an American!’ Never before I conceived those words leaving my mouth. I could hear Stella saying ‘I told you so!’.

The nurse gave me a sympathetic look.

‘— It is already done. It was a necessary sanitary measure. But now that you are clean, you are very welcome to Molraine.’

‘— Welcome, my ass! You will put it back, oh, you will! I will call the Embassy!’

He scratched his head, amused.

‘— Look, not even the ambassador will be able to reimplant an incinerated penis.’

One could not argue with that. I went to my hotel, made some phone calls, and slept like I had run the marathon.

The next morning, the ambassador received me in person, but she offered no sympathy:

‘— We keep telling people not to come here! The Morainians are a crazy bunch. They are fanatical about sanitary safety. They invent a new rule every week. And they deeply…’

‘— I know, I know! But this is a scandal! I am a foreign citizen! An American citizen! They can’t just castrate me like that!’

‘— It was not castration, it was penectomy. And if you read the Treaty of Sogue, you will discover that the gonads are protected under Section 4, Paragraph 23 of International Sanitary Measures. But not the membrum virile. It was a technical oversight of the committee.’

‘— Technical oversight?! And what am I to do now?’

‘— If you want to return immediately, the Embassy can help you to negotiate with your Airline.’

‘— Not without seeing the Temple of Taitei!’

‘— The Temple of Taitei is closed for renovations. But if you are interested on it, the Embassy can offer you a beautiful book.’

She looked puzzled when I broke down, sobbing.