2007 - Two Caravans (11 page)

While Yola and Tomasz go off in search of the ticket office, which is in another part of the building, Marta follows the signs to the toilets. She is just making her way back when she catches sight of a young man lounging around near the coffee bar, talking on his mobile phone. He seems to be looking out for someone. He is quite tall and smartly dressed, with a gold chain round his neck and a glittering jewel in one ear. His shaved head gleams shiny brown, and he is wearing black sunglasses, which give him a slightly sinister air. There is something familiar about him. She tries to get another look without staring too obviously. Suddenly, he grins and waves. Should she wave back? Then he takes off his dark glasses and she recognizes him at once: it is Vitaly.

He slips the mobile phone into his pocket and saunters over to her.

“Hi, Marta. How’s things?”

“OK.” She hesitates. So much has happened since their last supper together. “Well, to say the truth, Vitaly, not good. We had to leave the strawberry place. The farmer was injured and Ciocia Yola is worried about police.”

“Hm. Police is not good.”

“They are trying to change tickets at this moment.”

“They are going back to Poland?”

“We are all going, as soon as possible. And you, Vitaly, what are you doing? You look so smart. Are you finished with strawberry?”

“Bye-bye strawberry. Hello mobilfon.” He smiles mysteriously, then he lowers his voice. “Recruitment consultant,” he says in English.

“Vitaly!” Marta is impressed. “What is that?”

“Dynamic employment solution. Cutting edge fwhit fwhit”—he does a quick double slicing movement with the edge of his hand—“organisational answer for all your flexible staffing need.” His fluency is breathtaking.

“You have become a businessman, Vitaly! English-speaking VIP.”

She stares, feeling a little embarrassed at her own shabbiness. Already the curly-haired smiling strawberry-picking Vitaly with his appealingly wayward air has dissolved into this new smoothly confident businessman who slips effortlessly between Polish and English.

“It is a pity you have to go back so soon. I can find you an excellent employment in this area. High wage. Comfortable living situation.”

“Oh, Vitaly, how you speak temptation! I would stay, but I think Ciocia Yola wants to go home. She misses her son.” She catches the sinful twinkle in his eye, and thinks how pleasant it would be to lead him back to the path of righteousness.

At that moment, Yola and Tomasz reappear with thunderous faces. They have not been able to change their tickets. The office is closed. They have been told by someone—they are not sure who—that they must come back tomorrow or go to the office in town and queue for a possible cancellation. Now they are arguing about who it was who gave them this information, and what exactly she said. Yola says she was the office cleaner or maybe another disgruntled passenger, and her word is not to be trusted. Tomasz says she was an official from the port authority, and it is unfortunate that Yola sent her away with a wasp in her ear without listening to what she had to say.

“Why could they not simply put a notice up, instead of making us run around like idiots in this heat?” fumes Ciocia Yola. “Where is toilet? Did you find toilet, Marta? Who is this?” She stares. “Vitaly?”

Vitaly extends his hand, and shakes hers warmly.

“I hear you are thinking of returning to Poland, Yola.”

“Who has told you this?”

“Ciocia, I told him,” says Marta in her most soothing voice. “Don’t be cross. But Vitaly says he can find us excellent high-wage work in this area. Vitaly, tell Ciocia what it is you do.”

“Recruitment consultant. Cutting edge fwhit fwhit dynamic employment solution consultant with advance flexible capacity for meets all your organisational staffing need.” He seems to be picking up speed as he repeats it.

“My God!” says Yola. “Vitaly, you have become somebody.”

He lowers his head modestly.

“I am working for British company. Nightingale Human Solution. I have been on
training seminar
.”

“Trenning semeenar—what is this, Vitaly?” Marta cannot conceal the wonder in her voice.

“Oh, is nothing,” Vitaly smiles modestly. “Anyone can do it. You only have to learn some words in English. And of course contacts. The main thing is to have contacts.”

“You have contacts, Vitaly?” asks Yola. Despite her previous status as supervisor and gang-mistress, she too is awestruck by this newly transformed Vitaly.

“He has mobilfon,” whispers Marta.

Only Tomasz seems unimpressed.

“We are not seeking new employment, thank you, Vitaly. We are planning to return to Poland as soon as we can change our tickets.”

“Ah, changing tickets is impossible. You will have to buy new tickets. You will need money for this.”

“This excellent employment you talking about,” Yola pursues. “What is this high wage?”

Vitaly pauses for a moment as though performing mental arithmetic.

“It will be in region of five or six hundred pound a week. Depends on performance. Maybe even more.”

They all gasp, even Tomasz. It is three times what they were earning in the strawberry field before deductions.

“And you can say goodbye to caravan. You will be staying in luxury hotel.”

“And so this employment—what will we do?” asks Marta.

“Poultry.” Vitaly slips back into English. “You will be contributing to the dynamic resurgence of the poultry industry in the British Isles. Or as we say in Polish”—he winks at Marta—“you will be feeding chickens.”

Marta pictures herself surrounded by a happy flock of plump brown birds, who cluck and strut as she scatters handfuls of grain among them. Her heart melts.

But Tomasz whispers to Ciocia Yola, “Think of Mirek. Remember the police.”

“Yes.” Ciocia Yola looks dejected. “We want no trouble. Better we go back. If we can find some way with these idiots who are running ferryboats these days. We will try again tomorrow. What do you say, Marta?”

Before Marta can say anything, Vitaly intervenes.

“I have heard, through my contacts, that as the farmer is not killed, merely injured, is no problem with police.”

“But even if he is injured,” says Tomasz, “they must make enquiries.”

“It will be only formality. It would be pity, I think, to pass by this opportunity to earn plenty good English money. Think of investments you made in your fare for coming here. Think what luxuries you can buy for your son with this money, Yola.”

“Mhm,” says Yola. Marta can see the thoughts passing across her face.

Suddenly, there is a burst of loud merry music by her ear. Di di daah da! Di di daah da! Marta jumps. It is Vitaly’s mobile phone.

“Please excuse me!” He whips it out of his breast pocket and starts jabbering in a language that is not English, nor Polish, nor Ukrainian, nor Russian, waving his free hand in the air. He is getting very agitated. An argument seems to be developing. At one point, he covers the phone with his hand, and whispers to the others, “I’m very sorry, forgive me. Urgent business matter.”

Marta tries to catch some words, but he is talking too fast. Yola and Tomasz are conferring together, weighing up the joy of chickens against the joys of returning to Poland, when suddenly the Chinese girls appear, clutching their well-licked stubs of ice-cream cones. They stop in mid-lick and start to giggle when they recognise Vitaly. They too are amazed at his transformation.

“He has become a…what are you, Vitaly?”

Vitaly beams, stows his phone in his pocket and puts his dark glasses back on.

“Dynamic employment cutting edge fwhit fwhit recruitment consultant for all you flexible solution.”

He performs a small bow. The Chinese girls giggle even more, but Vitaly quietens them with a dramatic hand gesture, and continues in his astonishingly fluent English, “If you ladies are also seeking a new employment, I have number of interesting possibilities which I would be happy to present for your consideration.”

They exchange glances that are both nervous and excited.

“I may be able to find good position for you in Amsterdam. Have you been to Amsterdam? It is a city of extraordinary beauty, built entirely on water. Like Venice, but even better.”

“I have see pictures,” says Chinese Girl Two. “Is more beautiful than Kuala Lumpur.”

“But no doubt you have boyfriends waiting for you back in China? You girls get up to all sorts of tricks, eh?” Vitaly’s voice has become suddenly low and sweet like honey. “You naughty Chinese girls sometimes sleeping with boyfriend, eh? Make nice love?” This is more like the old smilingly sinful Vitaly than the new businessman Vitaly, thinks Marta, though she is rather surprised by his questions.

“Not boyfriend,” says Chinese Girl One. Chinese Girl Two just shakes her head sadly.

“No boyfriends. That is very good news. Well”—he consults his mobile phone again, and presses a few buttons—“I think there may be good position for you looking after children in family of diplomat. Chinese diplomat based in Amsterdam. He has six children, three boys and three girls, and you will look after three each, so that is why two persons are required. They are very intelligent children, so great care and patience are needed. You must never beat them or shout at them. Do you think you will be able to do this?”

“Yes, yes,” they exclaim. “But…”

He catches Chinese Girl Two’s eye and quickly adds, Temporary job. Three months only. Regular nannies are on vacation. “Hey, don’t be afraid, you know me. You can trust me—I am your friend, I look after you.” He winks. “You will live with this family in their large luxurious house in the heart of Amsterdam’s old city. You will have your own elite apartment, and you will travel everywhere by boat. It is very prestigious position with high level of responsibility, and pay will be commensurate. You will be in euros.” He glances once more at his phone. “Five thousand euros per month.”

They gasp; it sounds a lot, even though they have no idea of the exchange rate from euros to pounds to yuan or ringgit. “I need to make some telephone calls to ascertain full details, and see whether this job is still available. I will meet you here tomorrow at midday. Bring your bags with you. And passports.”

“I too would be interested in such a job looking after children,” says Marta.

Suddenly, the fluffy brown chickens seem much less appealing. Vitaly looks at her, studies her for a moment, focusing his gaze on her nose, and smiles kindly.

“I think looking after chickens is better for you.”

After his disagreeable doze on the beach, Andriy decides it is time to take a look around Dover. Dog, still wearing his orange ribbon under his chin, comes with him, padding along at his side, sometimes going off to follow an interesting trail, then racing to catch up.

The sky has turned heavy and the light has a greyish, dirty hue. His head is aching from sleeping in the sun, and a cloud of pessimism has settled over him. He had felt so sure earlier that he would find Irina in Dover—a feeling based partly on a hunch, and partly on the fact that he too came into England via Dover, though with a different agent. But now he doesn’t know where to start. He finds the streets of Dover depressing: shops closed, houses and hotels run-down, people sullen, with tight faces. It feels like a town whose heart has died. In fact it reminds him of Donetsk, idlers with no work hanging about the streets, drinking, begging, just staring. Too many strangers like himself, looking for something that isn’t there, waiting for their luck to change. And all the time the dismal grating noise of the sea in the background, and the miserable wail of gulls.

As he wanders through the streets, the impossibility of his task grows on him. Where should he start to look? And why is he even looking for this girl? What happened to her has happened, and although of course you would have prevented it if you could, really she is not your responsibility. Her boxer boyfriend should be looking after her. Bye-bye, end of story.

Retracing his footsteps back to the beach, he passes a young man with a bucket and a fishing rod. He looks Ukrainian, with his round face and dark eyes, but it turns out he’s Bulgarian. He says, in a mixture of broken English, Bulgarian and Russian, that he has been fishing off the pier—he points vaguely beyond the beach—and the fish are for sale. Andriy buys a small mackerel and two other unspecified fish for fifty pence, and starts to feel more cheerful.

The others are already at the caravan by the time he gets back. The Chinese girls are sitting inside poring over their horoscopes and whispering with suppressed excitement. Tomasz has found an old piece of tarpaulin and some blue rope in the lorry park on the way back, for which he has amazing plans. Yola and Marta are eating ice creams, and Marta has brought one back for him. Emanuel has had the foresight to fill up the two empty Coca-Cola bottles with clean water from the public toilets.

Andriy feels a prickle of annoyance when they tell him about their encounter with Vitaly. Bye-bye strawberry, hm? Hello mobilfon? The others are talking excitedly about their new employment prospects. Will his pride allow him to ask Vitaly to find something for him? And if he does, will it be like the mark-up on the cans of beer—a business opportunity disguised as a favour?

“Come, Andriy,” says Marta. “It will be the last night we will all spend together. We must celebrate.” And suddenly Dog comes bounding up with a partly frozen chicken in his jaws.

Dear sister,

Our small strawberry family is at an end. The Polish mzungus are to undergo chicken employment and the Chinese girls are designed for Amsterdam. Only Andree and I and the Dog will endure in the caravan. For our celebration Toemash has induced a bottle of Italian wine and we found a field near Dover which is blessed with an abundance of carrots which Martyr confronted with eagerness. The Dog also has bestowed a frozen chicken upon us.

While Martyr was knifing the carrots Andree and I went about to collect firewood and so we fell upon a shaded hollow where we came upon Toemash and Yola walking together and talking with solemn voices. And when they came back to the caravan Yola was holding the hand of Toemash and in the other hand a pair of woman’s underwearings.

Then Toemash and Andree constructed a tip-top tent from the tarpaulin and blue rope collected by Toemash, and I was given to sleep on my own in the back of the landrover befitting my small size.

The feast prepared for us by Martyr was outstanding and also Toemash’s wine and soon it was time to sing. Toemash has composed an outstanding song about a band of travellers and their stories of love and misbehaviour which he sang with the companionship of his guitar and I would be very interesting to learn to play a guitar for Toemash has already taught me some chords. On my turn I sang the Benedictus from the B Minor Mass of Bach which Sister Theodosia taught to me and we gave thanks for the Friendship we have enjoyed together in the strawberry place. And in my heart I prayed once more to be reunited with you dear sister and for the speedy deliverance of Irina for I knew a storm was coming for the red sun went down through an angry swelling of white and grey clouds which obscured the rising of the moon.