Stefan Kisyov


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Part from the play ĄDesperadoesď


By Stefan Kisyov





        Teko The German


        /A Cop, A Man,
        two tourists Ė Maria and Klara/



      A summer resort at the Black Sea coast. Summer time.
      End of totalitarian regime in Eastern Europe.




Act I


         A hotel lobby. Philip stands behind the reception desk. Mitaka enters.


         Mitaka: Hello.
         Philip: Hi.
         Mitaka: How are the chicks? Who was the one in front of the ďMeteorĒ?
         Philip: Who?
         Mitaka: The blond one, tall, rather pretty?
         Philip: When?
         Mitaka: The day before yesterday, late in the evening. It seemed like you were walking her home.
         Philip: A Polish girl.
         Mitaka: Pretty, uh?
         Philip: Yap.
         Mitaka: Iíve got an Irish girlfriend now. We ran into each other in the street near ďKubanĒ. She was staggering as if dazed. I asked her the words you had written for me on a scrap of paper.
         Philip: What did you ask her?
         Mitaka: ďWhatís your name?Ē And she answered some jumbled name, difficult to make out. So, short of words, aiding myself with gestures, I suggested going for a walk. She looked kind of scared, you know. She lived in Belfast. Is there a war going on there? She would say: ďBoom, boomĒ.
         Philip: Sort of.
         Mitaka: Anyhow, she was divorced, had a child, a girl.
         Philip: Did she?
         Mitaka: Her ex-husband is in the States. He had gone on holiday and never returned. She had a post-card from him. She showed it to me.
         Philip: You could figure out a great deal of things about her.
         Mitaka: There was a friend of mine who was translating to us. I took her to the beach yesterday. I grabbed her for the butt. She rushed upon me in front of the people, you know, in a passionate manner. We could barely hold until we got to the bungalow. No kidding. And there we tossed and tumbled on the bed, the bungalow was shaking.
         Philip: (laughing) You were all to the mustard, werenít you?.
         Mitaka: I lost face after that. I asked her to buy me a bottle of whisky from Corecom. She pouted. Then, she put her clothes on, said: ďSee you!Ē and left. We didnít set up a date. Did I say anything wrong?
         Philip: You shouldnít have mentioned the whisky.
         Mitaka: It doesnít matter. I wouldnít marry her. She has got a husband, a child, and looks quite poor at that. I donít need anyone like her. A good fuck and ďgood byeĒ, thatís all.
         Philip: Donít hope for a beauty, or for a rich heiress. What is important is for the chick to be from the West.
         Mitaka: Sure, thatís why we have come to the Sunny Beach. Letís marry Western girls and leave for the West.
         Philip: It doesnít matter whether the cat is black or white. It has to catch mice.
         Mitaka: Right. Why donít you marry that French girl? Now, immediately.
         Philip: It takes time. We are writing to each other. She wants to come to Pamporovo in winter.
         Mitaka: Oh, I havenít fuck French. How is it?
         Philip: Like the rest. They are better at asking for it, though.
         Mitaka: And the Belgian girl, what is she up to?
         Philip: She is also on the chat and she is planning to come over.
         Mitaka: What about the Swedish one?
         Philip: The same.
         Mitaka: Oh-la-la. (laughter) You have nearly left for the other side.
         Philip: Nothing is certain yet. As luck has it. I am still waiting.
         Mitaka: Luck will have it right. And we will get away from this squalor. Italy, Campari, Alfa Romeo!


         Mitaka leaves the scene.




Who is the bigger cheater



         Entrance to a night club. Mitaka in a uniform. Teko The German approaches him.


         Mitaka: Where are you going?
         Teko: Indoors.
         Mitaka: You canít go inside.
         Teko: Why not?
         Mitaka: Donít you know? It is only for foreign guests. For big shots with big money, not for scruffy guys like you.
         Teko: I am a foreigner.
         Mitaka: You, wretched nincompoop?
         Teko: Donít snub me.
         Mitaka: Look at you. Donít you have a mirror at home? You look like a gipsy.
         Teko: Donít dareÖ
         Mitaka: No use staying here. (he pushes him back) Get clear. What people. You talk to him clearly, he doesnít get it. He doesnít have money to buy a chewing gum but he is trying to crash the swell bars. Get clear, creeper, go away.
         Teko: I am a German resident, Mister. I am Bulgarian but I have lived in Germany for the last ten years. I am here on holiday.
         Mitaka: Look at you! A German resident. If you were one I would be from Mars. Get clear before I get cross. I hang out all night and the likes of you get on my nerves. I am about to give you a punch. But there are swell guys around and I donít want to make spectacles.
         Teko: I told you, you donít have the right to kick me out. I am a German resident. If I canít go inside as a Bulgarian I will use my German citizenship.
         Mitaka: Donít fool around with me. I have seen the likes of you. Americans, Germans, French. If you were Bulgarian you had to be someone. Youíve got to be a big shot with loads of money and fancy chick. Have you got a car, a fancy car? A guard? These are the guys that come along to the club. None like you. Go away, get clear!
         Teko: Please, believe me. Iíve got to go inside. Iíve a date inside. Why are you picking on me?
         Mitaka: (slyly) OK, gipsy. Let me see your German passport. Show it to me.
         Teko: Just a moment.
         (he searches his pockets)
         Mitaka: You are never going to find it, I knew it.
         Teko: Iíll find it. (he keeps fiddling in his pockets.)
         Mitaka: Enough. Turn your back, walk away. Iíve got no more time to waste with you. The night is long, Iíve got work to do.
         Teko: I donít know where I put it. Wait a bit, Iíll find it. Just a minute.


         Mitaka grabs him for the collar, and kicks him away, he whack him and the short one tumbles down.


         Teko: Donít beat me.
         Mitaka: If I beated you you would be dead.
         Teko: Let me go.
         Mitaka: Wretched creeper.
         Teko: OK, I am going.
         At this moment his passport slips down on the ground. Mitaka picks it up.


         Mitaka: Look at that. What is that? (he scans the pasport)
         Teko: Thatís my passport.
         Mitaka: Letís have a close look. Yes, thatís your passport. It looks like it. A German passport, not fake it seems. So you didnít try to cheat me. I lost face. I am sorry. Stand up, Mister. No problems. Go in. Iíll arrange a table for you if you want one. It is quite crowded inside.
         The short one gets up, he pulls himself together, takes his passport.
         Mitaka: Take my apology.
         Teko: Is Pero here?
         Mitaka: Pero? (frightened)
         Teko: Is he here?
         Mitaka: Yes, he came a while ago. Is it him you have to meet?
         Teko: (he grabs Mitaka) Do you know who I am?
         Mitaka: A German guy.
         Teko: Yes, I am. (he slaps him) Donít kick me around next time. (he slaps him again) What a bustard!




The Night of the Drowners



         Night. A hotel lobby. Philip is alone. He smokes nervously, looks around. Margy turns up. She enters the deserted lobby and smiles. Her shining smile dissipates the darkness. She stops by the reception desk and winks at the receptionist. Some radio music can be heard.


         Margy: What are you doing here all night?
         Philip: I usually sleep.
         Margy: Are you allowed to do that?
         Philip: No.
         Margy: Why do you sleep then?
         Philip: Because I feel like. I took the liberty to snooze even during my military service, when I was on duty and ran the risk of being caught up and arrested.
         Margy: You are nuts. In Denmark that wouldnít have been possible and nobody would even think of doing it. There people do their duties.
         Philip: Bulgaria is not Denmark.
         Margy: I know that. Here people and life are awful. Especially people. They are like pigs. Do you understand?
         Philip: Yes.
         Margy: They drop litter on the street, spit and swear in presence of women. There is nothing like that in the West.
         Philip: Oh, I have heard stories about the West. (angrily) They may be true but it is important what is going on here.
         Margy: What do you mean?
         Philip: You, the Westerners, men and women. When you are here you all become like us. You queue up for the mini-train and the buses, you change money on the black market, and you look for a good fuck. So, donít talk to me about your sense of morality.
         Margy: I am not at all that sort of person. I donít approve of such a behaviour.
         Philip: I know. You are an exception. But everybody else does it. Sometimes it seems they come for nothing but to do things like these. To forget their luxurious life for a while and face up the rough reality. Life here still smacks of the real, it is not made-up by some rich kids and sleek boys that wander on what to lavish their money. All of you come here not only for the sea, the sun and the inexpensive life but to live a bit more naturally, a bit like savages. I donít deny that we are savages compared to you. But if you lived in similar circumstances you would have become like us even worse. For instance, I have recently watched two German women from Berlin. A mother and a daughter.
         Margy: What were they doing?
         Philip: I was watching them while they were sun-bathing on the beach. They had arrived the previous week. I got a wind that they were staying at the ďMeteorĒ hotel, and they were lying on the strip of sand in front of the hotel. Thatís where I am used to hanging around.
         Margy: I know. Thatís where we met.
         Philip: Anyhow. These women were alone in the beginning. Then, two Serbian men joined their company. First, they were just chatting, next, the men started spreading sun-cream on their backs, then, they were already snogging each other.
         Margy: Why not? Whatís wrong with that?
         Philip: (as he speaks he is putting his arm on the back of the Danish woman) Thatís the way things turn out. At the beginning the mother and the daughter were reluctant. But gradually they gave in. They started to kiss and neck, both of the women didnít have tops and the hands of the men were in their bikinis. The couples were snogging on the beach in public.
         Margy: This is awful!
         Philip: I thought the same. I was thinking of the daughterís father. I thought that even if the woman was divorced she shouldnít have behaved that way. I was old-fashioned. I was indignant.
         Margy: I am indignant too.
         Philip: In fact, what I resented most was not the fact that they were snogging but that they were not ashamed of each other. Do you know what happened later? They went for a swim in the sea, swam past the buoys. And as they were swimming a scooter raced above their heads and cut them off. As if with a rasor their heads were chopped off. The chopped heads were not found. Their corpses were sent back to Germany without them. Can you imagine that?
         Margy: No, I canít, thatís horrendous, say it was not true.
         Philip: It was true. As they were swimming their heads were cut off. Nobody saw them. Anyhow. That case changed my ideas about good and bad, ugly and beautiful. You see? Everything may snap in an instant, as if we are actors in a farce.
         Margy: (weeping) Yes, I see.
         Philip: People are smaller than life. We are like ants. Life is big, filled with surprises and sometimes rather short. Like a full-moon night. We dream awake and only the pain is for real.
         Margy: Yes, yes. (hugging him)


         Philip starts embracing her passionately. He is taking her clothes off. At that moment someone knocks at the door. A cop appears at the threshold. Margy ducks her head. Philip stands still behind her. The cop sneers.


         The cop: How is it going?
         Philip: All right.


         The cop leaves.
         Margy: Did he see us?
         Philip: Yes.
         Margy: That turned me up even more.


         Both of them continue toÖ


         Margy: Oh, it feels good, it feels so good, yes, as if I am sinking deep down, I am drowning.




The Cop



         A hotel lobby. Broad day-light. Inside the hotel. Mitaka enters. A uniformed cop turns up. He looks as if he was following him.


         The cop: Hey!


         Mitaka pretends he does not hear.


         The cop: Hey, I am talking to you. Come here for a minute!
         Mirtaka: Me?
         The cop: Yes, you. Come here.
         Mitaka: Yes?
         The cop: closer, boy.


         Mitaka approaches. She bends down his head.


         The cop: What are you doing here?
         Mitaka: I am passing by.
         The cop: What?
         Mitaka: Passing by.
         The cop: How is that? This is not the street. Give me your passport.
         Mitaka: Just a moment. (fiddles in his pockets) just a moment. I will give it to you.
         The cop: Quickly! Come on!
         Mitaka: It was hereÖ
         The cop: It was here. How long am I going to wait for you?
         Mitaka: I am sure I took it.
         The cop: You are getting on my nerves.
         Mitaka: I may have forgotten it. I was about to take it but I did not.
         The cop: How the hell you would forget your passport! You are obliged to carry it with you. Donít you know that?
         Mitaka: I know. It is always on me. Just now.
         The cop: Come along with me.
         Mitaka: Where?
         The cop: You will see. Come on.
         Mitaka: ok.


         The two go to a premise behind the reception desk which is unlit.


         The cop: Stay here.
         Mitaka: All right.
         The cop: Say, who are you?
         Mitaka: Me?
         The cop: Yes you, not me.
         Mitaka: I am a janitor.
         The cop: Give me the bucks.
         Mitaka: What bucks?
         The cop: No need putting on the innocent act. Give them to me right away.
         Mitaka: Iíve got no bucks.
         The cop: You have not? Turn your pockets upside down. Let me see what youíve got. Quickly!
         Mitaka: OK. (he empties his pockets, the cop rummages in the stuff.)
         The cop: Take your shoes off. Quickly!
         Mitaka: What?
         The cop: Donít say what. Say ďpleaseĒ. Do you hear? I told you to take your shoes off, creep.
         Mitaka: I...
         The cop: (kicks the boy in the calf) NoĒIĒ. Get your act together. (he kicks him again) Quckly, do what I am telling you.
         Mitaka: All right. (he takes his shoes off)
         The cop: (he looks at them) The socks.
         Mitaka: I have no bucks.
         The cop: Yes, you have. Take them off, son of a bitch.


         He kicks him again. Mitaka grits his teeth.


         The cop: Come on! (he pulls out a gun and points at Mitaka) Make haste.
         Mitaka: OK (takes his socks off)
         The cop: (steps on them) Raise your hands! Above your head.


         Mitaka raises his hands. The cop searches him.


         The cop: Take your clothes off.
         Mitaka: Iíve got no bucks.
         The cop: Take your clothes off, I said. (kicks him again) Ass-hole.
         Mitaka: OK.


         He divests himself. The cop searches in his clothes.


         Mitaka: I told you I had no bucks.
         The cop: Get down your shorts.
         Mitaka: ButÖ
         The cop: The shorts. Quickly. (he points the gun at his belly) Come on.
         Mitaka: OK, OK. (he pulls off the shorts) No dollars.
         The cop: (the cop pushes the gun in his mouth) I will blow your mind off. Are you playing tricks on me? You are wasting my time. You are hanging out in my area cheating on me. I will kill you, you son of a bitch. You ass-hole, creeper. You are trying to cheat me, to take me in with your petty tricks. I have to hang out in that hotel for the likes of you. And to put up with your tricks. I will fuck you. I wouldnít give a shit, I will shoot you with that gun. Fuck you!


         The cop lets Mitaka go. Mitaka pants, stares frightened.


         The cop: (also panting) I may not kill you, you look cool. Shall I let you loose? Shall I?
         Mitaka: PleaseÖ
         The cop: I may let you loose. Just say truthfully what you are doing in my area.
         Mitaka: I was just passing by andÖ
         The cop: And you came in.
         Mitaka: Yes.
         The cop: To change money.
         Mitaka: No!
         The cop: How no? Why? Why did you come in? Donít lie to me. (he corners him with the gun)
         Mitaka: I was looking for a chick.
         The cop: A chick. Why were you looking for her? To fuck her. A western chick. Is that why you came here in my area? Or youíve already fucked her. Where is she? In this hotel? Waiting for you to lay her down. How do you do it? How do you lay them down? What are you saying so that they get a crush on you? Tell me. Sweet words? You mumble in their ears dirty words until their slips get wet and then you screw them up on the beach. They squirt and squeeze, and you are drivelling. Is that so? Say it, you ass-hole. Tell me so that I know it.


         (he keeps the man cornered with the gun)


         Mitaka: Yes, thatís how I do it.
         The cop: How is it? So it is. And I have to guard you. To snivel and drivel and keep a guard.
         Mitaka: No.
         The cop: What is this no? Who do you think I am? Some nincompoop that is going to be taken in by your crap? I have to drudge, to sweat in that scruffy uniform while you chase chicks on the beach. Day shifts are 12 hours and night shifts are 12 hours. Every day. No break. To catch thieves. To cope with drunkards. You fuck, I drudge. I am at the end of my tether. Because I am dumb. Am I dumb? Say, creep.
         Mitaka: No.
         The cop: What ďnoĒ.
         Mitaka: You are not dumb.
         The cop: I am not. You said Ďnoí. Iíve got a family. Iíve got a wife. Children. I also want to fuck whores. But Iíve got to drudge. Iíve got to keep it under control. I am responsible for every tourist who brings currency to that country. I am responsible for you too. Why should I drudge then? Why should I work for nothing? Give me some bucks if I am not a dunce. Look at him. Heís got no dollars. What have you got then, ass-hole? Should I kill you or should I not kill you? What shall I do to you? I keep wondering. I havenít made up my mind yet as to that. What sort of a janitor are you on earth if you donít have bucks. Have you any?
         Mitaka: I havenít.
         The cop: No, I am not gonna kill you. You are a cool guy. But you will give me a blow-job. Come on, duncehead. As soon as you do a blow-job you will breathe again. You will stay alive and then, you can go to your tart.
         Mitaka: What?
         The cop: Bucks or a blow-job, thatís what.
         Mitaka: No, no, please, no way. I canít
         The cop: You canít. Are you pulling my leg? You will do it, no way. Lie down, on your belly. Donít pray to me. To me you do a blow-job. (he unbuttons his pants) Blow, ass-hole.
         Mitaka: NoÖnoÖ
         The cop: How Ďnoí? You are here, in my area, do what I am telling you, thatís how it is in my area. You pay or you blowÖ.No middle-groundÖyou pay or you blow.Ö




Teko the German


         A deserted hotel lobby. Philip takes a nap. Teko and Maria enter.


         Teko: Hello, this is not a bedroom.


         Philip props up and rubs his eyes.


         Teko: Why are staring at me that way as if you are going to beat me?
         Philip: Who are you?
         Teko: Get your look straight.
         Philip: Go away.
         Teko: I am gone. Donít play the smart guy. I know your sort and I can set it right with such a lot.
         Philip: Are you drunk?
         Teko: Donít talk to me like that! Who do you think you are? Nincompoop!
         Philip: Get away!
         Teko: You, canting creep, take 10 marks and shut your mouth.


         He gives money to the receptionist who glares at him.


         Philip: You are nuts.
         Teko: Your nanny is nuts, you donít know who you are dealing with.
         Philip: Hey, wake up.
         Teko: Do you want more money?
         Philip: I donít want your money.
         Teko: But you took this.
         Philip: Why donít you shoot yourself.
         Teko: Watch out, boy. When you donít know the man, you run the risk of getting a bad after-taste. Take it from me. You wonít regret it if you listen to me. Am I making myself clear?
         Philip: Take the money and get clear.
         Teko: Ha-ha. Youíve taken offense. Take it easy. Iíve got a room in your fucking hotel.
         Philip: A room?
         Teko: Room 205. Give me the key.
         Philip: (something comes to his mind) So you were that screw-loose.
         Teko: You are again being smart, trying to crack jokes. Didnít you feel sleepy?
         Philip: When a guy like you passes by I am wide-awake.
         Teko: I have given you money, havenít I?
         Philip: Fuck you.
         Teko: In this fucking country nobody has good manners.
         Philip: You look as if you have never been to school.
         Teko: You know what you are? You have no guts. You shit in your pants as you look at me.
         Philip: What the hell do you want from me?
         Teko: I want a drink. Have you got a booze?
         Philip: Only soft drinks.
         Teko: Soft drinks, like in heaven. Give me some booze. Here are 10 marks. Have you seen that much money in one place.


         Philip passes a bottle of soft drink.


         Teko: You donít need to give me the change.
         Philip: No, take the change.
         Teko: Donít be nutty. Take the money and be cool. Get a cigarette. (he hands out a packet of foreign cigarettes) What brand do you smoke?
         Philip: (takes a cigarette) Cheap ones.
         Teko: Buy good ones if you care about your health.
         Philip: Are there healthy ones?
         Teko: Stop playing the witty one to me. I live in Germany but before that I worked here and I know the rules of the game. So, no use even of trying to shock me. Am I making myself clear? Canít hear you, speak louder.
         Philip: I havenít said anything.
         Teko: Do you know what is this Germany? Have you been to Germany?
         Philip: I may have been there?
         Teko: You may but you havenít. It shows in your rustic tricks. You are nothing but a Bulgarian peasant that has come to pick up foreign chicks. You have some brain but you donít look fit for that. If you were in love you would be a beaten card. I know the likes of you.
         Philip: I donít give a shit.
         Teko: You have plenty of it. And you are groveling in it. I am in the picture. You are all miserable and you just imagine you have got a life. You live like worms groveling in the mire. I also lived in the mud like you. But I found a way to save myself and now I am in Germany, in Hamburg. You know what kind of city is Hamburg? Just a brief walk in a street in the Red Light District will blow off your mind. What tarts there are. You have never seen any like these and you will never find anything like that. But you will be rotting here. Do you know what the Germans eat? You wanna have a look?
         Philip: You mean the sausages?
         Teko: Yes, booby. Iíve brought one from Germany because I canít eat the Bulgarian crap. Iíve also brought whisky. Wait a second.


         (He leaves and returns shortly after that, hands out a sausage from Hamburg to the receptionist.)


         Teko: Here it is. Look. Have you seen anything like this before? It is not filled with crap like the Bulgarian ones. Wait! Here is the bread. Look! German bread. Full-corn. I have everything on me. There is no good food around here. Life is no good here and nothing is the way it should be. I hate that country despite the fact that I was born here. Thatís why I hate it. So, donít play tricks on me. Do you want to eat sausage?
         Philip: Why donít you go to bed?
         Teko: Booby, a little Bulgarian booby, you will be rotting here.
         Maria: Letís go to bed.
         Teko: Go to bed?
         Maria: I feel sleepy.
         Teko: In this fucking country everybody is half-asleep. Why? Why are you so sleepy? Do you work a lot?
         Maria: Yes, we do.
         Teko: How much do you want to fuck that booby the receptionist?
         Maria: (laughing) Good Heavens!
         Teko: Joking apart.
         Maria: (insulted) Donít dare talk to me like that.
         Teko: (pulling out money) Here, take it. 1000 marks. How much do you want to fuck him. Take the money.


         Teko shoves the money in the hands of the woman. She withdraws.


         Maria: Please, let me go.
         Teko: Hold it, donít pretend you are special.
         Maria: You are overdoing it.
         Teko: You all sell yourself here. All over the world folk sell themselves but you donít even know how to do it here. Now, I want to give you a lesson how to do it as in the West. A fuck in Hamburg cost 100 marks. You can find cheaper and more expensive. You, how much would you charge?
         Maria: Get your money back. (she is about to leave but Teko grips her).
         Teko: Have a look at him. Young and handsome. You wonít lose anything. Just say how much. The money is yours. I will be watching. He will be fucking and I will be watching. Bulgarian sexual intercourse. Say how much.
         Maria: (hesitant) Now I see that you are kidding.
         Teko: I am not kidding. How much do you want? Oh, yes. Bulgarian modesty. The modest Bulgarian women. If he were a Westerner you would got lain right away. But not with this guy. He hasnít got money. Here it is. I am paying. Say how much you want.


         The woman is silent.


         Teko: 200 marks.
         Maria: 200?
         Teko: How much?
         Maria: Thousand.
         Teko: Isnít it too much for one fuck.
         Maria: Thatís the way it is in Bulgaria.
         Teko: You are making me laugh. I come to fancy you. But I donít feel like fucking you. I will be just watching. Here it is 1000 marks. (he turns away towards the receptionist) Where are you going to fuck her? Here or shall we go to my room?
         Philip: I guessÖ
         Teko: You want money too? Donít play tricks on me. If you refuse you lose everything. Make up your mind.
         Philip: I will.
         Teko: Without payment.
         Philip: Without payment.
         Teko: Letís go then. I want a full programme.




Olives Trader



         Mitaka and Klara sit on a bench in a park. In the background there is a bungalow and a sheet and underwear hung in front of it. A few men in white shorts play cards on a table in front of the bungalow.


         Mitaka: I am for the first time in Bulgaria. I have been all around the world and nothing can surprise me.
         Klara: You havenít told me which you thought was the most beautiful country in the world. Tell me, come on.
         Mitaka: Yes, I will tell you, good. It is, of course, Greece, my home country.
         Klara: It is not fair. You are getting away with the answer.
         Mitaka: I am not getting away. It is the most hospitable and the most beautiful country in the world.
         Klara: Really?
         Mitaka: You have to see the Acropolis, Athens, Pireus, Thessaloniki. This is the paradise on earth. The sun, the sea, olives. Music. Wonders! You have to go there. This will be your most beautiful experience. I promise.
         Klara: I have never been to Greece.
         Mitaka: We will arrange it.
         Klara: You will arrange it?
         Mitaka: I will invite you on a visit in my villa on the island of Crete! We will drink chilled ouzo in the olive grove near the harbour. Then, we will ride my yacht, we will get to a small isle and will swim like gods in the limpid waters of the bay. In the evening I will take you to a tavern, we will break pottery and dance sirtaki under the stars and the wind will be blowing. Thatís my proposal. It is for you to accept. We will live through our most exciting summer with the scent of the sea, fish and oranges. A summer in Greece.
         Klara: (dreamily) ButÖ I donít understand.
         Mitaka: I am rich and I like helping my friends, I invite guests from the whole world to my homeÖ
         Klara: To the island of Crete?
         Mitaka: Yes! If only you knew what view there was from my bedroom window: the peaks of the Olimpus mountain, the endless sea and the blue sky.
         Klara: But we have just made an acquaintance.
         Mitaka: It makes no difference.
         Klara: Really?
         Mitaka: Trust me.
         Klara: What is your occupation?
         Mitaka: (after a short hesitation) I trade in olives.
         Klara: Great! Olive trader.
         Mitaka: (timidly) Olive trader.
         Klara: And how do you trade with the olives?
         Mitaka: I am sailing the seas with a big ship. It is filled with olives.
         Klara: Donít they get sour in the heat?
         Mitaka: I have many freezers. It is cold inside.
         Klara: How silly of me to ask such a question.
         Mitaka: I am sailing the seas and when I get to a port I moor.
         Klara: At the port?
         Mitaka: At the port. There I moor the ship and I strike bargains.
         Klara: How interesting!
         Mitaka: I sell a lot of olives, and I earn a lot of money.
         Klara: It sounds incredible.
         Mitaka: Plenty of olives. Tons of olives. They get unloaded with cranes and uploaded on trucksÖ Do you like olives?
         Klara: I love them, it is my favourite fruit. And you?
         Mitaka: I donít need to like them. I sell them.


         They laugh.


         Mitaka: I am one of the greatest olive traders in Greece. I supply Europe, Afrika, and America.
         Klara: Probably you know famous people?
         Mitaka: The most famous people in the world.
         Klara: (her voice trembles) Actors?
         Mitaka: Everybody in Hollywood buys my olives. They are vegetarians and eat mainly olives. I know Michael Jackson.
         Klara: Do you?
         Mitaka: He loves olives.
         Klara: Who else?
         Mitaka: Everybody. I donít remember names. But they know me. Everybody knows me.
         Klara: But why are you here now? Do you work?
         Mitaka: (modestly) I had a deal for ten tons of olives. Here the scale is smaller. This afternoon I struck the deal on the phone. A petty deal. But I am a bit tired and intend to stay for a couple of days on holiday. I am human after all.
         Klara: The beach is wonderful here.


         One of the men playing cards shouts from the table


         The man: Who is that, Mitaka?
         Mitaka: An acquaintance. A miserable girl.
         The man: We will console her. (he laughs loudly, the others join.)
         Mitaka: Thatís what Iím doing.
         The man: We know, chap. But donít be late for work tomorrow.


         Laughter from the table.


         Mitaka: Letís get done to the other work.
         The man: Big deal!


         The men continue to play.




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