‘Well, cheers!’ said Beba with a smile on her face. The three old ladies clinked glasses. The water was agreeably warm, the champagne chilled. Beba took a round chocolate cake from the tray on the edge of the pool and put it into her mouth.
‘Girls, this is amazing!’
Then she placed a selection of little cakes on a china plate for Pupa.
‘Mmmmm…’ mumbled Pupa with pleasure, and in a few seconds she had devoured the lot.
Beba and Kukla were astonished by Pupa’s sudden enthusiasm for sweet things. If anyone had shown a dedicated delight in food, it was Beba.
For a moment, Beba felt a little downcast. For the first time in her life, she could feel the power of money on her own skin. She had never in her life had money; she had lived from pay-cheque to pay-cheque, not even thinking about money. Money is like a coat made of the most expensive fur, she thought now. People treat a woman in a fur coat entirely differently from a woman in a sports jacket, and no one would be able to convince her otherwise.
‘Money is like a magic wand,’ said Beba.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Kukla.
‘As soon as you show that you have money, people who had looked at you like scum until then suddenly treat you as though you were Kate Moss!’
‘Ich deck mein schmerz mit mein nerz!’ said Pupa.
‘People simply respect you more,’ said Beba primly.
‘Money is shit. People are like flies. And where do flies land, if not on shit,’ said Pupa, resolutely bringing the conversation to an end.
Beba was a little offended at first because Pupa and Kukla did not appear to be particularly pleased about her winnings. She had dreamed up this little celebration for them, as a treat, but they were indifferent, or that is how it seemed to her. But then, thought Beba, she could not take credit for the money; it had come to her by chance. Why should they praise and congratulate her? On her stupid good fortune?
At that moment Mevludin, who had clearly skived off work, because he was wearing his ‘uniform’, burst into the pool room.
‘Well, well, well! What do you mean by starting the party without me, eh?’
‘Come on, we’re waiting for you,’ called Beba brightly.
Mevlo grabbed a glass from the invisible waiter and then, slipping off his clogs, walked slowly into the pool in his wide trousers, little waistcoat and turban.
‘Hey, my ladies! Here you are soaking in the pool like gherkins in brine. Well, then, cheers, my lovelies! And I want to toast my granny as welclass="underline" I sent her some money a few days ago so she could have lovely new teeth made, and stop clicking like castanets all over the place,’ Mevlo chattered, and then he stopped in amazement.
Coming face to face with a little old lady on a floating lounger, wearing white socks and a swimming costume from which the Teletubbies gazed out at him, for a moment Mevludin felt as though he were in the presence of some ancient divinity.
‘Excuse me for jabbering on like this, madam,’ said Mevludin.
With almost youthful sweetness, the lady offered him her little, dry hand. Mevludin was touched by this hand that resembled a bird’s claw, and then he was ashamed of his chattering.
‘Well, Mevlo, you’re right welcome, boy,’ said Beba cheerfully.
‘Ah, my lovelies, it’s all very well for you, drinking champagne and soaking yourselves in the pool,’ Mevludin opened his mouth again, but this time he addressed Beba.
‘But you’re drinking and soaking yourself too.’
‘Maybe I am, but I’m not happy.’
‘Why not?’ asked Pupa.
‘She knows,’ said Mevludin, pointing to Beba.
‘Shall I tell them?’ asked Beba.
‘Go on, tell them, love. I’ve got nothing to hide. Good things keep mum, while misfortune kicks out, showing its bare bum.’
‘Mevlo’s in love,’ explained Beba.
‘Who with?’ asked Pupa.
‘You know, that little American girl, we told you…’
‘So you’ve been blathering to all and sundry!’ said Mevlo crossly.
‘No, I haven’t, honestly, no one knows apart from the three of us!’
‘Kukla knows.’
‘Well, that’s three, presumably.’
The women burst out laughing.
‘Honestly! It’s all very well for you to wet yourselves laughing!’ said Mevlo.
‘That’s right, it’s not nice for us to be cackling, when the girl’s lost her father!’ said Beba.
‘God rest his soul, rahmetli Mr Shaker,’ said Mevlo.
‘When did it happen?’ asked Pupa.
‘Yesterday.’
‘How?’
‘The guy kicked the bucket.’
‘How?’
‘He suffocated on a golf ball.’
‘What a lovely way to die!’ said Pupa.
Kukla drank the rest of her champagne in silence, while Mevlo, Beba and Pupa discussed Mr Shaker’s ‘lovely’ death and philosophised on the theme ‘here today, gone tomorrow’. She did not seem particularly interested in their conversation. But she did give a little start when one of Pupa’s observations reached her ear.
‘Fine. Now there’s nothing in the way of your happiness!’ said Pupa, curving her long neck and directing her bright gaze in Mevludin’s direction.
How lively she’s become, all of a sudden! thought Kukla, who was anxious about Pupa’s sudden chattiness. Because on the whole she dozed or said nothing and this unexpected liveliness did not bode well.
‘I’m in the way of my happiness, like a log,’ Mevlo replied.
‘Mevlo thinks he’s not good enough for the girl, that he doesn’t speak English, which is true, and that he lacks polish,’ explained Beba.
Here Pupa raised herself up a little on her lounger and asked in a serious tone:
‘Do you pick your nose in the girl’s presence?’
‘No, I don’t, I swear by my granny,’ said Mevlo, astonished by the question.
‘Are you stingy?’ Pupa went on.
‘No, I’m not, I swear by my mother.’
‘Remember, there’s nothing worse than a stingy man!’
‘I’m not stingy, I swear by Tito!’
‘Do you chatter a lot in the girl’s presence?’
‘Well, I like talking, I can’t say I don’t, but I control myself… And anyway I can’t speak English,’ he replied candidly.
‘You’re as handsome as Apollo, you don’t pick your nose, you’re not stingy and you don’t talk too much. There’s nothing at all the matter with you!’ announced Pupa in the tone of a doctor who was a hundred per cent sure of her diagnosis.
Beba burst out laughing. Even Kukla laughed, but like someone who was just learning how to do it. Her throat just let out a sound like whinnying.
‘Who’s this Apollo guy?’ Mevlo whispered to Beba.
‘She’s saying that you look terrific, and she can’t see what the problem is.’
‘What’s the good of it if I don’t have even the remotest hint of a brain?’ said Mevludin, turning to Pupa.
‘You have clever hands!’ Beba leapt to Mevlo’s defence.
‘Beba’s right. Do you know how many children I’ve brought into the world with these hands?’ said Pupa, for some reason spreading out the fingers of one hand.
Mevludin stared in awe at the old lady on the lounger, who now reminded him of a holy chicken, because for a moment it seemed to him that instead of her hand she had spread her wing.
‘I don’t know, madam, perhaps you can tell me how to improve my situation. You’re older, wiser, you’re educated, so I assume, you can’t altogether have forgotten the syllabus,’ said Mevlo, evidently enchanted by Pupa.