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.”