A Day in the Life…
WALTER AND RICHARD
I told Walter yesterday that I won’t be coming to the garden tomorrow. I will have my gum surgery in the afternoon. Stay in bed right after the surgery, and all the best, he said. See you on Thursday.
Richard is coming on Thursday —what shall we cook? Walter asked. Oh, you know he’s vegan. Cook something he can eat, I told him.
Richard is a Viennese friend I’ve known for many years. He was 20 then, pushing 60 in one month. When did he turn vegan? It was probably during one of his travels to exotic lands that he learned strange languages. Imagine a plump Buddha, donned in a saffron-colored wrap-around — that could be Richard. Depending on his mood swings, he would drop me a line occasionally. Now and then, it is like once every 3 months. About time you came to the garden, the cherries are now ripe; I told him last time he contacted me through Messenger. He never calls.
Is next week OK? Richard asked. Next week is OK, but the cherries? He is free this Thursday. Would that be fine? He was quick to ask. I eagerly anticipated his visit. See you Thursday, I said. I texted him later to say my dental appointment was on Thursday instead and asked if he could come to the garden on Friday.
Walter has four mangoes on his kitchen table, wrinkled now and with big patches of black on what was once yellow skin. I should not wonder; they have been there since I gave them to him when I returned from the Philippines. He asked me to bring some for him, his friend, and that friend. No mangoes, I said. You just let them rot. No, he won’t, he promised. Not that Walter does not keep his promises; he can easily forget, like the mangoes and rice cakes which he kept in a paper bag the day he got them from me, the day I arrived home. Mangoes and suman are Filipino delicacies that Walter cannot resist. You can forget the mangoes, but not the suman.
Walter hopes he can still make something of them—a mango-yogurt cake. With Walter, hope springs eternal. And he hopes Richard can come on Friday for the mango-berry-yogurt torte and more.
GUM SURGERY
Sometime in November last year, a fistula developed on the lower right side of my gum, which can be the result of an infected tooth, an inflamed root canal, or whatever my dentist thought it was. As I left for home, my dentist suggested postponing the surgery until I was back. She prescribed antibiotics, which I was to take one hour before surgery. That was two weeks ago; plenty of time to buy the medicines. The trouble was that I could not find the prescription on the day of my surgery. I am good at procrastinating, hence. I called a friend—a walking medicine cabinet, I know—and asked if she had some for me; I needed two. Yes, she has, but they expired in September last year. I said that should still be OK, not wanting to see my dentist for another prescription. Better call Jim, our doctor friend. I’d rather not; he told me when I called. Seven months after they expired is no good, he said
What shall I do now? I panicked and searched everywhere I might have put the prescription. I checked the garbage bin, but it was not there. The blue jeans I had when I last saw the dentist, nada! I searched everywhere. It was inside the pocket of the sling bag I had that day at the dentist. I found it precisely an hour before my scheduled sex change – this was what I told my friend with the expired antibiotics. She texted me earlier to ask what kind of surgery I was having. I thought she knew. It must have slipped her mind, I thought to myself, that I’d already told her once while we were on Chat and then again during a mahjong game. It must have been that she lost some rounds in the game, or it must have been the effect of the twilight years manifesting too soon—the cruel, cruel reality.
Yes, what can I do for you? I told her and gave her my name. You don’t have one, she said, checking the list on her computer.
Who gave you the appointment? You, who else? I was a bit annoyed and did not hide it from her.
Do you have the piece of paper with you where I wrote the appointed date and time? I have dead cocksure.
Shoot. I was scheduled for June 7 only! How could I overlook it? Oh, the effects of the twilight years manifesting too soon. The disappointment was palpable. Cruel, cruel reality!
Remember to take two antibiotics one hour before your surgery tomorrow! That was the dental secretary reminding me, grinning, albeit disgusted, I could tell, as she bid me Aufwiederseh’n.
GROCERIES
It was a humid day, the sky sweltering; I could smell stormy weather on the way. I went to the garden despite the impending storm. I saw Walter coming from his garden, carrying a plastic shopping bag. He was surprised to see me. I began explaining. He said I could go with him to the grocery store. You’re kidding! I wanted to say. When Walter goes grocery shopping, he checks out the whole place. He would go around every stall, taking his time to see what he might need. He usually has a list of things to buy, but today was different. And I would always be walking behind him, pushing a grocery cart, getting dizzy, following him around like those househelps I see back home when the masters go shopping. It was a comical sight, to say the least.
Done with that grocery store, we drove to the next, a much bigger place. For this, Walter had a long list of specific items to buy. Guess who will carry the heavy shopping bags home? I consider myself lucky that, when he has a lot to unload, he can park his car at the gate of the garden community where he has his garden house. That helps, although I still have to walk from the entrance past three houses to his. Walter would typically drop his bags of goodies at the gate while driving back to the parking lot, during which time the big black birds feast on his groceries. I did the same, and when I returned to the gate for the other bags, I saw the giant scavengers on top of everything, crowing with all their might, excited like little kids for the surprises big and small that Mommy and Daddy brought home from a shopping trip. Bastards – the birds, of course!
GYPSIES WORKING BLACK
Walter recently decided to have his garden roof changed while I was not looking. I was home in the Philippines. I came back and saw the heaps of bricks from the old roof left everywhere by the people who worked there. The workers did a lousy job cleaning up their mess. Who did the job? I asked. Gypsies, Walter said with a shrug. I could not believe what he had just said.
No gypsies will ever set foot in my garden, Walter used to say. No, not interested, he would say to the gypsy who would stop at his garden gate hawking strawberries in late spring. To the guy insisting that he can change his roof, he would say harshly, Go away; nothing’s wrong with my roof.
They are criminals; they will steal from you! I heard him say this every time a stranger—usually from the East Bloc—came to his gate to offer work for little money. You don’t trust them, he told me each time. Therefore, I was surprised that he let these strangers work on his roof.
I don’t know why it was the only explanation he could say. A case of the so-called “budul-budol “gang syndicate, which operates in the Philippines? Budul-Budol is a sophisticated yet straightforward way to build older people’s trust, most often from an individual or group who are strangers to the victim. They talk to you until you give to these budul-budol people what they want from you. Victims often say that they do not know how it happened. It was like they got hypnotized. Crap, I always say every time someone tells me about falling into the pit.
It must have been sweet talk that made Walter fall into the pit and let these strangers set foot in his garden. For 500 Euros per square meter, he could have a new roof, they told him. He probably did not bother to ask the gypsy Budul-Budol gang how much the whole job might cost him. They wanted a whopping 4k Euros from him—for the hours spent and the corrugated roofing materials used, not bricks.
Because Walter had little cash on hand at home, he asked them to come back the next day, on the condition that they clean up the place and take the old bricks with them, as agreed on the first day. They returned alright, but only to say they would do it next time because they had no transport. No way they could dupe Walter this time. Come back for your money when you are ready to clean up the place, he told the gypsies. They returned, but there was still no container to dump the old bricks. They left and never came back until that afternoon.
Meanwhile, I had to do the dirty work of moving those bricks, stacked everywhere, like the corner where Walter has his washer and dryer. My back was hurting for the next couple of days.
I was working on my laptop when I heard a voice at the gate. It was one of the gypsy construction workers. Walter let him in. I heard him say he could only clean up the mess if Walter gave the money before work began. No, you take away the shit you made, and we are paying, I said in a booming voice which startled the gypsy – a very handsome young fellow, I must say – a black-haired and fair-skinned young fellow with “smiling “eyes, and a beautiful figure, probably from lifting bricks. Hello, he said, approaching me with a sweet smile, introducing himself, and shaking my hand. Suddenly, the storm in me subsided. The next time I spoke, it was in a very calm, almost apologetic voice. Shit! Budul-Budol rules.
He asked for a glass of water. I was worried Walter wouldn’t give him one. Facebook, he said, when he saw what I was doing. He was making small talk with me. From Romania? I asked, remembering what Walter told me – they were from Romania, these gypsies, not even a bit hiding his contempt. From Poland, the beautiful gypsy boy said. I can hear Walter mumbling loudly inside the house. Lügner, sie lügen alle Diese Kriminelle (Liar, these criminals lie). I was glad the young gypsy did not understand what he said. Maybe he did, but he ignored what was said. My “pusong mamon” was getting fluffier and softer.
And be careful with your laptop and your sling bag! That was Walter again.
Instruction from his boss, said the gypsy charmer. Walter told him to tell his boss he was paying when the last piece of bricks and shards were gone. Adonis gypsy was suddenly on the phone, talking to his boss, who I thought was not in town. He was in his car outside the main gate.
“Na, where are you going to return the ring you stole from me?” Walter said to the boss without much ado as the boss entered his garden. “Good character, huh? “Walter added sarcastically. The boss, an authentic gypsy – I know one when I see one – ignored what Walter had just said. Walter must take his word that they will clean up when they say they will. Walter was furious and said to tidy up the place and get their money. The boss noticed Walter’s face turning red, so he spoke to the Polish gypsy (how could he be a gypsy with his good looks?) and then left.
The Pole said he would pick up his wagon and start cleaning up, but he wanted to ensure they would get the money when the job was over. I was about to scream at him again, but I just let Walter deal with him.
A ring lying on his computer table began to go missing the first day the roof work commenced, Walter told me. It could only be this gang leader. The circle with initials belonged to his father. Walter’s older brother, with the same initials as their father’s, inherited the ring. When this brother died, the ring went to Walter. I did not know it had been stolen until today, when he confronted the thief. Walter was probably ashamed to be reminded that he had eaten his words: No gypsy to set foot in my garden! It was the boss who stole the ring. Walter expected the boss to deny the accusation, but he did not.
The young gypsy man returned with a pickup truck, with another young helper, this time a likewise attractive-looking gypsy who claimed he was from Hungary. Oh, OK, they have a fair share of gypsies over there, I said to myself. He spoke little German, so he did not try to engage me in a conversation. He was able to make me understand that he knows how to repair laptops and cell phones if I have some that are not working correctly. No, we don’t have! Walter snapped.
The boys needed bags to put the bricks into. Not my problem, Walter told them. They should have thought about how to take care of those. I gave them IKEA plastic bags and everything I could find in the garden tool shed, but they needed more. I knew Walter had some more inside the house, but he would not let them have those. I can get you new ones; I wanted to tell Walter. You know they don’t have any more bags, and I wanted them, much more than you do perhaps, to make the garden free again of risk hazards, and those bricks and shards are, I am the one slaving myself here in your garden. I was already fuming mad, and Walter still would not heed the request. I gave the boys the bags they needed when Walter was not looking.
I asked Walter if he had the cash ready after I saw him searching inside his bag. I could not find the money, he said. I was stunned by what he said and speechless for a while, not knowing what to say.
“Walter, they will kill us if we don’t pay them! “I said after I recovered from the initial shock. I was in a panic as gruesome images from a TV criminal series suddenly played in my mind.” How could you lose them?” I asked, snatching the bag away from him, and began searching for myself.
“I don’t know how, but it was in my bag when we were in the grocery store,” Walter said.
“Are you mad? How could you bring so much money to the grocery store? “My body was shaking in fear as TV crime scenes flashed before my eyes.
“They were in a bank envelope, the wad of money, “Walter told me.
I found the envelope with the money inside, hidden between a thick stack of paper in a plastic folder.
“Why must you carry such a thick ream of documents in your bag?
“They were not in my bag but in my bed while I searched for the money! The envelope must have slipped between the pages. ”
I could have had a heart attack! He only had 3400 euros in cash. I had 300 Euros in my wallet, but he was still 300 Euros short. Don’t worry, he said. Walter assured me that the boss got 300 Euros on day one as an advance payment.
Don’t forget to tell the gypsies to empty the bin for organic waste. That was Walter again. The workers stuffed the container to overcapacity with bricks and shards. Walter, hoping against hope that the garbage collectors would take it, asked me to help him pull the massive bin to the collection area. I had to stop three times, at least, to catch my breath while drawing it. Of course, it has been there for weeks. The garbage collectors won’t take it away. The garden community chairman came to Walter’s garden one day to remind him that garbage has no place in the garbage truck.
The workers’ pickup car was now full of garbage, and with their stuff, they could no longer put more in, so they would just come back the next day to finish the job, the Pole assured Walter. Sign this paper stating that you received 2k Euros from me and that you will get the rest tomorrow after you have completed the job. Walter made it sound and transparent to the beautiful gypsy. Oh, no! My boss won’t pay my share if you don’t give me the total amount now, he pleaded. No way! Walter said. OK, then give me 3500, and we’ll come back tomorrow, word of honor, trust me! Walter laughed again with contempt. After telling his boss that Walter wasn’t paying the full amount, he relented and finished the rest of the job.
Meanwhile, I felt the first raindrops, and the poor fellows had to double up. I even helped them. It was not out of pity, but I didn’t want to see any more bricks lying around.
Paytime at last! Walter gave them the remaining amount of 1700 Euros, explaining that the head of the criminal organization had already received 300 Euros. The Pole could not believe what he had just heard and called the boss. OK, give us 300 Euros to help my colleague and me. We have a family to feed, but our boss pays us less. Not my problem, Walter said. Here are 20 Euros — 10 for each of you — and don’t come back again. Walter may be harsh, but he has had enough of gypsies. They were polite when they said goodbye. If we had computers, telephones, and laptops we wanted to dispose of, we remembered to ask.
AUF WIEDERSEH’N, Walter’s tart reply. Somehow, I felt sorry for them. I felt compassion because they seemed honest. There goes my pusong mamon again!