Past imperfect - страница 12

By eleven o'clock, the restaurant guests started leaving with songs, drinks and leftovers. Lera stepped away from the keyboard and went back to the table. A plump man, Signor Giuseppe, immediately sat down next to her with a basket full of goodies and two sparkling bottles of wine beneath them. Lera didn't know who he was, whether he might be the owner, the chef or someone else altogether.

Giuseppe, with expressive gestures, began to praise la bella ragazza, who had at least doubled his earnings that evening. He was so happy that he wanted to hire Lera immediately for a permanent position. The man was terribly disappointed when he realised that Lera was foreign and would not be able to work at the restaurant regularly. However, he pushed the basket towards her, not listening to any objections.

“And why is bella ragazza here alone on a night like this?” Giuseppe asked, watching as Lera ate her tart and finished her wine.

“Bella ragazza is on vacation and escaped to the eternal city to be away from everyone” Lera admitted.

“Oh! What about suo damo?! Did he really let you go alone?”

"No damo, Signor Giuseppe," Lera laughed, "Only the strict boss who let us go with gnashing of teeth, forced and reluctantly having to obey the inexorable Russian law. If she had her way, we would have worked without interruption!”

“Oh, what a shame!” Giuseppe cried. “Beautiful girls can't be without il damo! It makes them angry. Oh, I could call my nephews! One word from you and there would be five ragazzi here ready to do anything for you!”

“No, signor!” Lera laughed back, “You'll condemn me to returning home with a broken heart.”

Giuseppe laughed kindly.

“And what work do you do for such a strict boss?"

“An interpreter! From Italian”, Lera replied with pride in her voice.

“Madonna mia! Are you working for the government?” Giuseppe cried.

Lera stared at him in astonishment.

“What are you talking about, signor? Of course not! I work for a private translation bureau. Oh-oh! The agency! The boss would slap me on the lips for using the bourgeois word "bureau." Lera giggled. “Our boss is really worried about our status. They say she had been thinking about a name for the agency for ages.”

“And what did she come up with? Some kind of masterpiece?”

“Hermes”, Lera said with a serious face.

“Gah! And here are the Greeks! She should have named it Mercury”, Giuseppe said indignantly.

“That's right, signor!” Lera agreed with a smile.

Giuseppe raised his hand and checked his watch.

“There is less than an hour until the new year signorina! You should definitely try to catch your luck with clock striking, mia bella ragazza! And next year you'll definitely meet him.”

“Who?”

“Il damo of course!” Giuseppe shouted.

Lera snorted at first, but the imp on her left shoulder suddenly perked up, and the girl looked mischievously at Giuseppe and said:

“You know, Signor Giuseppe? Let me tell you about one of Russian New Year's traditions. Maybe it will help you too. Could you bring me paper, a pencil and a matchbox?”

Giuseppe looked at Lera with interest and asked the waiter to bring what Lera had asked for.

“So, Signore Giuseppe, this is a sure way to fulfil all your wishes!”

"I am all ears," Giuseppe smiled.

“You need to take a piece of paper and write your most cherished desire on it. So that nobody can see what’s written. Then at the first chime of midnight, the paper must be set on fire, then you, fingers crossed, pray so that it burns quickly.”