Lunch at the Havana
The car was getting hot in the sunshine. Özer pressed the button in the door and the window wound down. There were seven cars in front of him. The driver of the car in front got out and walked over to the public toilets. When the colleague returned, he waved at Özer, took a large thermos from the boot and came over.
‘Coffee?' he asked through the open window.
Özer nodded and got out of his taxi.
Florin Marinovu was pale and unshaven. As he was pouring the jet black coffee into two plastic cups, his right hand was shaking slightly. He handed one cup to Özer. 'I'm living on the stuff right now.’
'It looks very strong.'
'It is. It needs to be. I get hardly any sleep these days.' While Özer took a cautious sip, Florin drained his cup in one gulp.
Refilling his cup, Florin said, ‘Our eldest daughter is staying with us now. She's had a baby boy and after three months with him she’s completely exhausted, so my wife helps her to look after him. The poor blighter suffers from colic and is screaming all the time. If he continues like this, he will soon have a single mother and two grandparents aged beyond their years.'
Özer smiled.
Florin looked at him bleary-eyed. ‘I’m not joking.’
Wondering what to do with his share of the oily and bitter tasting fluid, Özer nodded and said, ‘Isn’t there something you can give him?’
‘My daughter has tried everything.’ Florin sighed. 'Sometimes I think he’ll either die or become the greatest opera singer who ever lived.'
'How do you mean?'
'With lungs like that he can sing the Ring all by himself.’
Özer laughed. 'What about your own?'
'My own what?'
'Your lungs,' Özer said watching Florin as he removed the last cigarette from a crumpled packet.
Florin waved dismissively and then lit the cigarette with a lighter. After taking a deep drag he said, 'It’s a bit late for a change of job, don’t you think.' He screwed the top back onto the thermos.
Özer forced himself to drink up and then got back into his car. He was leafing through the Abendzeitung when Frau Taskin from the taxi switchboard called.
'The Havana Club is offering free lunch at 12 today.'
'Are they?’
'Are you going?' Frau Taskin sounded impatient.
Özer looked at his watch. 'I'm not sure.'
'Well, are you or aren't you? It's not as if I care one way or another, but I need to know whether you’re on the rota between twelve and one. It’s fairly quiet so far, so you could go.'
'Alright then.'
'You don’t have to do it for me! Riberic used to be a cook before he became a janitor.'
'Was he?’
‘So I heard. Anyway, they have a new owner now,’ she said and was gone.
Mildly curious now, Özer started the car and drove onto the Petuelring. In less than ten minutes he arrived at the Club. As he indicated and turned into the parking lot, he noticed a middle-aged woman on a bike eyeing him with distaste. 'Stupid cow!' he said loudly, but of course she could not hear him. Piqued, he parked the car, ignored the garish mural of a blonde in a black bra and suspenders, and climbed the steps to the club's entrance. He rang the bell and was immediately let in.
A slim well-tanned woman greeted him as he entered. 'I saw you driving in on my monitor. Are you here for lunch or have you come to pick up a customer?'
‘Lunch,’ Özer said and wondered how many customers they had this time of the day.
‘Yes. This way please.' Unsmiling, she led him through the large reception area.
'You've redecorated,' Özer said looking round.
She turned to him. 'New owner, new name, new decor.'
'Looks nice,' he commented, less because he meant it than to make conversation.
She shrugged and walked ahead. Following her he looked at her shapely legs in silver gray leggings. She wore blue platform stilettos and a matching sleeveless blue top. Her hair and face were expertly done up and she wore large silver hoops. Apart from the shoes you couldn’t tell her line of work, he thought.
The woman stopped and pointed to an open door on their right.
'The kitchen is over there.'
He could hear a couple of men talking. 'Thanks.'
She gave him the briefest of smiles and headed back.
After the lavishly decorated reception area, the kitchen looked particularly spartan and drab. Nothing much had changed here, Özer noticed. The same greying whitewashed walls, dark furniture and yellowing curtains. An old-fashioned sink, cooker and fridge stood in an uneven line, with a no brand dishwasher and washing machine completing the ensemble on the opposite side. The old hanging cupboards with plastic sliding doors were also still in place. In an attempt to brighten the kitchen, the sliding doors had been decorated with picture postcards from Mallorca, Turkey and Egypt.
A short balding man stood in front of the cooker, stirring one of the large pots.
'Herr Riberic! Haven't seen you in a while,' Özer said holding out his hand.
The man turned to him and gripped his hand tightly. 'Good to see you, good to see you,’ the janitor said in heavily accented German and waved at the table. 'Sit down. The food is ready now.'
Not sure whether Riberic had recognized him, Özer introduced himself to the other taxi drivers who sat tightly packed around a large wooden table. He knew none of them well, but all of them by sight. He sat down beside a young German who, as far as he could remember, was a student. Previous experience with students in his line of work had taught him not to inquire after their studies.
'Do you want a beer?' the janitor asked. The men stopped talking and looked at him. Riberic walked over to a crate in the corner and held up a bottle. 'It's alcohol-free. They bought these for the opening, but none of the punters has wanted one so far.' Riberic laughed. 'So, how about you?' He waved a bottle at them.
'Why not?' the student said and the others nodded.
The janitor stuck his head out of the door. 'Jasna!' he shouted. 'Jasna!'
A slight girl with dyed blonde hair appeared in the doorway. 'What?'
Riberic said something in Serbo-Croatian.
'I'm not a waitress,' she protested.
The caretaker replied sharply and she made a face at him, but proceeded to put some plates and cutlery on the table. The men were watching her silently as she stood on tip toes to reach for glasses in the hanging cupboard. She wore white faux leather OTK boots and a white dress that was so short her buttocks peeked out. The thin white fabric clung to her skin and the red G-string and bra were clearly visible. In the bright daylight of the kitchen she looked like the furniture – cheap, Özer thought. The student beside him was flushing though and Özer felt himself stirring too. He turned back to the table and made a conscious effort at conversation.
'What are we having?' the man opposite Özer asked.
'Spaghetti Bolognese and chocolate cake,' Riberic announced.
Özer moved his chair back a little. 'Could I just have the pasta?'
The janitor spun round. 'I used beef! Don’t you eat beef?
‘Beef is fine,’ Özer said.
’I would never use pork for you. I know many of you don’t eat it.’ Riberic said.
Jasminka took the plates and held them out to the janitor. After he had spooned out the food, she brought them to the table.
'Thank you,' the man at the corner of the table said every time she handed him a plate. She looked annoyed and didn’t reply. As soon as they had all been given some food she disappeared, banging the door behind her. When he had served himself, the janitor sat down and ate with the men.
'This is really good,' a tall, rather red-faced man said who sat at the head of the table.
The student agreed and a small wiry driver filled his glass with beer, held it up and declared, 'A toast to Riberic!' The other taxi drivers stopped eating and also held up their glasses. After much clinking of glasses and cheering, the men talked about the current heatwave, the sheer infinite number of construction sites in the city and Bayern München’s shambolic performance lately.
Özer thought the food was ok, but that it couldn’t compare with his wife's.
Later Riberic made them a strong coffee to go with the chocolate cake. After he had divided up the cake and served the coffee, Riberic left and the well-tanned woman entered the kitchen.
‘I hope you have enjoyed your meal!’
The men cheered.
She smiled brightly and gave each of the men a stack of business cards. 'As you know the Oktoberfest is coming up,' she said. 'Please recommend us to your customers and feel free to come back for more cards if you run out.’
'Will do!' the red-faced driver said jovially and the others nodded.
'We are looking forward to seeing you, and your customers, again soon,' the woman said and made a point of shaking each man's hand. Now that he saw her up close, Özer realized she was much older than he had thought at first. He was surprised by her cool businesslike manner and didn’t feel entirely comfortable under her appraising eyes. The men followed her quietly back to reception area, politely said good-bye and filed out like school children.
Özer got back into his car and drove to the taxi rank. In the afternoon business slowly picked up. By the time his shift ended he had made more than he had expected and was pleased with his day. His wife was happy he wasn’t late and immediately served dinner. She had made pasta with meatballs in a spicy tomato sauce, a dish Özer loved but did not feel much like eating tonight.
'Don't you like the sauce? Is it too hot for you?' she asked after a while.
'No, it's just right.'
'Are the meatballs not done?'
'No, everything's just fine.'
'Why are you not eating then?'
Özer looked at her disappointed face. 'One of the other drivers had a baby boy and brought some food to celebrate.'
Her face lit up. 'A baby boy! How nice. What did they call him? Do I know the father? What kind of food did he bring?'
'No, I don’t think you know the father. They called the baby Costas.' Özer looked at his frowning wife. 'And Theo brought lamb pasties, a spinach pie and honey cakes.'
'So you'd rather eat Greek food than mine,' his wife said tartly as she cleared away the plates.
'Emine, he was celebrating!'
She nodded grimly and, as he had anticipated, asked no further questions before disappearing into the kitchen.
(2012)
‘Coffee?' he asked through the open window.
Özer nodded and got out of his taxi.
Florin Marinovu was pale and unshaven. As he was pouring the jet black coffee into two plastic cups, his right hand was shaking slightly. He handed one cup to Özer. 'I'm living on the stuff right now.’
'It looks very strong.'
'It is. It needs to be. I get hardly any sleep these days.' While Özer took a cautious sip, Florin drained his cup in one gulp.
Refilling his cup, Florin said, ‘Our eldest daughter is staying with us now. She's had a baby boy and after three months with him she’s completely exhausted, so my wife helps her to look after him. The poor blighter suffers from colic and is screaming all the time. If he continues like this, he will soon have a single mother and two grandparents aged beyond their years.'
Özer smiled.
Florin looked at him bleary-eyed. ‘I’m not joking.’
Wondering what to do with his share of the oily and bitter tasting fluid, Özer nodded and said, ‘Isn’t there something you can give him?’
‘My daughter has tried everything.’ Florin sighed. 'Sometimes I think he’ll either die or become the greatest opera singer who ever lived.'
'How do you mean?'
'With lungs like that he can sing the Ring all by himself.’
Özer laughed. 'What about your own?'
'My own what?'
'Your lungs,' Özer said watching Florin as he removed the last cigarette from a crumpled packet.
Florin waved dismissively and then lit the cigarette with a lighter. After taking a deep drag he said, 'It’s a bit late for a change of job, don’t you think.' He screwed the top back onto the thermos.
Özer forced himself to drink up and then got back into his car. He was leafing through the Abendzeitung when Frau Taskin from the taxi switchboard called.
'The Havana Club is offering free lunch at 12 today.'
'Are they?’
'Are you going?' Frau Taskin sounded impatient.
Özer looked at his watch. 'I'm not sure.'
'Well, are you or aren't you? It's not as if I care one way or another, but I need to know whether you’re on the rota between twelve and one. It’s fairly quiet so far, so you could go.'
'Alright then.'
'You don’t have to do it for me! Riberic used to be a cook before he became a janitor.'
'Was he?’
‘So I heard. Anyway, they have a new owner now,’ she said and was gone.
Mildly curious now, Özer started the car and drove onto the Petuelring. In less than ten minutes he arrived at the Club. As he indicated and turned into the parking lot, he noticed a middle-aged woman on a bike eyeing him with distaste. 'Stupid cow!' he said loudly, but of course she could not hear him. Piqued, he parked the car, ignored the garish mural of a blonde in a black bra and suspenders, and climbed the steps to the club's entrance. He rang the bell and was immediately let in.
A slim well-tanned woman greeted him as he entered. 'I saw you driving in on my monitor. Are you here for lunch or have you come to pick up a customer?'
‘Lunch,’ Özer said and wondered how many customers they had this time of the day.
‘Yes. This way please.' Unsmiling, she led him through the large reception area.
'You've redecorated,' Özer said looking round.
She turned to him. 'New owner, new name, new decor.'
'Looks nice,' he commented, less because he meant it than to make conversation.
She shrugged and walked ahead. Following her he looked at her shapely legs in silver gray leggings. She wore blue platform stilettos and a matching sleeveless blue top. Her hair and face were expertly done up and she wore large silver hoops. Apart from the shoes you couldn’t tell her line of work, he thought.
The woman stopped and pointed to an open door on their right.
'The kitchen is over there.'
He could hear a couple of men talking. 'Thanks.'
She gave him the briefest of smiles and headed back.
After the lavishly decorated reception area, the kitchen looked particularly spartan and drab. Nothing much had changed here, Özer noticed. The same greying whitewashed walls, dark furniture and yellowing curtains. An old-fashioned sink, cooker and fridge stood in an uneven line, with a no brand dishwasher and washing machine completing the ensemble on the opposite side. The old hanging cupboards with plastic sliding doors were also still in place. In an attempt to brighten the kitchen, the sliding doors had been decorated with picture postcards from Mallorca, Turkey and Egypt.
A short balding man stood in front of the cooker, stirring one of the large pots.
'Herr Riberic! Haven't seen you in a while,' Özer said holding out his hand.
The man turned to him and gripped his hand tightly. 'Good to see you, good to see you,’ the janitor said in heavily accented German and waved at the table. 'Sit down. The food is ready now.'
Not sure whether Riberic had recognized him, Özer introduced himself to the other taxi drivers who sat tightly packed around a large wooden table. He knew none of them well, but all of them by sight. He sat down beside a young German who, as far as he could remember, was a student. Previous experience with students in his line of work had taught him not to inquire after their studies.
'Do you want a beer?' the janitor asked. The men stopped talking and looked at him. Riberic walked over to a crate in the corner and held up a bottle. 'It's alcohol-free. They bought these for the opening, but none of the punters has wanted one so far.' Riberic laughed. 'So, how about you?' He waved a bottle at them.
'Why not?' the student said and the others nodded.
The janitor stuck his head out of the door. 'Jasna!' he shouted. 'Jasna!'
A slight girl with dyed blonde hair appeared in the doorway. 'What?'
Riberic said something in Serbo-Croatian.
'I'm not a waitress,' she protested.
The caretaker replied sharply and she made a face at him, but proceeded to put some plates and cutlery on the table. The men were watching her silently as she stood on tip toes to reach for glasses in the hanging cupboard. She wore white faux leather OTK boots and a white dress that was so short her buttocks peeked out. The thin white fabric clung to her skin and the red G-string and bra were clearly visible. In the bright daylight of the kitchen she looked like the furniture – cheap, Özer thought. The student beside him was flushing though and Özer felt himself stirring too. He turned back to the table and made a conscious effort at conversation.
'What are we having?' the man opposite Özer asked.
'Spaghetti Bolognese and chocolate cake,' Riberic announced.
Özer moved his chair back a little. 'Could I just have the pasta?'
The janitor spun round. 'I used beef! Don’t you eat beef?
‘Beef is fine,’ Özer said.
’I would never use pork for you. I know many of you don’t eat it.’ Riberic said.
Jasminka took the plates and held them out to the janitor. After he had spooned out the food, she brought them to the table.
'Thank you,' the man at the corner of the table said every time she handed him a plate. She looked annoyed and didn’t reply. As soon as they had all been given some food she disappeared, banging the door behind her. When he had served himself, the janitor sat down and ate with the men.
'This is really good,' a tall, rather red-faced man said who sat at the head of the table.
The student agreed and a small wiry driver filled his glass with beer, held it up and declared, 'A toast to Riberic!' The other taxi drivers stopped eating and also held up their glasses. After much clinking of glasses and cheering, the men talked about the current heatwave, the sheer infinite number of construction sites in the city and Bayern München’s shambolic performance lately.
Özer thought the food was ok, but that it couldn’t compare with his wife's.
Later Riberic made them a strong coffee to go with the chocolate cake. After he had divided up the cake and served the coffee, Riberic left and the well-tanned woman entered the kitchen.
‘I hope you have enjoyed your meal!’
The men cheered.
She smiled brightly and gave each of the men a stack of business cards. 'As you know the Oktoberfest is coming up,' she said. 'Please recommend us to your customers and feel free to come back for more cards if you run out.’
'Will do!' the red-faced driver said jovially and the others nodded.
'We are looking forward to seeing you, and your customers, again soon,' the woman said and made a point of shaking each man's hand. Now that he saw her up close, Özer realized she was much older than he had thought at first. He was surprised by her cool businesslike manner and didn’t feel entirely comfortable under her appraising eyes. The men followed her quietly back to reception area, politely said good-bye and filed out like school children.
Özer got back into his car and drove to the taxi rank. In the afternoon business slowly picked up. By the time his shift ended he had made more than he had expected and was pleased with his day. His wife was happy he wasn’t late and immediately served dinner. She had made pasta with meatballs in a spicy tomato sauce, a dish Özer loved but did not feel much like eating tonight.
'Don't you like the sauce? Is it too hot for you?' she asked after a while.
'No, it's just right.'
'Are the meatballs not done?'
'No, everything's just fine.'
'Why are you not eating then?'
Özer looked at her disappointed face. 'One of the other drivers had a baby boy and brought some food to celebrate.'
Her face lit up. 'A baby boy! How nice. What did they call him? Do I know the father? What kind of food did he bring?'
'No, I don’t think you know the father. They called the baby Costas.' Özer looked at his frowning wife. 'And Theo brought lamb pasties, a spinach pie and honey cakes.'
'So you'd rather eat Greek food than mine,' his wife said tartly as she cleared away the plates.
'Emine, he was celebrating!'
She nodded grimly and, as he had anticipated, asked no further questions before disappearing into the kitchen.
(2012)