Project “BOLERO”
by Farhad MAMMADOV
CHAPTER 1
Global Unemployees Exchange Organization – Baku office, Azerbaijan
Oh, salam, the most respectful…come, come…make yourself at home – it was not a good scenery to see the aged man with filthy and tear clothing having a seat in a glamorous, modern design, fully hi-tech equipped convenient room…It has been almost 30 years that he didn’t sit such a cosy surface.
First of all, the most respectful, I want to thank you and congratulate with your brilliant choice thus applying for “Bolero”
Bolero? What that means sir?
Hmm…- The assistant manager knew the real implication of the word and its meaning that it was just almost randomly selected name for project which had come to the mind of project author while listening to the Bolero called classical piece by Morris Ravel…He was hundred percent sure that, this man won’t even know who the Ravel was…So in order to observe the guidelines regarding customer satisfaction…he tried to cheat this ignorant old Azeri “bum”.
Hmm… “B” stands for Big “O” stands for Oldest, “L” stands for Latest, “E” stands for Errors, “R” stands for Rehabilitation and at last “O” means hmm…- he was afraid to say organization…thus there can no how be another organization within this he was working for. But what can such an ignorant man now about structure- he thought and after some hesitations answered – “O” stands for Organization. Big oldest and latest errors rehabilitation organization- that’s how it is.- assistant manager was a pretty quick-witted young guy with egoistic disposition… So he very liked his made-up story and ironically smiled.
Now, because I wear such a filthy dress, I am with messed beard and I smell like, may Allah forgive me, like a dog…so that means every stupid selfish office manager like you can double cross me like the dumbest idiot in the world…Son, when I first time in my youth listened to beforementioned great masterpiece of Morris Ravel, the French composer your birth wasn’t even on the agenda of your mum and dad…- Assistant manager was shocked. He didn’t even know what to answer
I beg..yo…your pardon, the most respectful. But how come you are informed about it.?
Well…well. I was borne in a family with good income and great influence, I was so well provided with all kind of resources, the best food, the best home, the best car, the best servants…all the best…my deceased father, may Allah mercy him, could afford to have me educated by own expensive tutors, most of them had academic study abroad. So we had a secular family. With expansive knowledge inherent to a noblemen.- bum finished and was waiting for the reaction of his recipient.
So…what happened then…Let me guess…You had a rascal brother who had swept you away from your father’s realm? Ha?
Ha-ha-ha…One one…The score is equalized…I was fooling you around you idiot…How can one like me have a wealthy heritage… I just heard about this piece, cause there was times when I was having my bum residence beside the state philharmonic society building…Sometimes when there was no needless witnesses…I pulled out the posters of various concert adds and then burnt it so not to freeze out at dark and cold autumn nights. So this is my secret…- assistant manager got very hot when this bum called him idiot…but he hardly restrained.
Ok…Now lets go back to square one… Our project is fresh one sponsored by United Nations… organization itself is the new agency of UN founded two years before thus in 2015 in order to deal with ever-growing unemployment worldwide. As you know according to statistical data…- he was suddenly interrupted by bum.
Son…can we skip formalities..
Yes but first of all I have to beforehand comprehensively clue you up of the whole procedures…Signing this paper you will be involved in first personality rehab program and then in umemployee exchange that its almost 99 per cent working travel to USA. Thus for now the organization has few developed member states – almost most of them are the countries of the Third world…you know…therefore…You will either travel to USA or underdeveloped country which is less expected.
I just don’t get the whole idea…What is the point in sending useless rats like me overseas. What is the benefit for you – your organization?
Hmm…just interest…several per cents deducted from your expected American wages or salaries- he again lied as UN organizations are considered to be non-profit ones.
How can you be so sure that I will not again idle and rambler in Uncle Sam rather than applying for job there…
Otherwise you’ll be immediately deported back.
Sounds horrible…nevertheless its always nice to change your residence…ha-ha-ha – it has begun heavily smelling alcohol out of his mouth so assistant manager automatically moved his head backward.
He glanced his watch, it was almost lunch time. His office desk was messed up with piles of useless junk, statistical data, adds, brochures, his own drafts and so on. Nevertheless he had a good habit of sorting these things before lunch or finish time. Heavily thirsty and hungry he could have given everything for only getting rid of this smelling bum that was annoyingly irritating his stomach. “ Ok…just have him signed – then up you go to have lunch” he talked to himself.
And one final question…I see you don’t feel O.K in my filthy presence, you don’t have to deny, I know the hardway son…So what kind of occupation I’m gonna have in, lets say, USA…
That very much depends on you
If you ain’t gonna be fair, son…I wont sign this paper. And that ain’t make you happy, I presume.
OK…I must confess that, you don’t have a chance for getting average paid job. You’ll get the wage that non of Us citizens or immigrants without green card would have agreed to earn even if threatened with death penalty. You see, honorable, it won’t be a job for faint heart, you know…
Bum massaged his throat thus he was getting all these things to serious in his head.
OK, my son, you convinced me now, where to sign?
So he signed. Yetim* Malik (orphan in Azeri- thus he didn’t have a family name)
And finally, you’ll be exchanged with Ben Adler, USA…You’ll better remember this name. Yetim Malik was already at the door when he bearly heard the silent uttering of assistant manager “That’ll be your second exchange”. He turned and asked
What you just said?
Nothing, good luck and may almighty Allah keep you alive…
CHAPTER 2
Looking for one day shelter
Full moon made the night very light indeed. You could easily identify the faces even from 10 metres distances in the narrow streets of Old city of Baku. It was rather cumbersome to Malik to remember where he stayed last night. He felt like, all the years he spent bumming was just an illusion, because of the frequency of the same habits, doings and days. He just had a stable memory that yesterday he dwelled somewhere within the Old city – which is known as Ichari shahar (inner city) compact ancient apartments and buildings with very narrow streets reminding of endless labyrinth – thus all the buildings, apartments, wall had a pretty resemblances, like two halves of the same apple. It would be very appropriate to dub Ichari Shahar as the second Fas in the world – the ancient city of Morocco. I can bet with everything precious that any foreigner with no local guidance i.e. directions of hospitable residents or GPS navigation system, would take at least hour in order to find exit of this horrible dejavu… thus finding the gates of Ichari shahar.
After several minutes, it came to Malik that yesterday he stayed in mosque- where he was fed up as well…But he also remembered that yesterday was the holiday of Kurban- that what he ate was part of sacrificed animals – most predominantly sheep, that had been cooked and distributed among poor and beggars in good lump of portions. But
heavy smell coming from his dirty clothes…this could be skipped by people praying in mosques. However the fact that, he was also giving out the alcohol smell…he should be the last man in the world to enter the mosque with such an abnormal state, as alcohol is forbidden by Shariat.
Malik was very upbeat about his future flight, ‘cause autumn was getting harsher, and without indoor premises he was to put under a risk his survival. So he thanked Allah, for such a donation at a needed time. He was so tired that legs could have roared if they had a mouth and tongue. Exhausted, he had no power to continue the search of new residence, so he heavily sat down just onto the pavement when suddenly he felt someone, grabing his shred jacket from behind. It was a young woman
Ata (means Dad), are you out of your mind, we have been looking for you all day long, it has been 2 days that you’ve left the house without any notification.- she paused and peered the dressing of Malik, she smiled and continued- look how you smell, and where did you find such a junk to wear I wonder… you are dressed just like an ancient darvish…I wish I had my camera on me. What a pitty.
Xanum, (means lady, madam) I don’t know what youre talking about, I wear these what you call junk, since I remember myself. I have no family and I’m all alone already 20 years…I thing I only have exterior resemblance with your lost father…May Allah help you to find your father, but theres nothing I can do about it…so please, leave me in peace, I’m very tired and whanna rest.
He was already to sit down again, when she gave another firmer grip, and tryied to pull such double heavier than her man beside him. He also aggressively gripped her hands and after a moment brutally scattered it. It hurt the gentle girl so she burst in tear…
I told you that I’m not your “ATA”, leave me alone- so he damned the time and place, and continued his way without resting.
Only one day left to a transition day… a day of Great Expectations, that may change his life to best forever…after 20 years he’ll be at last employed, and In a foreign company, in a foreign country…He must somehow endure the cold of the night, the sword like sharp winds of Baku, the land of fires,…he was happy that all of his documents, both passport and visa will be finally confirmed and signed tomorrow. So looking forward the day of tomorrow, he fell asleep, with empty stomach lying right on the cold stones covered with ragged woman coat.
CHAPTER 3
3 months past
“The only thing that had been worrying me all the time was, that how they could solve all my problems, thus, documents, flight tickets, rent room of old american couples, immediate job in grocery store, preliminary health insurance or how they call it medical insurance, operative welcome of my arrival at airport…within short period of time. It seems to me like in a movie…Perfect preparation. But did I really deserve. This question came to my mind not one time” will tell Malik year later.
The grocery store had Spanish name Corrida – without anything to do with the store itself…It was named tactlessly he thought. The first month was rather cumbersome to him, bearing in mind the fact that he was learning the English simultaneously. It was rather odd that in a country where market competition was unrelenting, that any kind of counterproductive timesheet is punished by being fired, yet he was not fired. Seeing such a politeness, he was doing his best to learn to speak properly and to gain a full customer satisfaction. He also had a small, but not so small, advantage indeed, that he’s colleague was Turkish, but American born citizen, student thus Azeri and Turkish are of the same origin, pretty like British and American English…So they had no complications understanding each other “fighting with claws” in order to come out ahead to the end of every single week…The he discovered boy’s money outfall that he had an unscrupulous “emo” girlfriend that was almost devouring poor guys money earned with sweat and blood. Love made him so pathetic... Age 23, he’s name was Tuncay. Tall young guy with muscled bone-structure and kidish face complexion, tiny black eyes, short haircut black as Mexican oil. He was also sharing rent room with Malik – the one who hadn’t long felt convenience of sleeping in mild, cosy bed.
Today manager was so angry, may Allah forbid, maybe he has some family problems, what do you think Tuncay…I didn’t get quite everything he told me…You know…My listening comprehension is not yet alright…
He says you don’t have to start working aggressively and fearfully when you see him (manager) coming…You have quite different psychology,…Why you are so frightened from boss, do you have sort of “bossaphobia” or something?
That is something habitual, in my country, boss is real boss, he can throw you out like a garbage, for any tiny mistake, and even if he would not like your appearance or else…They are so ruthless.
Oh…I see. Sorry for that…But now you are totally free person, your job is only in your hands, very much dependent on how tight or loose you’ll grab it.
Yeah…that’s for sure kid…
Tuncay with blushed cheeks was trying to say or ask something but was hesitating. At last he found courage to look in his eyes and give it out.
Malik amca (means uncle), can you do me a favour…
Anything…Inshallah, within range of possibility…anything
At seven I have a date, so I have to have my hair cut, you know, I look like chimpanzee these days, with curly long hair…
Ok..kid. But I again warn you…This shameless, insolent girl is killing you gradually destroying your future… Try to evade your temptation. Leave her!!!
Tuncay got little bit angry, so he thought no one has a right to interfere his private life. However did all his best not to burst out and preserved cold-bloodness.
Thank you for your advice…I’ll take into account. So Inshallah see you tomorrow…
You want come to house…
Maybe not….OK see you.
After Tuncay closed the market doors behind him, Malik gave a short but attentive glance to a market background, so to count the clients yet within grocery. There was a middle age asian woman, at daily products department, afroamerican grandpa may be at his seventies picking up some small widgets.
Suddenly Malik got a heavy headache, like someone was hammering his skull from inside. He closed his eyes, and began to see the distorted images of some bloody sceneries, gun-shots, scattered bodies, and it was in battlefield…He had been very frequently seeing these kind a surrealistic pictures these days. So it was not a surprise for him…But when the pain had gone, and he opened his eyes, he started seeing all around, quite differently, like someone has shifted the colors all around, and he could obviously see green steamsome matters moving in chaotic streams with a narrow lines, they were all around…When he again be closed his eyes an opened, the firs thing he saw was a latino guy pointing shining revolver at him maybe from 3 meter distance. However Malik was astonished to see himself so calm in such a strain conditions, he felt like he had all the situation under control...He caressed his small beard with right hand and look directly to latinos face ironically smiling…It made latino mad…
What you lookin, moron,…bring out the money…hurry up, old asshole.
Cahannam ol, ogrash oglu ogrash – swore in Azeri (Go to hell, son of a pimp)
Hey, I don’t know what you saying you freaken arab, but any more words, and I’ll open big hole on head for ever memory,...hurry up, give me the money…
No honey no money – wow its first time I use sayings in English, how was that…
Are you freaken out of your mind,
He was already to pull the trigger that, the old afroamerican customer, exerting all his energy rushed onto gunman and grabbing from his hand, tried to somehow, take the revolver from him…But it was a big mistake…Instant shot at heart from short distance, with the strongest revolver ever – magnum made this courage old man die within seconds. He again turned his face to Malik, and again touched the trigger. He was so shocked to see old Caucasian salesman still be alive. At the time of shooting asian women –the other customer, almost jumped a meter to s
ave the bullet destined to Malik with her body… Both Malik and latino guy, stood like an iron, no move, no sound, even there eyes were not moving,,,they were just freezed. No of them understood such behavior of customers. You don’t everyday witness such heroic act in America, particularly if they are sacrificing there lives for unknown foreign salesman, who most probably, even don’t have a green card. Latino guy never practiced psychology so he was less involved in analyses of such irrational behavior…Rather he was thinking “What to do next?” Approaching siren sounds of police cars, somehow, awakened them from such stance. Latino guy pointing the revolver at him
I don’t believe in trinity stuff…so die you, idiot.
He pulled the trigger, but there was no shot…again…,again,,,once again…At last it came to him that, there was no more cartridge left in roll.
You lucky pig…-saying he hitted Malik with the butt from head and escaped. When police reach the market, he saw two dead bodies and one lost his faint from heavy punch…
*********
And how do you thing, what that all means…some kind a “anticonspiracy theory”, ha…- asked Tuncay ironically.
You see, kid, I don’t get only one thing, why everyone so symphatize me, even police officer, who said there’s no need for my testimony, damn…how can it be possible, there was two dead bodies, and one who died saving me from mortal shot, why there’s no need for testimony,,,that’s dumb, and he told me they’ll call me if there’s any necessity. Kid, he did not even ask me how the shooter looked like, you know his appearance…
Hmm…You see the exchange program your’re involved in, its sort of UN funded,,,I think this is the answer…You’d better get acquainted with program’s guidelines, charter or something, you know, documents regarding terms and conditions…I’m sure it is the clue indeed…No anti-conspiracy theory…ha-ha-ha…Wow, I’m already thinking like an medieval philosopher… what a word, anti-conspiracy…
You’re talking funny…Well, never mind with that…
The conversation was going on the second floor of the house rented by these two from old couples - both retired musicians thus violinist and flute player – with a good lump of rental. Each of them, Malik and Tuncay, had separate rooms with only one bathroom at the dead end of the second floor. But basicly Tuncay visited Maliks room when he felt bored. Malik was a fun man for his age with aristocratic sense of humour.
the Project Bolero Page 1
