(no subject)
Two foreigners stand on a busy corner in down-town Buenos Aires, haggling over door curtains, hand-made from coconut fibre. Both understand common Castellano well, yet both speak with effort. It is easier for the tall, thin but muscular Brazilian. He smiles with his eyes and his lips. Though with his dark skin he is the one who looks out of place in this all-white city, he is probably more accustomed to this environment than the light-haired gringo of Slavic descent. Neither quite understood the pecularities of the other's speaking, but this did not stop them from a very animated exchange, replete with gestures, laugter and feigned facial expressions.
The Slav was no more than ten minutes late for the three o'clock meeting. While periodically glancing through the glass vitrines of a corner book shop, he asked for a Spanish edition of a novel that could best approximate his world-view to his Argentine friends. Not finding what he was searching for, he came back out and looked arond at the other three corners of the intersection.
The Brazilian arrived right on time, at 25 past.
-- Hay friend! -- A few days ago he had explained that Argentines do not speak proper Spanish, so he had no inclination to speak Castellano.
-- Hello! How are you!
-- Ey, you old haggler, good day, good day! Listen, I've only got two curtains today, but look what more I've got! -- He took out a blue and orange net. --You know what this is? It's a bed to hang between two trees. You know what it is?
-- Sure, sure. I even made one myself once, it's very nice. How much?
-- Excelent work this is, hand-made, coconut fibre, ey? Look, for you, fifty pesos!
They stretch out the hammock, cutting off half of the pedestrian traffic and forcing the passers-by to dodge one more obstacle. A local approaches, looking with interest at the weave-work.
-- How much? she asks.
-- Fifty pesos, but it's his! -- the Brazilian replies.
The lady passes a few twisted cords between her fingers, and goes on down Corrientes.
-- So, do you want it?
-- Well, well, it is very nice, but I have no place to hang it.
-- You watch my stuff -- yells the mulatto as he is already sprinting off after the señora.
The Polaco is left with a back-pack and a hand-bag with two rolled up curtains resting on top. He makes a few uncertaing movements, trying to decide whether to get out of the way or to keep standing in the middle of a current of people. In about a minutes the Negro returns, with a wide grin but without the hammock.
-- What a bastard, you sold it! For how much?
-- Fifty pesos.
-- Congradulations! -- an elaborate handshake follows.
-- Listen here man, I've got these hanging shelves, I sell them for 40 pesos at the beach -- he says as his dark fingers make a very conspicuous reach for the bright-white 25 peso price tag taped on to one of the shelf-levels.
-- Look nice. -- The light-haired man applies pressure to the shelves, one at a time.
-- Apply force! Try it! -- The construction indeed feels strong, and springs up each time the pressure is relieved suddenly.
-- Very nice, how much for the two?
-- Listen, for you man, -- for a few moments the smile leaves the Brazilian's face as he is concentrating. During the previous encounter he did not seem to be too strong in math, as he agreed on a price of 84 pesos after 95 were offered. -- All four, two curtains and two shelves, 100 pesos.
A Señorita approaches and poits at the rolled-up weaving.
-- What is that?
-- A corton, -- smiles the Braziliero
-- A what?
-- A corton!
-- You know, for windows and doors -- interjects the Polaco.
-- Ah! A curtain! -- The young woman looks back and fourth at the two foreigners. She is uncertain as to who is the owner and who is the buyer. -- How much? -- she asks the pale gringo.
-- They are his.
-- So, how much? -- the Argentina turns to the merchant.
-- Thirty five, but they are his!
The morocha shakes her head and goes on her way.
-- Why don't you sell them to her? You can bring me more later!
-- Nah, it takes my brother a day and a half to make each one, and I'll sell more at the beach.
-- Well, your call. So, 95 pesos for the four?
-- Ah, you old haggling bastard! -- The Braziliero grins while making smoth but expansive gestures with his whole body. -- What's five pesos for you? for me it is a lot!
-- Come on! You said you'll bring me three, but you've got only two, and I'm already buying those other things! I'm not rich either, you know?
After a few more minutes of broken Spanish and Portugese, the Polaco takes out a 100 peso bill and hands it over. Argentine merchants always look with suspicion at any denomination over ten pesos, but the Brazilian does not hesitate.
-- You will bring me the last one to the market on Saturday, right? 25 pesos for the last one?
-- Bargain bargain bargain -- the lean dark body again twists in every direction. -- All-right, Saturday than. Well, see you, friend.
The two men again shake hands and the Brazilian croses the street. I go on to another book store half a block up Corrientes.
The Slav was no more than ten minutes late for the three o'clock meeting. While periodically glancing through the glass vitrines of a corner book shop, he asked for a Spanish edition of a novel that could best approximate his world-view to his Argentine friends. Not finding what he was searching for, he came back out and looked arond at the other three corners of the intersection.
The Brazilian arrived right on time, at 25 past.
-- Hay friend! -- A few days ago he had explained that Argentines do not speak proper Spanish, so he had no inclination to speak Castellano.
-- Hello! How are you!
-- Ey, you old haggler, good day, good day! Listen, I've only got two curtains today, but look what more I've got! -- He took out a blue and orange net. --You know what this is? It's a bed to hang between two trees. You know what it is?
-- Sure, sure. I even made one myself once, it's very nice. How much?
-- Excelent work this is, hand-made, coconut fibre, ey? Look, for you, fifty pesos!
They stretch out the hammock, cutting off half of the pedestrian traffic and forcing the passers-by to dodge one more obstacle. A local approaches, looking with interest at the weave-work.
-- How much? she asks.
-- Fifty pesos, but it's his! -- the Brazilian replies.
The lady passes a few twisted cords between her fingers, and goes on down Corrientes.
-- So, do you want it?
-- Well, well, it is very nice, but I have no place to hang it.
-- You watch my stuff -- yells the mulatto as he is already sprinting off after the señora.
The Polaco is left with a back-pack and a hand-bag with two rolled up curtains resting on top. He makes a few uncertaing movements, trying to decide whether to get out of the way or to keep standing in the middle of a current of people. In about a minutes the Negro returns, with a wide grin but without the hammock.
-- What a bastard, you sold it! For how much?
-- Fifty pesos.
-- Congradulations! -- an elaborate handshake follows.
-- Listen here man, I've got these hanging shelves, I sell them for 40 pesos at the beach -- he says as his dark fingers make a very conspicuous reach for the bright-white 25 peso price tag taped on to one of the shelf-levels.
-- Look nice. -- The light-haired man applies pressure to the shelves, one at a time.
-- Apply force! Try it! -- The construction indeed feels strong, and springs up each time the pressure is relieved suddenly.
-- Very nice, how much for the two?
-- Listen, for you man, -- for a few moments the smile leaves the Brazilian's face as he is concentrating. During the previous encounter he did not seem to be too strong in math, as he agreed on a price of 84 pesos after 95 were offered. -- All four, two curtains and two shelves, 100 pesos.
A Señorita approaches and poits at the rolled-up weaving.
-- What is that?
-- A corton, -- smiles the Braziliero
-- A what?
-- A corton!
-- You know, for windows and doors -- interjects the Polaco.
-- Ah! A curtain! -- The young woman looks back and fourth at the two foreigners. She is uncertain as to who is the owner and who is the buyer. -- How much? -- she asks the pale gringo.
-- They are his.
-- So, how much? -- the Argentina turns to the merchant.
-- Thirty five, but they are his!
The morocha shakes her head and goes on her way.
-- Why don't you sell them to her? You can bring me more later!
-- Nah, it takes my brother a day and a half to make each one, and I'll sell more at the beach.
-- Well, your call. So, 95 pesos for the four?
-- Ah, you old haggling bastard! -- The Braziliero grins while making smoth but expansive gestures with his whole body. -- What's five pesos for you? for me it is a lot!
-- Come on! You said you'll bring me three, but you've got only two, and I'm already buying those other things! I'm not rich either, you know?
After a few more minutes of broken Spanish and Portugese, the Polaco takes out a 100 peso bill and hands it over. Argentine merchants always look with suspicion at any denomination over ten pesos, but the Brazilian does not hesitate.
-- You will bring me the last one to the market on Saturday, right? 25 pesos for the last one?
-- Bargain bargain bargain -- the lean dark body again twists in every direction. -- All-right, Saturday than. Well, see you, friend.
The two men again shake hands and the Brazilian croses the street. I go on to another book store half a block up Corrientes.