Степан Мазур – Tai (*in english) (страница 12)
At the mention of food, Tai’s stomach growled. He and Dalai Tisein had skipped breakfast that morning, having left before Gatun arrived. The sexton would usually prepare food for everyone, bringing fresh fruits. He was a terrific cook, making edible masterpieces from the simplest ingredients, such as rice, flour, and bananas.
“Where can we get any food?” Tai sighed. “There are only coconuts around.”
The local smirked, took the naïve foreigner by the hand, and led him towards the pool. As they walked, he lowered his voice, “I went for a pineapple at the restaurant’s garden, but the assistant chef chased me away. But they don’t chase away tourists. They take photos with the pineapples and leave. Do you know what else they do?”
“What?” Tai whispered back.
“They eat breakfast for free,” the boy pointed toward the restaurant building, surrounded by tables covered with metal-lidded dishes. “See, the dining hall? Go eat your fill. And don’t forget to bring me some.”
Tai took a close look. The smaller tables lining the walls were laid with teapots, coffee pots, stacks of clean dishes, a bread box offering loaves, buns, bread, and crackers, next to a conveyor toaster, a juice dispenser, and much more, all part of a buffet system. His mouth filled with saliva at the sight of the chilled, freshly squeezed juices. What could be better in the mounting heat?
“What are you waiting for?” the local grumbled. “You look like a tourist. Go on, help yourself. And bring me some food too. Just act like you belong here. Put on a serious face, no smiles. Tourists hardly ever smile. Go on, do it.”
“Okay. And you?” Tai snapped back to reality. “How did you even end up here?”
The other boy heaved a sigh. “I don’t look like a tourist. Our coach brought us to the beach to practice because our training camp was claimed by the military. They set up a temporary aid station there. And here, they already know me. I’ve become too familiar.”
Tai imagined a staff member dragging the boy out of the restaurant by his ear.
“Alright,” he gave in, his legs buckling as he walked to the dining area. He could barely muster any confidence, and even less audacity. Contrary to his peer’s instructions, he smiled timidly, his face turning red as a lobster as he tiptoed in. Glancing at a plate with utensils, he made his way to the tables, constantly looking over his shoulder.
“
“
Grabbing a plate, he felt a surge of confidence and walked along the dishes, scooping a little of each with a buffet spoon until his plate was full. He skipped the salads with meat and chicken; they seemed too spicy. He wasn’t fond of unfamiliar soups either, but rice, puff pastries, fried bread with jam, sausages, and juices were a hit. He piled these up.
Then it was simple: a table and a fork flashing in front of him.
As Tai stuffed his face, he sneakily put rolls into his shorts pocket. Under his belt, he tucked a hot toast, and several cheesy balls found their way into his other pocket. These greasy snacks stained his clothing, but he was willing to sacrifice for feeding his accomplice.
Startled by a hand on his shoulder, Tai spun around. His heart sank when he saw Dalai Tisein standing there, looking disapproving.
Barely recognizable without his orange robe and instead dressed in a chef’s apron and cap, the monk held a frying pan. Tai feared it might be used against him, but instead, the monk served him a helping of vegetable omelet, pausing to say in Russian, “Enjoy your meal. Just bear in mind that staff and their charges usually eat after the tourists, who leave plenty of food behind. Or have you caught that crab already?”
“I… I really wanted to catch a crab without cheating, but I got so tired… I promise I won’t do this again,” Tai stammered.
Embarrassed and feeling the monk’s eyes on him, he expected a scolding, but Dalai Tisein merely said, “Don’t disappoint me again, Tai. Meet me by the pool in an hour,” and left without another word, surprisingly calm.
Relieved but still nervous, Tai gobbled the omelet, washed it down with fresh orange juice, and ran off to the beach.
Meanwhile, the monk silently cleaned up after Tai. The neighboring restaurant’s manager, who’d been working since dawn with his staff, smiled at him. Known for learning foreign languages to chat with diners, the manager enjoyed making tourists feel at home by speaking their tongues. He knew a bit of English, French, German, Italian, Russian, and Chinese—initially just a few phrases, but each year he grew more proficient.
“This kid’s full of energy. Are you taking care of him?” the manager asked in Thai, his native language.
“Someone must,” Dalai Tisein replied with a hint of sadness. “He lost his parents.”
“Poor boy,” the manager empathized in English. “His hair turned gray.”
“But he’s determined,” Dalai Tisein shifted to English as well. He spoke English less fluently than Russian, albeit it was more common on the island. “He trains hard, to the point of bleeding.”
“He’ll go far,” the manager remarked in Russian. “What is that saying they have? Haste makes waste?”
“Mysterious are the ways of Buddha,” the monk replied in Russian with a smile. He’d often help the manager practice his English and Russian, which was how they’d become close acquaintances.
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