Holy Fire - Bruce Sterling [51]
“That’s a dreadful thing to say.”
“[Dreadful, but it’s very true. The Romany probably were carrying the plague, Maya, that’s the funny part. And you know something even funnier? If the Romany weren’t complete racial chauvinists themselves, then we’d have absorbed the last one of them centuries ago.]”
“You’re being very nasty, Ulrich. Are you trying to shock me? There aren’t going to be any more plagues. The plagues are all over. We exterminated every one of the plagues.”
Ulrich snorted skeptically. “[Don’t let me spoil your fun, treasure. You wanted to come here to do business, not me. You have the list of goods, don’t you? Go see if you can sell something.]”
Maya left him. She gathered her courage and approached a gypsy woman at a table. The woman was wearing a patterned shawl and smoking a short clay pipe.
“Hello. Do you speak English?”
“A little English.”
“I have some items that are useful to travelers. I want to sell them.”
The woman thought this over. “Give me your hand.” She leaned forward, minutely examined Maya’s palm, then sat back down on her folding canvas seat. She puffed a blip of smoke. “You’re a cop.”
“I’m not a cop, ma’am.”
She looked Maya up and down. “Okay, maybe you don’t know you’re a cop. But you’re a cop.”
“I’m not polizei.”
The woman pulled the pipe from her mouth and pointed with the stem. “You are not a little girl. You dress like a little girl, but that’s a lie. You can fool the little boy over there, but you don’t fool me. Go away and don’t come back.”
Maya left in a hurry. She was badly shaken. She began to hunt for someone dealing at a table who wasn’t a gypsy.
She found a young Deutschlander woman with styled reddish hair and bee-stung lips and a big consignment of used clothes. This situation looked a lot more promising.
“Hi. Do you speak English?”
“Okay, sure.”
“I have some things I want to sell. Clothes, and some other things.”
The woman nodded slowly. “That’s a nice jacket. Très chic.”
“Thanks. Danke.”
The woman stared at her in forthright Deutschlander fashion. She had two precise arcs for brows and long crimped lashes. “You live in Munchen, yes? I saw that jacket at the Viktualienmarkt. You came to my shop twice, to look at clothes.”
“Really?” Maya said, with a sinking feeling. “I’m staying in Munchen, but I’m just passing through.”
“American?”
“Yes.”
“Californian?”
“Yes.”
“Los Angeles?”
“Bay Area.”
“I could have guessed San Francisco. They do that work in polymer. You know, they could have done that jacket in Stuttgart in just a few hours. Better, too.”
Ulrich came over. The woman glanced up at him. “Ciao Jimmy.”
“Ciao Therese.”
They began speaking in Deutsch. “[New girlfriend?]”
“[Yes.]”
“[She’s very pretty.]”
“[I think so, too.]”
“[Trying to move some product?]”
“[Not to you, treasure,]” said Ulrich glibly and in haste. “[I’d never move product in Munchen, I don’t burn people where I live. She doesn’t know any better, so that’s why I came over to stop this. No harm done. All right?]”
“She called you ‘Jimmy,’ “ Maya realized.
“I answer to that name sometimes,” Ulrich said in English.
Therese laughed. She spoke to Maya in English. “You poor little sausage! You love your new boyfriend? He’s a real wonder-boy, your Jimmy. He’s all heart.”
Ulrich frowned. “She made a little mistake, that’s all.”
“I don’t love him,” Maya said loudly. She took off her sunglasses. “I just need some things.”
“What?”
“Contact lenses. Silver money. Wigs. Maps. Food. Plumbing. A nice warm bed. And I want to learn some Deutsch so I can stop being such an idiot.”
“She’s an illegal,” Ulrich said, hand closing on Maya’s upper arm. “The poor little thing is hot.”
Therese looked at the pair of them. “What are you trying to sell?”
Ulrich hesitated. “Give her the list,” he said at last.
Therese looked it over. “I can move this stuff. If it’s in good condition. Where is it?”
“In the boot of my car.”
She looked surprised. “[Jimmy, you’ve got a car?]”
“[It’s on loan from Herr Shrottplatz.]”
“[You sure can pick nice friends.]