The Demon of Dakar - Kjell Eriksson [44]
She compared this to her own job, waitressing at Dakar. This left no visible traces more than for the moment, that was simply how it was, just like her earlier work at the post office. “The woman at the counter,” that was what she had been for many years, but God forbid she leave her place for a quick bathroom break or to sign a form in one of the inner regions of the office. Then there were immediate complaints.
The men coaxed a new block into place. The driver swung the backhoe to the side, allowing it to rest on the pile of stones. Perhaps they were going to take a break. One of the workers gave her a quick, curious look.
“It’s turning out well,” she said and climbed back onto the bike.
The man nodded and took a few steps closer to her, putting one foot up on the block he had just set.
“Time for me to go to work,” she said.
“I was just going to offer you a cup of coffee,” the man said and Eva couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
“Are you taking a break right now?”
“No, we’re done for the day.”
Two of the man’s fellow workers were waiting in the background.
“Where do you work?”
“At a restaurant. It’s called Dakar.”
“Then you will have to be the one to invite me,” the man said and laughed. “See you!”
He gave her a mischievous look before he joined his colleagues and left for the work trailer.
She ended up standing around for a little while longer before biking the rest of the way.
A heated discussion was under way in Dakar’s kitchen. Feo’s aggravated voice and Donald’s interruptions could be heard out all the way into the dressing room.
When Eva stepped into the kitchen the two chefs abruptly stopped and stared at her.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” she said.
Donald turned his back on her, grabbed a pot from the rack but changed his mind, put it back, and walked out to the bar instead. They heard how he took out a bottle of soda or mineral water. Donald never drank anything stronger than this on the job.
“We were talking about the union. They want to come here.”
Eva nodded.
“Anything in particular?”
“No, they have some campaign. I’m in the union now, but not Donald. He calls them parasites.”
“I don’t know that I’ve ever found them so helpful, but I still think it’s important to join.”
“Exactly! Suddenly it happens.”
Donald returned.
“Have you formed a club now?”
“Yes, you are treasurer,” Feo said.
This, her third evening, involved the most work so far. A party of sixteen had come thundering in at six o’clock. They had been playing golf all day and now demanded drinks and food. Eva recognized one of them, a classmate from the Eriksberg school, but he did not recognize her, or else he didn’t want to acknowledge it.
“I hate golfers,” Tessie said.
After the party, which had not been booked in advance and created a great deal of work in the bar and kitchen, there were dinner guests in a steady stream until nine o’clock. Luckily Johnny was working as well and so they were three chefs and one apprentice.
Tessie demonstrated the extent of her professional capabilities. Eva quickly realized that the other waiter, Gonzo, did not maintain a particularly stunning pace. After having being fired he mainly walked around muttering about the “fascists,” Slobodan and Armas. It was even worse after Slobodan turned up at eight o’clock to have a glass of grappa. Then Gonzo seemed to move in slow motion.
It was Tessie, assisted by Eva, who managed to maintain the level of service and Eva’s respect for her increased even more.
At half past nine things calmed down. The last desserts were going out, the party of golfers had disbanded after lounging in the bar for an hour, the rest of the dinner guests were gradually paying and leaving. Eva sat down. Donald had started scrubbing down the meat stove; Feo, who was putting finishing touches on the last desserts, offered Eva an ice cream, which she declined, while Johnny started to cover things in plastic wrap, clear things away, and put them into cold