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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 19 | volume IV | February-March, 2001



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 19February-March, 2001
Prose

Compatriots

/10
p. 1
Kole Čašule

    “Evening, brother,” said the girl—in the old language. She was sitting down beside me in the Canadian bar.
    “I've got no money,” I told her, stiffly.
    “So what,” she said. Just like that. And she was from my own country across the sea. “I know what love is,” she said.
    I know your kind of love, I thought. But I wasn't going to get into that. She'd only get angry.
    “You're a knockout,” she said. “A real knockout.”
    I grinned. What else could I do?
    She won't hang around long, I thought. She'll see I'm not standing her aity drinks, so she'll sit around for a while and then push off. I really didn't have any money left. I was down to the last ten dollars of my pay, and I was damned if I was going to blow it on her.
    “Well, how about it, huh? Aren't you going to stand me a drink? You're as tight as a …, oh, never mind.”
    She's angry, I thought. I'll have to stand her a drink.
    “I've got no money,” I told her.
    “Who's asking you for money?” she demanded, raising her voice. “I don't give a damn about your money. Besides, if I was after money, I wouldn't come to you.”
    “You need money to buy drinks,” I said. This, I knew, was my last card.
    “And you need a little class,” she replied. Then she lifted a leg, pulled up her skirt just like they do in the movies, pulled out a ten-dollar bill from the top of her stocking, and threw it down in front of me. “There's your money! Now stand me a drink.” The barman smiled knowingly.
    I felt uneasy. They've been cooking up something between them again, I thought.
    “Come on, stand me a drink!” she said.
    “There's no point.” I pushed the ten dollars back to her.
    “Why not?” And without bothering to wait for my answer she continued, “Because it's me who's paying?”
    I nodded. What the hell did I want to come in here for, I thought, cursing my luck. Why did I have to pick on this place?
    “Forget it,” she said, and she put away the bill. “What'll you have? I'll have a double scotch on the rocks.”
    So—she was still trying. And now with my money, what's more.
    As if I didn't know what a double scotch on the rocks was. She was up to something, I was sure of that. But what was she after? “I'm doing fine.”






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