Wandering Spark - Part 8
"You're from the local, aren’t you? Punk?"
"Yes."
"And why you don’t wear glasses?"
"My eyes get used to it."
"Really? That's good…"
The visitor grinned. He was not the only visitor, Varan was already hearing the demanding tapping of cups at nearby tables and felt how his mother getting angry at the counter... But he could not leave. This visitor hinted him about some interesting work. And such work - not this one - was Varan's dream for a whole month, from the very beginning of the season.
It was lunchtime. Sailors, craftsmen, tailors, laundresses, merchants, and servants - all the working and occupied people, usually rummaging around wealthy travelers wished to have a snack and drink, so Varan had to rotate like a screw.
In this way, he was working for a whole month.
Everybody knows: who does not work during the season, they become wet and starving during the offseason. But, when the world around is changing so dramatically, a person, especially a young man cannot remain the same. The most greedy meanie becomes at least a little, but wasteful. Varan was sick with dishes and trays, he wanted to travel on rocks, jump into the blue sea from white stones, play with fish, count the stars at night...
Father and mother opened a small tavern in one of the streets near the port. They made the stove, pulled out the canopy, arranged tables and chairs borrowed from someone's "upper" house (the Gorni, especially the poor ones, also wanted to earn during the season: they rented houses and residential caves and moved to so-called summer residences, in fact to tents and marquees).
The place was successful: the tables in the tavern were almost never empty. With each passing day prices slowly rose, and it did not frighten anyone: more and more new wallets were arriving at Round Fang, ready to be showered with a golden rain. Varan’s father was at the stove, mother and Varan were serving dishes, the kids were selling handicrafts from shells right here, in a tiny bazaar. Who worked during the season - in the offseason was rich almost like a noble lord.
"How old are you, you said?"
"Seventeen."
"Do you swim?"
"Like a fish."
"Are you afraid of animals?"
"No... What kind of animals?"
"Serpenther. Have you seen it?"
"Ah, serpenthers... I saw them. Last season one guy gave me a ride."
Varan’s mother at the counter made angry eyes and was giving secret signs. The visitor pulled out of his breast pocket a thin suede handkerchief. I blotted the corners of my mouth:
"So, you are Varan, the son of Zagor One-Eye ... by the way, why he called himself one-eyed, he seems to me has both eyes in place?"
"It’s just a nickname."
"A-a... Wait, Varan, wait for the good work. I do not like everyone, so I ask around about you, I'll find out... Okay, go. We'll talk later."
While Varan, showered with curses, served the waiting ones, dragged the beer to the newcomers, and removed plates from the empty tables, the mysterious visitor disappeared. Varan’s father caught him behind the kitchen wall and silently hung a slap so that sparks fell down from his eyes.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
