Day 52

María’s Monologue

The Boss Man, he say I can write hello to my familia on computer if I lend him some thousands pesos. Cheaper than fon. Not is a problem, is not my plata, is from petty cash. And there is plenty much. Millions, maybe, from all royalties of el Maestro from writing poems in Irish. El Maestro, he does not liking banks, neither does el Jefe Dinero, but she not actually in charge of petty cash – that is matter between me and el Maestro. As for where we keep it, that is between me and wall. Is actually where I keep it, is not English idiom. I can say so for Boss Man is off today – ¡gracias a Dios! – and he no read the blog for his days off.

(I can actually speak perfectly good English, by the way, but the Agency (not the CIA, the other one, the one that exploits servants) informed us during the training that rich clients prefer their staff to have broken English and heavy accents so they can show them off to their friends like some sort of exotic pets. So they trained us all in how to do it, and charged us for the training, obviously. They were right too: the more I trowel on the lisping c’s and the puta madre, the bigger the tips from el Maestro’s house guests.)

No house guests anymore now, claro, because the covid-19. Soon as happens in Italy, el Maestro tell Juan at the gate lodge, “Ninguno in, ninguno out,” and has been like since. Why he not in charge of country, I do not know. Entonces, no covid-19 on the estate, and nobody sick. Except for Boss Man – he a sick man, I tell you. Sick in head.

I not actually Spanish, ¿you know? I from Columbia, via Westmeath. I know not how I end up to Westmeath. I tell immigration I want to be in the middle of things, en el centro; I think they send me to bright lights big city where plenty much jobs. They send me to Athlone instead. Athlone! OK, in el centro d’Irlanda, but not really at cutting edge, ¿non?

One night in bar there, I meet el Maestro. He come on trip from private lough down Río Shannon on his yacht. ¿You see foto him?

 

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Anyway, part-time wife and full-time ninos back at hotel, as usual, and me and el Maestro have great crack. He only man in Irlanda who speak Spanish so far. We get drunk, smoke some joints, he offer me job and we go back to hacienda that same night. He had to go back to Athlone next day on yacht for he forget about part-time wife and ninos. We laugh about still! Part-time wife, not so much.

So I work here since, and very good times: free food, free flat, free dope – ¡is excellente! One day, he see me writing letter to cousin in Columbia and we talk about. Cousin Artur have very good, steady, nine five job with one of major drug cartels in Columbia. El Maestro ask for address cos want to practise his writing Spanish – speaking Spanish muy bien, writing Spanish not so muy bien. Now, each time Artur write letter to me, also send big package of presents from Columbia to el Maestro, so they must be good friends now. In appreciation, el Maestro send him dinero in my letters to him for Columbia not rich country and el Maestro mucho kind.

Anyways, have to go to stuff some more petty cash in ‘mice holes’. ¡Hola! Artur and everyone else in home. ¿Maybe we see ourselves after Kerfuffle? Petty cash enough to pay for flights to hacienda so not is a problemo.

¡Hasta luego!

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