Roseanne's Summer Vacation- Chapter 20
He never revealed his name to anyone, but childhood friends from San Diego used to call him Murphy. The baseball cap man wore the baseball cap to hide his receding hairline. He used to have beautiful hair just a couple of years ago, but it started falling out on the sides when he left Texas.
He was sitting at a bar in the town of Puck. There was a good view of the local marina. A group of children were trying to learn windsurfing in the sea. The instructor just stood on the sand, keeping himself occupied with a phone. In the meantime, the kids struggled with boards and lost balance one after another.
“HEY! WHAT DID I TELL YA, SHITHEAD! YOU BREAK IT, YOU PAY IT!” the instructor shouted at the top of his lungs when he noticed a sail accidentally go underwater.
This reminded him: He would give anything to find himself in Hawaii now. He desperately wanted to go surfing. He had been surfing since he was a teenager. Murphy shrugged his shoulders. Unbelievable, he thought. I can’t surf because I am here: in Eastern Europe, a wilderness I will never understand.
There was a time he regarded it as the beacon of hope and sanity amidst the wasteland of lies and ideology. Those leftist sons of bitches brainwashed an entire nation! The United States of America for Christ’s sake! No politician, no matter how conservative he could be, won’t clean up this mess. That’s why he left his homeland.
But man… Eastern Europe. It became another version of hell for him. Never before in his life had he seen the most vile, double-crossing, greedy rats who would sell their mothers just to get ahead of the rest. And he realised that as soon as your everyday Siergei and Svetlana kicked him in the balls in Uelen, a Russian village near the border with Alaska.
“I can’t believe they sent me to this shithole with nothing but wheat and grass around!” he cried to himself. “Please, lord. I would give anything for a Hershey bar right now.”
His plea wasn’t answered. Instead, he held in his hands the familiar wooden box. Murphy grunted to himself in dissatisfaction. He got up and passed two couples talking on benches.
“People complain there’s nothing to do round here, but it’s worth it for the sea air,” some prune said.
“Yes, it’s so invigorating! It’s raining cats and dogs, which makes tourists dissatisfied, but I don’t care. I always have a stormcoat with me,” a deadbeat salaryman answered.
Shut up, you wackos! Murphy boiled inside. I wish nuclear holocaust were an option. Humanity should start from scratch. Nature is a sham; nurture doesn’t exist. The only way to condition a society is the Japanese way—let’s bring back the good old feudal system with daimyos, samurai, and farmers. If you screwed up something back, you were ordered to kill yourself. That’s the way.
Murphy came back to his rented quarters. He continued to curse in his mind. Another package for me to check, goddammit. They should check it themselves back in Moscow, the scumbag grifters who speak as if they choked on a potato.
Having turned on the equipment, he checked the package sent from London. The analysis left no doubt about it. The contents were completely worthless. It was a dud. Nine times out of ten, it was. He cursed in spirit again. That’s my luck! Being stuck in here with the Korean version of Jason Bourne.
If the box was spoiled, he didn’t need to give it to the boy scout in Gdynia. Thank goodness for that. The buses and trains from Puck were always late.
The man checked the calendar. The operation is about to end anyway. Those hungry wolves in the Ministry will have to settle for what was recovered this year and nothing more.
Obviously, Murphy wanted his share, but above all, he wanted to get off the hook.
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