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Excerpt from The Wooden Tongue Speaks, by Bogdan Tiganov, to be published Winter 2010 by Honest Publishing.

An Interview

    She called me on my mobile while I was at work. I answered, hoping.
    “Come at six, Darina,” she said, “and wait outside. There’ll be others too.”
    A whole bunch of people were there. All women. Nobody talked and there was no sense of organisation. I was worried somebody else who’d come after me would go in first and everyone shared my worry.
    We waited outside a polished metal door near a dirty, unkempt, staircase and other people, people who probably lived close by, would pass and I tried not to look at them. I don’t mind standing, though, especially when it’s standing for what I want.
    I looked at the other girls. Some looked a bit too old but no matter. Some were incredibly pretty and natural and some were overdressed and over-ready, perfumed, with coiffures, one of them had deep blue eye shadow as if to hypnotise. She’ll do well.
    The longer I waited the more concerned I became. I had come straight from work and I was starting to feel tired. Waiting. I was thinking that it’s only Wednesday and I had to get through to the end of the week. And I also felt unprofessional and ridiculous. What was I doing there at close to seven in the evening outside a stranger’s door? I felt small in my suit. The girls who went in seemed to spend a great deal of time in there. They were retelling their life stories in great detail.
    “Yes, of course,” one of them would say, “I’ve had private English lessons from Mr X.”
    And the girl with the eye shadow would smile for the first time, her smile timed to perfection, showing her pearly whites.
    I was definitely tired, leaning against the wall and hoping it would embrace me and protect me from the uncertainty in my mind. On the phone, she had the voice of a strong woman. She had a to-the-point voice, someone who knew what she wanted and how to get it. From what I knew, the agency was run by a husband and wife, the wife with considerable experience, and it sounded like she was in charge of communications. She got things moving. And when she opened the door to call me in I immediately saw that she looked the same way she talked. She had curly hair, from a perm no doubt, and a light shirt with a jacket on top which made her appear professional. But as I walked inside, and she shut the door behind me, I was not really taken aback by the place. I had expected something a bit, well, richer! I hadn’t expected an everyday place, with pictures of boats in the corridor and a shoe-rack! And her husband, or the man waiting in the living room, sitting at a small table, had no smile for me.
    “Take your shoes off, Darina, and sit down,” she said, right behind me, slightly abrupt and I was starting to worry.
    I slipped them off and sat in front of him while she came up in front and sat down opposite. He started it all off.
    “I’m going to ask you a few questions in English. They will ask you something similar at the Embassy.”
    The Embassy was this frightening place and the officers in there would mercilessly question me, trying to find out if I was worthy of entering their country, working there and taking care of their children.
    “That’s fine,” I said, feeling anxious about my standard of English, although I had practiced at home.
    “Why do you want to work with children?”
    It took a minute for my mind to adjust to the sound of English coming from his mouth.
    “I love children. You can learn so much from them. Their behaviour. I have also learnt a lot about them at university.”
    “Good. Good.” His English was probably limited to the questions or saying yes, no or good.
    “What experience have you got?”
    “I have worked in voluntary organisations looking after disabled or disadvantaged children.” I had rehearsed this line and I was very happy to use it.
    “Good.”
    “What guarantee do we have that you will come back?”
    “I want to come back and start a Masters and learning English will help me do that. I also have no family there,” and a Romanian without family is like a fish without water.
    “Are you planning to get married there?”
    I started laughing in a stupid, almost uncontrolled manner. “No!”
    He raised his eyebrows as if telling me ‘Don’t do that at the Embassy.’
    “Are you going there for money?”
    “No.” This was probably the most ridiculous question. Everybody goes abroad for money and everybody knows.
    “Good,” and again he had no smile for me, nothing to tell me whether I’d done well or whether I had failed completely.
    “Now, what do you know about working as an au pair?”
    “You help out the family with their children.”
    “Yes, but it’s an easy job. Very easy. All you do is help out the mother, like you do at home I hope, you do a bit of cooking and cleaning and guess how long you work for?”
    “Hmm?”
    “About twenty-five hours a week! Can you believe that? Where would you find such an easy job here?”
    “I’m more set on America-”
    “America! Look, America is overrated. You don’t want to go there. The English pound is twice as powerful as the dollar. They have no holidays there and work like slaves. Be smart. Go to England.”
    “I don’t know...two friends of mine went to America and, from what I’ve heard, they’re doing very well there.” They’ve moved on from being au pairs to working in their domains. In fact they’re doing so well they haven’t bothered to come back home.
    “You need to be smart. Think. The pound is twice as powerful. Twice! Look it up in the exchange rates.” The man didn’t even bother to sound enthusiastic. He’d probably said the same thing a hundred times already. A thousand times.
    “And in England if you work more you get more. Look...” and she bent over and as well as showing me half her tits she also showed me a gold chain.
    “You see this chain?”
    “Yes.”
    “This eighteen carat gold chain was given to me as a present when I worked as an au pair in England.”
    “Really?”
    “Have a look at it. Eighteen carat gold. Beautiful!” She let me touch it and although it looked like any other gold chain seeing her smiley face somehow made it special.
    “That’s very nice,” I said, smiling in response to it all.
    “This is a great opportunity for you,” said her rather bored husband.
    “You will never have an opportunity like this.”
    “Yes.”
    “You don’t know when the next opportunity will be.”
    “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
    “Right, and let me tell you, you won’t find an easier, better paid job than this one. We guarantee you three hundred English pounds a week! How does that sound? Fantastic, no? And you’ve never been to England but to me it was a wonderful experience. Everything’s clockwork there. Everybody’s polite, helpful, decent and people always have so much in the house you’ll never go hungry. Do you understand me? You can’t because you’ve never seen anything like it. A fridge, ceiling high, bursting full of anything you’ve ever dreamt of. You like ice cream? They’ve got every type imaginable and any time you want something you just go and help yourself. You don’t even have to ask them. Their home will be your home. And they take you on holiday with them. I went everywhere. Greece, Italy, New York. You will be like them and they will treat you like a member of their family. You probably won’t even miss your family will you?” she asked, that near-psychotic grin on her face.
    “No, I probably won’t.”
    “And, if you want more money, I mean how much money are you looking to earn anyway, you can easily put an advert in a local shop window and get easy babysitter or cleaning jobs in the evening. So easy you won’t believe they’re actually paying you, what ten, twelve pounds an hour for it. All you do is watch the child and make sure they don’t do anything stupid. That’s it. Or clean the kitchen table, like you do at home. That’s it.” I see her now, how she must’ve been licking her lips.
    “You said you want to learn English. You can learn English there for free,” said the man.
    “Your family will tell you what to do. You go to the nearest college and sign up. They’re very welcoming.” She was completing his words. His words and hers were automated responses. A persuasive jazz.
    “You’ll love England. It’s perfect for you.” I didn’t believe the man. Not at all, but all this while I was thinking no matter what the truth is, no matter what happens, I need to do it, I need a proper paid job, I want to come back and buy a house, I need to learn English, it has to be done. I’d sold my car already.
    “What if I don’t like it? What if something goes wrong?” Oh, what if? What if the world will end?
    “Nothing can go wrong. Your English family have strong links with the agency in England. We are only a small representative branch. As you know, the large agency is based in London. You will have their phone number and address. If things don’t go to plan, touch wood, phone them and they’ll give you another family straight away.” Where are they? Where are you?
    “Darina, don’t think too much. Go for it. You can’t lose. You will never have a chance like this one.”
    “I know. Yes, I know.” And I did know. But I also knew that I was thirsty and sweaty and couldn’t make my thoughts connect.
    “Have a look,” he said, pushing a paper in my direction. The paper had on it pretty much the same stuff they had told me. The opportunities. The reassurance that I wouldn’t be stuck with my family forever.
    “Read it and sign. We’ve got a lot more to see today.” The lot were outside their door, waiting to sign like I had been. I turned the paper over. There was the usual on there, name, address, references, but apparently I was to sign for fifty pounds a week! I pointed this out to them.
    “That’s for the Embassy. If they knew you were going for three hundred they wouldn’t let you go.”
    “Don’t worry so much.” How could I not worry?
    “Ok, I get it.” Using the pen that was conveniently placed near me, I began filling out the form.

    “By the way,” she said while I was bent over tying my shoelaces, “it’s a good idea to buy your family traditional presents. They love hand-made traditional stuff. Dolls. Embroidery. Anything traditional. Maybe even musical...you know?”
    “Oh, yeah,” I said, almost stumbling over, hot and realising that I’d given everything and had signed away my future. I had also given them half my money, what I’d worked for, what my brand new car had been worth. I only had enough money for a plane ticket back. And I couldn’t really see anything as I left, not even the girl who was putting on fresh lipstick as I walked towards the stairs.

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