He spoke English very slowly, like he was trying to be careful and precise. From his accent, he's Russian. But what do I know? He could just as easily be Ukrainian or some other former Soviet bloc nationality. For the sake of brevity, we'll stick with Russian.
He was explaining that he had to talked to his friend, and he would have some money on Tuesday. I gave him a look out of the corner of my eye. He was a beefy dude and appeared to be missing a few of his teeth. He was definitely down on his luck. The precision in his speaking could be because English was a second language or because he was still messed up from the night before and was trying to hide it, or both.
The man behind the counter didn't say much. Nothing, really. He just nodded assent that he heard the Russian.
The Russian continued: if he could just have a little money for food and water until then... Again, the manager didn't respond. The Russian continued: he'd pay him back. It would all be good on Tuesday. He was staying with a woman. The lies were so practiced and simple. Something told me this was not the first time the Russian was telling his story.
In the quietness of the manager, I could sense his resignation and understanding. He knew any number of things: that he should not have rented the Russian a room in the first place, that he should have asked for a deposit, that he would never get his money back, that yelling would do no good, that he was in for a penny, so he might as well be in for a pound.
He asked the Russian how much he needed.
Twenty dollars. While the Russian continued with some prattle about how things were cheap outside and that would be more than enough, the manager reached into the cash drawer and pulled out two tens and laid them on the counter.
The Russian picked them up and shuffled back to his room, and the manager and I went quietly about our business, pretending we didn't just witness a moment of kindness and charity.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Location:Paragon Hotel, Phnom Penh, Cambodia
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