The tv room

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There was a tv room in the hostel-for-women where Paula was staying. For most of the time until Luna had come, the room had remained as vandalised as legend had it that it was once made. Then the management of the hostel decided to open it up, bit by bit. Paula did not enjoy watching tv. Comedy shows were the only programs where she could understand an acceptable percentage of what was said. Yet she found it enormously frustrating to watch all those people laughing at words she could not even catch. She did enjoy watching, in their original form, films she had seen doubled into Spanish. At least she could resort to her memory where her English would fall short.

There was one show she did enjoy. It took her all the way to her office job days to work out on what day of the week it was on – on her pub days, every day was so much the same, with Mondays not being that different from, say, Fridays.
There was one show made of cartoons that looked like was made for children. Yet, the themes seemed so much for-adults to Paula. The swearing was of an adult nature too, but it took Paula yet a bit longer to notice this too – her English took a while to get good enough to distinguish when too much swearing was ‘too much swearing’ for a kids show. But back in the day when she first noticed this show, she was so happy that she could understand almost everything every one said. There was only one character that she could not understand, but fortunately it was only one and he didn’t say that much anyway. That didn’t stop Paula from trying hard every time this character spoke, and feeling frustrated for not managing to understand him. This character always wore a red hoodie that kept most of his face hidden too. All the characters, Paula realised with time, wore the same clothes in all the episodes, making the colours of their clothing as much a distinctive feature of each one as their faces, or maybe even more so.

The day when she first noticed this show, there was a critique of those tv programs where the main content was funny home-made videos that were sent by the audience. The protagonist kids wanted to make a funny slapstick video that went too far and the only character whose speech Paula could not manage to understand got killed. Paula was horrified at the sight of the other kids laughing at the great resulting video, too excited at the prospect of winning some price to mourn the killed kid. Then she understood it was a comedy and was just sad that the character would be lost of the rest of the series.

When Paula managed to remember and note the day that this show was on air, she was surprised – and glad – to see this character was back on the show. And killed again. This character was killed in every episode.
Paula got used to this show and wanted to share it with Luna:

“See, there is this really funny show. It’s great. The greatest thing of all is that it is easy to understand. It’s called ‘South Park’.” Luna laughed at the idea that the main reason to like a show would be how easy to understand it would be. And Luna preferred ‘Friends’. Which was just as well because it was aired right before ‘South Park’. So they started to watch tv together, especially on Friday nights. Paula found it strange that Luna would like something like ‘Friends’. They were both comedies, but at least, she thought, ‘South Park’ made her think. ‘Friends’ made her laugh, but ‘South Park’ always had some critique of at least some part of the system. But Luna liked ‘Friends’. And the very person who had insisted in things like recycling every possible bit of paper, was now saying, in a half-jokingly way, every time Paula suggested separating their refuse: “Why do I keep hanging around with ecologists?”
It was Luna that talked to Tilda in the tv room.

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Había un cuarto con una tele en la residencia para mujeres donde Paula vivía. La mayor parte del tiempo hasta que Luna llegó, el cuarto había permanecido tan destrozado como decía la leyenda que lo habían dejado una vez. Entonces la dirección del parador decidió abrirlo, poco a poco. A Paula no le gustaba ver la televisión. Los espectáculos de comedia eran los únicos programas donde ella podría entender un porcentaje aceptable de lo que se decía. Aún así encontraba enormemente frustrante ver todas aquellas personas riéndose de palabras que ella incluso ni podía atrapar.

Como sí disfrutaba era viendo películas que había visto dobladas al español, en su forma original. Al menos ella podría recurrir a su memoria donde su inglés quedaría corto.

Había un programa que sí que le gustaba. Le llevó todo el tiempo hasta sus días de trabajo en la oficina para averiguar en qué día de la semana lo daban – durante sus días de pubs, cada día era tan lo mismo, con lunes que no eran tan diferentes de, pongamos, viernes.

Hubo una serie de dibujos animados que parecía hecho para niños. Sin embargo, los temas parecían para adultos a Paula. Las palabrotas eran de una naturaleza adulta también, pero llevó a Paula todavía un poco más a notar esto – su inglés le llevó algo más de tiempo para mejorar lo suficiente como para distinguir cuando ‘demasiadas palabrotas’ eran ‘demasiadas palabrotas’ para un espectáculo de niños. Pero el día en que ella descubrió este espectáculo, estaba tan contenta de poder entender casi todo cada uno dice. Hubo sólo un personaje al que ella no podía entender, pero afortunadamente fue sólo uno y de todos modos no decía mucho. Esto no hizo que Paula dejara de intentar entenderle, cada vez que hablaba este personaje, ni de sentirse frustrada por no lograr entenderle. Este personaje siempre llevaba un hoodie rojo que ocultaba la mayor parte de su cara. Todos los personajes, Paula se dio cuenta con el tiempo, llevaban la misma ropa en todos los episodios, haciendo de los colores de su ropa un rasgo tan distintivo de cada uno como sus caras, o tal vez más aún.

El primer día que ella vió este espectáculo, fue una crítica de esos programas de tv donde el contenido principal consistía en vídeos caseros graciosos enviados por la audiencia. Los chicos protagonistas querían hacer un vídeo de payasadas divertidas que fueron demasiado lejos y se mató el único personaje cuyo discurso Paula no podía comprender.

Paula estaba horrorizada a la vista de los otros niños riéndose del genial video resultante, demasiado emocionados ante la perspectiva de ganar algún premio para / llorar al / afligirse por el / niño muerto. Entonces comprendió que era una comedia y se quedó triste por el personaje que se perdió para el resto de la serie.

Cuando Paula logró recordar y anotar el día en que se emitían estos capítulos, quedó sorprendida – y alegre – al ver que este personaje estaba de vuelta en el espectáculo. Y matado otra vez. Este carácter fue matado en cada episodio.

Paula se acostumbró a esta serie y quería compartirla con Luna:
“Ven mira, hay esto realmente divertido. Es genial. Lo mejor de todo es que es fácil de entender. Se llama ‘South Park’.”

Luna se rió de la idea de que la razón principal para que un show fuera bueno, fuera lo fácil de entender. Y Luna prefería ‘Friends’. Que ni tan mal, porque se emitía justo antes de ‘South Park’.

Así que empezaron a ver la televisión juntas,sobre todo los viernes por la noche. Paula encontró extraño que a Luna le gustaría algo como ‘Amigos’. Ambas eran comedias, pero al menos, Paula pensó, ‘South Park’ hacía pensar. ‘Friends’ hacía reír, pero ‘South Park’ siempre tenía alguna crítica de al menos una parte del sistema. Pero a Luna le gustaba ‘Friends’. Y la misma persona que había insistido en cosas como el reciclaje de cada trozo posible de papel, ahora, decía medio bromeando, cada vez que Paula sugirió separar sus basuras: ¿”por qué me juntaré con ecologistas? ”

Luna en Londres

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Luna “was” good at keeping in touch. It was thanks to her and her letters and Paula kept informed about their doings, even though these were not as varied as Luna’s or indeed those of herself. None of them seemed to be changing jobs as often as she was. Only Luna seemed to go from photography school to a badly paid job, to a better paid job, to the union to fight her own sacking.

Jose for his part continued to work for Emaus, same as Josu, and Fede, Mentxu, Salva and Ara and all the others continued with their volunteering in Fair Trade, each in their own organisations.

Paula was proud to manage to continue to be part of that in as much a way as she could. It was ironic that the person who was more and more distancing herself from all that was the only one who came to London for such a long visit.
Three days after the conversation with the Pole, Luna came to stay for three months. Paula was gutted that she could not offer some free space, even on the floor in her room. The rules were that she could have a visit for as long as three nights, hiring a mattress to put in her room for three pounds a night. But Paula’s room, being the cheapest of the range, could not even fit a mattress on the floor that the bed and the wardrobe left free in her room. They decided to request a room for the two of them. Paula upgraded to a much bigger room and Luna enjoyed an affordable rent. It was not ideal but they were the best months Paula spent in that hostel-for-women.

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Luna ‘sí’ era buena para mantenerse en contacto. Fue gracias a ella y a su cartas que Paula se mantuvo informada de lo que les pasaba, aunque no fuera tan variados como Luna ni como los de Paula. Ninguno de ellos parecía estar cambiando puestos de trabajo tan a menudo como lo estaba Paula. Sólo la Luna parecía ir de la escuela de fotografía a un trabajo mal pagado, a uno mejor remunerado, y de ahí al sindicato para luchar contra su propio despido.

José por su parte siguió trabajando para Emaus, igual que Josu, y Fede, Mentxu y Ara, Salva y todos los demás continuaron con su voluntariado en comercio justo, cada uno en su respectiva organización.

Paula estaba orgullosa de poder seguir siendo parte de todo esto en tanto que pudo. Resultaba irónico que la persona que se fue distanciando más de todo esto fue la única que fue a Londres para una visita tan larga.

Tres días después de la conversación con el chico polaco, Luna llegó para quedarse durante tres meses. A Paula le habría gustado ofrecerle un espacio gratis, aunque hubiera sido en el suelo de su habitación. Las reglas eran que ella podría tener una visita durante tres noches, alquilar un colchón para poner en su habitación por tres libras la noche. Pero la habitación de Paula, siendo la más barata de la gama, no podría ni encajar un colchón en el suelo que la cama y el armario dejaban libres en su habitación. Decidieron solicitar un espacio para las dos. Paula se mudó a una sala mucho más grande y Luna disfrutó de un alquiler asequible, dos en una. No era ideal, pero fueron los mejores meses que Paula pasó en aquel albergue para mujeres.

A year after squatting

Paula was coming back from the library one day when she went past the pub where she had worked the previous summer and stumbled upon one of the Poles she had worked with. She looked so the same, yet so different. They hugged in joy and in surprise.
“My God, Paula! So great to see you! We have thought of you so much in the winter!”
(“Yeah, that’s why I’ve had so many letters from you”)
“I didn’t have that many letters though!” She was still smiling; his own smile turned apologetic but all was fine.
“This summer I am on my own. But we should meet up! “Where is your friend?!”
“He went back to Spain. He came only for six months, remember?”
“Ah, yeah, I remember that.”
“He still stayed for eight months, almost forgot his deadline, but then one day he remembered and ran to get a plane ticket back!”
They laughed.
“Hey, when are you next free?”
They arrange to meet another day and, unlike last summer, now Paula could afford to invite him to a pub and she chose one where, again unlike the previous summer, she knew there was live music.
“Wow, I didn’t now there was live music in pubs in London.”
“Yeah. You spend three months a year here and you have no idea about live music in pubs.”
“And neither did you know, last summer.”
“I did. I just couldn’t afford to get into any of them!”
“So, where are you working now, then?”
“I left the pubs. I went to Spain for Christmas, and when I came back I decided that I did not want to continue with that unstable life any more, and looked for a job in an office. I worked in a shop for a while too, but now I only work nine to five, Monday to Friday.”
“It sounds mainstream”
“It is dignified. I no longer count the pennies when I get home on Friday after getting my wages.
Paula was marvelled at the way this guy had improved his English.
“Hey, your English has improved!”, he said.
(Hang on a second. ‘I’ was supposed to say that about you.)
“How about you?”, she asked instead. He smiled.
“I am still studying drama, in Poland.”
“What about the other two that were staying in that squat?”
“They are there too. Seems last year it was too much for them, with the squat, the way that chef evicted us, then having to share a room between the three of us. They didn’t want to repeat this year.”
“And where are you staying now? Still waiting distance from here?”
“No. Far away. It takes me one hour on the tube. But it is cheap.”
“Still saving, eh?”
“For the rest of the year, yes.”
They listened to the live music for a bit. After more than a year in London, Paula still felt fortunate and privileged to live in a city with such beautiful possibilities.
“I went round to that squat the other day.”
“Did you?”
“Yes. It was full of drunks. All men. They looked pretty rough, very scary.”
“So your chef it not living with his wife and his little son there, then.”
“Hopefully not!”
“After all that effort.”
“Yeah.”
They promised each other to keep in touch this time. One of those promises.

Anti-capitalist internet hosting company

Paula went to her friends university to find out more about that thing being prepared for the eighteenth of June. She went through reception. From then on, she had to pretend she was a student. There were some men on high visibility suits building something next to the entrance. She realised they were workers installing barriers and she guessed it would not be long before she could not come here again without some magnetic and valid pass. She now knew her way to the computer room.

She sat on one of the terminals. She input her friend’s user name and password. She was getting faster with the keyboards. She typed the address. A long one. No-one cool had a short internet address those days. When the page loaded completely, she only found vague directions. Nothing useful. Long texts on why capitalism is bad for you. She already knew that. She wanted to find out where she could meet the people who were planning on “doing something” on that day. She wanted to have the kind of conversations she had been having in the basement shop while volunteering, with Salva, with Jose, with Luna. She wanted to make sense of the world again.

But there was nothing there other than a meeting point on the day. It was the 18th of June. A weekday. Right in the middle of the period where, she was told, it was not allowed to have a holiday because the office was so busy. So she was not going to be able to attend. So she needed more information, where could she find those people that was not on that precise day.

The address was long. Some times, it worked to take off bits of the address, get other associated pages. She took off bits. Blank pages; no one had placed any page on those addresses. Finally, when she got to the “root” of it, she got the hosting company. They accepted volunteers. Great. She found a contact address. With her brand new email address, got with the help of the same people who had granted her access to those computers, she wrote to them. She would volunteer for these people who were assisting those anticapitalists.

She wrote them an email.

The answer arrive a few days later, although Paula could only read it the following week, the next time she could get hold of a computer with an internet connection.

Dear Paula,
You are most to come visit us for an interview, and to volunteer with us should you decide to. Our working hours are 9 to 5 Monday to Friday. Please let us know when would suit you within those hours.

Monday to Friday 9 to 5. Those were Paula’s working hours too. For the first and last time ever, after leaving the types of work she had done in pubs and restaurants, Paula wished she was still in one of them. How could they expect lots of people to volunteer, Paula wondered, if they only accepted volunteers “during office hours”?

No mention of the eighteenth of June, either. That seemed like a dead end. And the website itself continued to give any more information than a meeting point in the city, at a time when Paula did not feel she could be anywhere else than at her own job. She could not afford to loose that job, however alienated she felt in the office every day.

Two jobs for a bit

Paula found it difficult to tell the shop manager that she could no longer work on Thursdays. She had been working only on Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays, for four pounds fifty an hour. This was less then what “the british government considered enough for an adult to live on”, according to the benefits literature. Without considering rent. Yet Paula’s boss sounded surprised she had managed to find another job.
“Oh. So you can not take Thursdays off to come here?”
Paula could not know if he was joking. This was a serious job, paying well above what “the British government considered enough for an adult to live on” plus her rent. There was no way Paula would prioritise the shop that was not giving her enough to live on. It would not be long before Paula would leave the job in the shop altogether. Working seven days a week, with not a single day off, was all right while she paid off the arrears of her rent, but once that was done, Paula decided to take a weekly rest as normal people did. She would miss the contact with the shop that she continued to believe to be related to fair trade, but at least she managed to keep in touch with Lisa. They even had dinner together some times, and Lisa introduced her to some of her own friends. Paula admitted to herself – not to Lisa, though – that she was not interested in Lisa’s friends that much. She could not understand her English friends, and the Spanish ones would eventually leave London. Paula had learnt as much. Maria had stayed long enough; longer than all the other friends she had introduced to Paula. But she too had left. As had done the students who had allowed Paula to use the internet in their university. Paula learnt to have friends who would eventually leave and was not keen to have that many of them.
Of course it was different with Luna. She had known her from before London. That was as good as knowing some one from a previous life. And Tilda.

El metro

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Paula was not too displeased about having to commute regularly now, unlike most of her co-workers. She was even more pleased about being able to afford it, and not to having to decide any more whether to spend two hours walking, one in the bus or half one in the tubes.

Now the office was an hour away by tube, which according to conversations with other people in the building was more or less the average that most of them were spending under ground every day, twice a day, first to come to work and then to return home.

And what she liked the most, although it was not happening too often, was to be able to listen to good music, courtesy of musicians who simply got there and played here.
Whenever she heard one, Paula made herself comfortable against the wall, if it was not too dirty, discreetly so that nobody, especially the musician in question, would realise that she was listening attentively; she closed her eyes and enjoyed the mixture of sounds, music, hurried steps, quiet steps, the PA system announcing something useful or reminding not to leave baggage unattended, the background music, the train approaching on the tracks in the other direction, the sound of doors being opened, the PA system, “Mind The Gap”, the background music, the crowd getting out of the train, “Mind The Gap”, the crowd changing platforms, the sound of the doors closing, the PA system again, and the background music constantly, and Paula remembered Joaquín Sabina, who had begun his musical career singing songs of Joan Manuel Serrat with a guitar in the London Underground.
Then her train would come, and this time the din muted the singer-songwriter little by little until they could not be heard any more, and Paula carefully put a pound coin in the artist’s hat to then run to the nearest train door, before it got closed it down, and she she went going away with the din, leaving the music behind.

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A Paula no le disgustaba del todo tener que desplazarse siempre en metro, a diferencia de a casi todos sus compañeros de trabajo. Más le gustaba poder pagárselo, y no tener ya que decidir más si pasarse dos horas caminando, una en el bus o media en el metro.

Ahora la oficina estaba a una hora en metro, lo cual según conversaciones con la gente de su edificio era más o menos la media que se pasaba toda la gente bajo tierra cada día, dos veces al día, primero para llegar al trabajo y luego para volver a casa.

Y lo que más le gustaba, aunque no pasaba demasiado a menudo, era escuchar buena música cortesía de músicos que simplemente se ponían allí a tocar. Cada vez que oía uno, Paula se acomodaba contra la pared, si no estaba demasiado sucia, discretamente para que nadie, especialmente el músico en cuestión, se diera cuenta de que estaba escuchando atentamente, cerraba los ojos y disfrutaba de la mezcla de sonidos, música, pasos apresurados, pasos quedos, la megafonía anunciando algo útil o recordando no dejar el equipaje desatendido, la música de fondo, el tren que se acercaba en las vías de la otra dirección, el estruendo de puertas que se abrían, la megafonía recordando el hueco, la música de fondo, la muchedumbre saliendo del tren, cambiando de andén, el estruendo de las puertas cerrándose, la megafonía otra vez, y la música de fondo constante, y Paula se acordaba de Joaquín Sabina, que había empezado su carrera musical cantando con una guitarra canciones de Joan Manuel Serrat en el metro de Londres. Luego llegaba su tren, y esta vez el estruendo acallaba poco a poco a los cantautores hasta que no se les oía más, y Paula ponía con cuidado una moneda de libra en el sombrero del artista para luego correr hacia la puerta más cercana del tren, antes de que se cerrara, y ella se iba con el estruendo dejando la música atrás.

Jobless

She was not paying enough attention to detail, the assistant manager had said. And that in the five years he had spent in that restaurant as an assistant manager, he had learnt to know when a waitress had some prospect of a career or no prospect, and unfortunately Paula didn’t had one; not after two warnings anyway. What career it was, Paula wondered, in a working place where the furthest any one could get would be an assistant manager and then general manager, and where both jobs seemed to be reserved for native English speakers.
She had arranged to meet with Lisa that evening. Lisa had casual jobs too, but it was far easier to see her than it was to see any of her other friends who were still working in coffee shops, even if they were assistant managers, as Maria now said she was.
Lisa took Paula to a place with live music. She was a Londoner, Paula thought, so she would not all the coolest places with the best music. As they entered, Paula saw the “barmaid wanted” poster outside. “Request an application form at the bar”, said the poster. Paula offered to buy the drinks on the first round.
“Can I have two half pints of cider and a job application form please?”

After squatting

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Paula and his friend thought that the cook was exploiting them a little, that that thing about to allow them to stay in “his” squat only if they were cleaning the rooms was not too equitable plan. They met with the Poles and decided to search for another place to live.
The difference was that the Poles were going to stay only a few weeks more and Paula and another boy they were going for a few months. So when the Poles found a room that they were going to have to share between them all, sharing two boys one of the beds, it was time for Paula to find a room that his friend could occupy.
At work she thought that she could not cope with everything and asked for a week off. The new manager offered two and she felt she may well need two weeks to find two rooms.

Paula had sensed, when she had to find a room for herself, that it was more difficult for a boy to find somewhere. But now she would learn just how much more difficult.
At the beginning they aimed for two rooms in the same house, so they could live together and sharing meals. They bought the renting newspaper and phoned the first few numbers. For some strange reason it took them five calls to get an answer. The first four did not answer (what is the point of paying for an advert if you are not going to pick up the phone?). Most adverts said “No DSS” and Paula had no idea what this meant, but it didn’t seem to be affecting the first conversation. The person who answered the phone gave them an address and they got on the bus, checking the A-Z map all the time.
“It should be this stop.”
“Well, we missed it.”
“Let’s get off now on the next one then! Quick!”

They got off, un-walked what the bus had over-gone and found the street. Now they only had to find the number. They located the even numbers, which was what they needed, and admired the beauty of the terraced houses, all the pretty same. Paula looked at his friend smiling, but he looked serious.
“I don’t know how you feel. But this being only the first house we’re seeing, I am already fed up.”
“I feel exactly the same. We’d better like it, because I really want this to be the last one we have to visit.”
Far from fact. The pretty terraced houses disappeared right before the number they were after. There, behind the last terraced house, laid a run-down modern-but-ruined derelict slum, with a number. They double-checked. It was theirs. They looked at each other, then rang the bell.

“Oh, come in, welcome. This is our house.” (I have not come to see your house, I have come to see my prospect room.)

The woman guided them through a narrow, smelly corridor. The smell of typically London/indian food. Then they were in a kitchen. The family kitchen. There was a husband on a sofa who waved a brief hello. They were hesitant to follow the woman any further but she motioned them to follow her through the door she was now opening. They followed her and they were in an empty room. There was just a bare bed and an empty wardrobe. One of the rooms to let. She went through another room and showed them a similar room, only this one was slightly smaller.

“Come, sit down,” she said as she sat down on the bare mattress and patted on it to indicate where she wanted them to sit. They sat down out of politeness but none of them had any intention to take on these rooms. She talked about the price, the bills and how lovely it was to have them both there, and were they only friends? Paula’s English had not been good enough to politely cut her short and now it would not be good enough for a polite answer either:

“So you will enter our rooms from your kitchen?”
“Yes… Yes, there is no key.”

C. wondered why it had even been necessary for Paula to ask that. They made very little conversation before emptily promising to call back with a definite answer.

“No way I was going to live there! With them having full access to our rooms unnoticed?”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“That was the only advert, in all today’s paper, for two rooms in the same house.”
“For our budget.”
“For our budget.”
“It doesn’t seem very possible to find two affordable rooms in the same house at the same time.”
“No.”
“I am not that bad in the hostel for girls where I am now.”
“No.”
“I suggest we look for a room just for you and then I’ll think about moving out.”
“OK.”

Paula took on talking to landlords as her English was slightly better and spent all the time that the job in the office allowed her phoning landlords and visiting houses. C. didn’t like any of them. After two weeks, Paula was still phoning the numbers advertised in the cheapest rooms section of the loot paper.
” Well, when ‘Well, when you can movethen? ” asked the second-last landlord.
” As soon as we see the room, but it is not for me. It is for a boy who does not know much English to speak with you on the phone.”
” Ah. Ah. Sorry. Don’t want guys.”
” Sorry? ”
” You should have said. I thought it was for you. But the fact is that I do not want guys, they are too dirty. ”

With every call Paula felt that her soul was falling down to her feet. She had already thrown the towel when she decided to do another round of calls, to all the numbers where there had not even been an answer in the previous rounds. C. remained seated on the grass while Paula was returning once again to the telephone box. They were both exhausted.

They answered. Paula was too tired to keep the norms of education.

“Hello. It says in your ad that you have a room for 50 pounds a week.”
“Yes”
“Does it include invoices?”
“Yes”
“Good. Is it a single room?”
“Yes.”
“And it is not for me. It is for a boy. Agree? ”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
” Well. If you want we can go right now to see it.”

The room was in Stoke Newington. They were tired and Paula made a mistake on having noted down the house number.
” Here it is. Number four. ”
It took them two rings and ten minutes to answer the door. Paula had no longer any energy to even get angry.
When the door finally opened there appeared in the threshold a man with a black coat, an almost top hat, also black, black trousers, a white shirt and corkscrews on both sides of his face.
“We are coming about the room.”
There was no response. The guy with the corkscrews was looking to C. through Paula.
“Are you not renting a room here? ”
It seemed to Paula that the guy with the corkscrews kept on ignoring he when he denied with his head almost imperceptibly. Then he closed the door and they remained amazed in the street.
“It may well be number fourteen and you forgot to write the number one. ”
” It may.”
It had taken them almost an hour to get there so a few steps more, five houses further down the street wasn’t too much of a waste of time, especially putting the day in perspective.

In number fourteen they were waited by a woman of brown curls with an accent that sounded Andalusian to Paula, who radiated in the hope to be able to speak in Spanish:
” Where are you from? ”
” Israel. ”
” Ah. We are Spanish. ”

The lady showed them a room that felt like freezing to Paula, with a sink, a microwave and refrigerator inside, in addition to the bed and a television set, and looked at her friend begging him with her eyes to please like it.
” There is heating, ” the lady said. ” I know that it is necessary, because this room is very cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. ” (at least the lady is sincere, thought Paula). ” But I do not put the heating on to cheat the people who comes to see it ” (which is to be welcomed, thought Paula); I prefer to leave it off if nobody lives inside (very ecological, thought Paula).

They signed a contract in a wrinkled / crumpled paper with a pen of red ink, and Paula was grateful to heavens that the search had ended.

” It is a cavern, Paula. ”
” This is what you can pay for fifty a week. ”
[…]
“And tomorrow, back to work. I wish I did not have to return but the two weeks of vacation that I asked for to help you look for a home end today.’

In the two weeks Paula had been off from work, the owner of the pub where she worked had fired the manager and hired a new one. It is not possible to say that the new boss of the bar was waiting for Paula with his arms opened on the following day. / not that the head of the bar were waiting for Paula with arms open the next day.

” Have they not told you?’
” Who? ”
” The Polish boys from the kitchen. ”
” No, what did they have to say to me? ”
” You do not work here any more. There is no work. Take this envelope, it is the salary of your last week.”

Paula was glad that she had at least her friend to tell it to him. And for having that job in the office. To C. was allowed ten free minutes to speak with Paula.
” And this face? ”
” I have just been sacked.”
“Come work here! They are looking for a waitress; one just left today. ”
It was the second time Paula changed jobs in London; there would be more changes and some equally of percussion caps/primers.

————–
castellano
——————

Paula y su amigo pensaron que el cocinero les estaba un poco explotando, que lo de dejarles quedarse en “su” okupa solo si iban limpiando las habitaciones era un plan no demasiado equitativo. Se reunieron con los polacos y decidieron entre todos buscarse otra casa para vivir.
La diferencia era que los polacos se iban a quedar solo unas semanas más y Paula y el otro chico iban para meses. Así que cuando los polacos encontraron una habitación que iban a tener que compartir entre todos, compartiendo los dos chicos una de las camas, fue momento para Paula de encontrar una habitación que pudiera ocupar su amigo.
En el trabajo pensó que no podía con todo y pidió dos semanas de vacaciones. Apenas les dio tiempo en esas dos semanas a encontrar habitación, pero lo consiguió. No sabía Paula lo difícil que era para un chico encontrar una habitación de alquiler.
“Bien, cuando te puedes mudar entonces?” le preguntó el único casero que contestó el teléfono a la primera.
“En cuanto veamos la habitación, pero no es para mi. Es para un chico que no sabe tanto inglés como para hablar con usted por teléfono.”
“Ah. Lo siento. No quiero chicos.”
“Cómo?”
“Tenías que haberlo dicho antes. He pensado que era para ti. Pero es que no quiero chicos, son demasiado sucios.”

Con cada llamada a Paula se le caía el alma a los pies. Había tirado ya la toalla cuando decidió hacer otra ronda de llamadas, a todos los teléfonos donde ni habían contestado en las anteriores rondas. C. se quedó sentado en la hierva mientras Paula volvía una vez más a la cabina de teléfono. Estaban los dos agotados.

Contestaron. Paula estaba demasiado cansada para guardar las normas de educación.

“Hola. Dice en su anuncio que son 50 libras a la semana. Incluye facturas? Bien. Es habitación individual? Y no es para mi. Es para un chico. Conforme?”
“Si, si, si bien por supuesto.”
“Bien. Si quiere podemos ir ahora mismo a verla.”

La habitación estaba en Stoke Newington. Estaban cansados y Paula se confundió al anotar el número de la calle.
“Aquí está. Número cuatro.”
Tardaron en contestar al timbre dos timbrazos y diez minutos. Paula ya no tenía fuerzas ni para enfadarse. Cuando la puerta se abrió por fin, en el umbral apareció un hombre con gabardina negra, sombrero casi de copa también negro, pantalón negro, camisa blanca y tirabuzones a ambos lados de la cara.
“Venimos por lo de la habitación.”
No hubo respuesta. El de los tirabuzones miraba a C. a través de Paula.
“No alquila una habitación aquí?”
A Paula le pareció que el de los tirabuzones le seguía ignorando cuando negó con la cabeza casi imperceptiblemente. Luego cerró la puerta y se quedaron pasmados en la calle.
“Igual es catorce y se te ha olvidado el uno.”
“Igual.”
les había llevado casi una hora llegar allí así que nos cuantos pasos más, cinco casas más abajo no era demasiada pérdida de tiempo, sobre todo poniendo el día en perspectiva.

En el número catorce les estaba esperando una mujer de rizos morenos cuyo acento le sonó andaluz a Paula, que radió en esperanza de poder hablar en castellano:
“De donde es usted?”
“De Israel.”
“Ah. Nosotros somos españoles.”

La señora les enseñó una habitación que a Paula le pareció heladora, con una fregadera, un microondas y una nevera dentro, además de la cama y un aparato de television dentro, y miró a su amigo implorandole con los ojos que por favor le gustara.
“Hay calefacción,” dijo la señora. “Sé que es necesaria, porque esta habitación es muy fria en invierno y demasiado caliente en verano.” (al menos la señora es sincera). “Pero no pongo la calefacción para engañar a la gente que viene a verla” (lo cual es de agradecer) prefiero dejarla apagada si no vive nadie dentro (muy ecológica).

Firmaron un contrato en un papel arrugado, con un bolígrafo de tinta roja, y Paula agradeció al cielo que la búsqueda hubiera terminado.

“Es un antro, Paula.”
“Es lo que te puedes pagar por cincuenta a la semana.”
“Y mañana vuelta al curro. Ojala no tuviera que volver pero las dos semanas de vacaciones que pedí para ayudarte a ti a buscar casa terminan hoy.”

no se puede decir que el jefe del bar estuviera esperando a Paula con los brazos abiertos al día siguiente.

“No te han dicho?”
“Quien?”
“Los chicos polacos de la cocina.”
“No, qué me tenían que decir?”
“Ya no trabajas aquí. No hay trabajo. Toma este sobre, es el sueldo de tu última semana.”

Paula se alegró de que al menos le quedara su amigo para contárselo. Y de tener aquel trabajo en la oficina. A C. le permitieron diez minutos libres para hablar con Paula.

“Y esa cara?”
“Acaban de echarme.”
“Pues vente aquí! Están buscando una camarera que acaba de marcharse hoy.”
Fue el segundo cambio de trabajo de Paula en Londres; volverían más y algunos igual de fulminantes.

The squat

original en castellano abajo

Paula made friends with the boys of the kitchen immediately, even hough they were Polish and could speak English even less than herself. They did not have too many opportunities to speak, but Paula was going down to the kitchen whenever she could because, apart from needing things of it that nobody was going to bring upstairs for her, apart from the kitchen porter boys, and she believed that they were already exploited enough without any need of her ‘help’, there, in the kitchen, not only did she not have the obligation to smile, but she could relax in such a way all the way to make jokes and laugh at the jokes about her. Every time she went down to the kitchen, she climbed back into the bar with a smile, but a true smile.

Two Polish boys were the first friends she took to the hostel-for-women that now she was considering to be her house. They became so good friends that in more than one occasion they spoke to him in Polish:
“Sorry, I have not realized. The fact is that I cannot believe it, that we should be so close friends without you speaking in Polish. But But what’s wrong? ”
” I am worried. A friend is visiting, approximately for six months, and does not know very much English. I want to look for a place to live with him and I do not know where to begin.
It was so difficult for me. And nevertheless I realized that it is much more difficult for a boy. ”
” Why do not you say to him to come to our house? ”
” Do you have room? ”
” Yes, in abundance. We are three in a house of four or five rooms, but only we use one. ”
” And that? ”
” You will see, come. ”
” You are not saying everything to her. It is a squat ”
” Good. I will go one day to see it and then I decide. ”
” Why you do not come today! ”
Paula had not arranged to meet with anybody that night. It was not the free day of anyone of her friends, and she would end at about midnight anyway. With a little luck, it would take about half an hour to reach the house of the Polish and another half hour to get back to hers.

They took Paula on streets along which she had never walked before and she realized that, to return to her house, she would have to go through the bar first because they were going just in the opposite direction. She withdrew this thought off her head even though she would have to go to her office work at nine in the morning, then return to the bar at three o’clock in the afternoon, again to leave at midnight.

They needed to cross a main street and Paula simply looked to both sides and began to cross. One of the Polish guys stopped her:
“I may only do a thing

“Perhaps there is only one thing that I can do legally in this country and I’m going to do it: cross the street by the zebra crossing.”

Paula saw that the crossing was to several meters and then they would have to return, but if it made them especially happy use it even though it would mean that to do a detour, she did not feel with authority to take that away from them.

When they arrived at the house, she wanted to read a small but clear piece of paper that was stuck to the door. “ Section 6 ″, it had for a title.
Paula only could go so far as to read that and the last line, which was something like a justification for that piece of paper was not signed and a warning that it had the same legal value although it was not signed. this Alone scared Paula , gave her a bit of fear but she was with this pair of boys that she was already considering to be her friends and she felt safe.

The house was smelling a little of damp and seemed old, very old. As all the English houses Paula had seen, had carpeting throughout it,, including the stairs. In the end they came to a room that had a light on and Paula was a witness of a scene who till then had imagined only thanks to unpleasant novels: three mattresses on the floor, together with magazines generally untidy things, clothes included, although most of it was in another three luggage bags distributed randomly around the room, and, on the mattresses, blankets and pillows also apparently placed there by chance. One of the mattresses had a brunette girl that was nothing like these so fair-haired Poles. They introduced them and they all sat down on the floor- there were no chairs or any kind of furniture, on the on the other hand. The light was coming from a table lamp that also looked like it had been left there on the floor by chance.
They introduced the girls and explained to Paula the history of the of the squat to Paula. It had been found by the chef, who was English and knew how these things were. This house had been offered to the kitchen boys on the condition that they would find someone else and between all of them, they would make sure that someone would always stay at home, at any time and all times, 24 hours a day. Between the two boys, they could cover the hours of the night, when the bar was not open, and the girl was covering the hours of the day, because she was working during the night. The three of them had come to London just to work during the summer, so at least it was not the whole of their lives that would be their life in the squat, then the chef would have it for his family, and meanwhile they were saving a weekly rent and could take more to their country to be able to continue their studies without having to work during the course. In return they only had to keep the house the twenty-four hours of the day 24 and clean the rooms that they were occupying; that’s why they were managing with just one – and because it was feeling more safe – and the bathroom only.

Paula felt more and more laziness to go back home so late at night and less and less fear of the condition of the house, so when he urged her so stay overnight she did not make them repeat it. In fact she stayed for the two weeks remaining before her friend would come and she did not bother to look for a house for him.

When Paula’s friend arrived, it seemed only natural that he would set up home in that same room with every one else. He could barely babble in English, but with Paula there, and every one’s good will, that seemed enough.
He became a good support for the Polish girl as she guarded the squat during the day time, while Paula and the boys were working. One day a drunken homeless came round demanding entry to the squat.
“But it is our home!”
“I will come back!”
They had got into alert mode immediately and the whole little episode became the epic tale of the following week. The girl had been immensely grateful for C.’s presence there. But most of the time he just sat there, listening, smoking. There were few moments when most of them were all together, but there were some. In those occasions, he would just retreat himself from the whole scene and look to his rolling cigarettes.
“Maybe he should have learnt English before coming here”, said one of the Poles.
“Look who’s talking!”, said Paula smiling. They all laughed.

The trouble was when the chef found out that were actually five people living in the house and not three as had been previously arranged t live in the house which he considered to be “his” squat. As soon as he found out about the new circumstances he spoke with Paula and demanded that they clean a room that had not been cleaned already or find another place to stay.

————–
castellano
——————

Paula se hizo amiga de los chicos de la cocina en seguida, aunque fueran polacos y hablaran menos inglés que ella. No tenían muchas oportunidades de hablar, pero Paula bajaba siempre que podía a la cocina porque, aparte de necesitar cosas de ella que nadie tenía por qué proporcionarle, aparte de los pinches de cocina, y ella creía que ya estaban bastante explotados sin necesidad de su ‘ayuda’, allí no solo no tenía la obligación de sonreír, sino que podía relajarse de tal forma hasta hacer bromas y reírse de las que le gastaran. Cada vez que bajaba a la cocina, subía de nuevo al bar con una sonrisa, pero de las de verdad.
Los dos chicos polacos fueron los primeros amigos a los que llevó a la residencia que ahora consideraba su casa. Se hicieron tan amigos que en más de una ocasión le hablaron en polaco:
“Perdona, no me he dado cuenta. Es que no puedo creérmelo, que seamos amigos sin que hables polaco. Pero que te pasa?”
“Ando preocupada. Viene un amigo de visita, de visita unos seis meses, y no sabe mucho inglés. Me siento obligada a buscarle un sitio donde vivir y no se ni por donde empezar. Fue tan difícil para mi. Y aún así me di cuenta de que es mucho más difícil para un chico.”
“Por qué no le dices que venga a nuestra casa?”
“Tenéis sitio?”
“Sí, de sobra. Estamos tres en una casa de cuatro o cinco habitaciones, pero solo usamos una.”
“Y eso?”
“Ya la veras.”
“No le estás diciendo todo. Es una okupa.”
“Bueno. Voy un día a verla y luego decido.”
“Por qué no vienes hoy!”
Paula no había quedado con nadie. No era el día libre de nadie, y ella terminaría a eso de media noche de todas formas. Con un poco de suerte, tardaría media hora en llegar a la casa de los polacos y otra media hora en volverse a la suya.

Llevaron a Paula por calles por las que nunca había caminado y se dio cuenta de que, para volver a su casa, tendría que pasar por el bar primero porque iban justo en dirección contraria. Retiró ese pensamiento de su cabeza porque al menos al día siguiente no trabajaba de nuevo hasta las tres de la tarde, de nuevo para salir a media noche.

Necesitaron cruzar una calle medio principal y Paula simplemente miró a ambos lados y comenzó a cruzar. Uno de los chicos polacos la detuvo:
“Quizás solo haya una cosa que puedo hacer legal en este país y la voy a hacer: cruzar la calle por el paso de cebra.”
Paula se dio cuenta de que el paso estaba a varios metros y luego tendrían que volver, pero si les hacia ilusión usarlo aunque eso significara dar un rodeo, no se sintió ella con autoridad para quitársela.

Cuando llegaron a la casa, ella quiso leer un papel pequeño pero claro que había pegado en la puerta. “Section 6”, tenía por título. Paula solo pudo llegar a leer eso y la última línea, que era algo así como una justificación de que el papel no estuviera firmado y una advertencia de que tenía el mismo valor judicial aunque no estuviera firmado. A Paula esto solo le dio un poco de miedo pero estaba con este par de chicos a los que ya consideraba sus amigos y se sintió segura.

La casa olía algo a humedad y parecía vieja, muy vieja. Como todas las casas inglesas, tenía moqueta por toda ella, incluídas las escaleras. Al final llegaron a una habitación que tenía la luz encendida y Paula fue testigo de una escena que hasta entonces solo se había imaginado gracias a películas desagradables: tres colchones en el suelo, junto con revistas y cosas generalmente desordenadas, ropa incluída, aunque la mayoría estaba en otras tres maletas distribuidas aleatoriamente por la habitación, y, sobre los colchones, mantas y almohadas también aparentemente puestas ahí de forma aleatoria. En uno de los colchones había una chica morena que no se parecía en nada a estos polacos tan rubios. Las presentaron y se sentaron todos en el suelo – no había sillas ni ninguna clase de muebles, por otra parte. La luz la daba una lampara de mesa que estaba también aleatoriamente en el suelo.
Les presentaron a las chicas y le explicaron a Paula la historia de la okupa. La había encontrado el jefe de cocina, que era inglés y sabía como iban estas cosas. Les había ofrecido esta casa a los pinches con la condición de que encontraran a alguien más y entre todos, se quedara siempre alguien en la casa, en todo momento, las veinticuatro horas del día. Entre ellos dos podían cubrir las horas de la noche, cuando no estaba abierto el bar, y la chica cubría las horas del día porque trabajaba durante la noche. Los tres habían llegado a Londres solo para trabajar durante el verano, con lo que no se les iba la vida en la okupa, luego el jefe de cocina la tendría para su familia, y mientras tanto ellos se ahorraban una renta y podían llevar más a su país para poder seguir con sus estudios sin tener que trabajar durante el curso. A cambio solo tenían que guardar la casa las veinticuatro horas del día y limpiar las habitaciones que ocuparan; por eso se arreglaban con una – y por que se sentía más seguro – y el baño solamente.
Paula sintió cada vez más pereza de volver a su casa tan de noche como era y menos miedo por las condiciones de la casa, así que cuando le insistieron quedamente para que se quedara a dormir no se lo hizo repetir. De hecho se quedó durante las dos semanas que quedaban para que llegara su amigo y no se molestó en buscarle una casa.
Lo malo fue cuando se enteró el jefe de cocina de que efectivamente estaban viviendo cinco personas y no tres en la que consideraba “su” okupa. En cuanto se enteró de las nuevas circunstancias habló con Paula y le exigió que limpiara una habitación de las que quedaban por limpiar o le buscara otro sitio a su amigo.

follow the 73

Paula tried yet the last one of the Spanish restaurants she saw in the neighbourhood. It was a huge establishment. The whole building; not just the ground floor with the rest of the building occupied by living space. This public house had four floors dedicated to the business. Bar on the ground floor, a restaurant on the first floor, and dance floors beyond that.
“I’m sorry, but no, we do not have any vacancies at the moment. How are you doing otherwise?”
Paula was not used to being asked questions about her life. She had not been asked any questions at all by pub managers, actually. A week gone through a complete lack of conversation makes even the most reserved person want to talk to strangers.
“I am OK. I would love to change houses too, but that is not something I will contemplate without having a job first.”
“Are you checking out the Loot?”
“What is that?”
“How long have you been in London? Not long, have you?”
“No, just arrived a few days ago.”
“Right. I see you have an A to Z. Next thing to get used to is the Loot. It is a newspaper you buy in small shops that sell magazines and papers. It comes out a few times a week and has listings of rooms to let and some jobs too.”
Paula made a mental note.

“For now though, have you checked out La Finca?”
“No. What is it?”
“It is a Spanish pub, similar to this one. You should ask there. There may have vacancies there.”
“Where is it?”
“In Stoke Newington.”
Paula’s face must have shown that the name said nothing to her.
“Ok, just get on the seventy three. You get it just outside here. Just ask the conductor to let you off in Stoke Newington, there is only one stop on the main road though. You will not miss it.”
“Ok. Thanks for all.”
“Not a problem.”
Paula got out of the restaurant and headed to the bus stop. Then she realised the bus ride would cost one pound. She did not have a pound. She decided to walk on the direction of the bus route.