Baksheesh Read Online Free PDF

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    There was no warning of impending disaster.
    It came completely out of the blue.
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    First, I walked all around the building. God, how majestic it was! It had a beauty that made you quiver inside. Then, taking care not to arouse suspicion, I paced in front of it trying to work out its measurements. It had to be over thirty-nine metres. Unbelievable.
    I went inside and up the marble staircase to view my future home. The front door was still closed. Of course, there was no reason why it should be wide open if nobody lived there. However, as someone who had lived in various squats during her days as a student in Berlin, I felt I had a certain amount of experience in these matters, and you didn’t need to be an astrologer to work out that there were squatters in there. Probably a family with seven or eight children. I knocked on the door again, this time more decisively.
    I put my ear to the door, expecting to hear the shuffling steps of an exhausted mother of seven or eight children. After a pause, I knocked again, at the same time looking around for a bell. If only I’d asked the man downstairs to tell me who was living in this apartment. I tried again, this time hammering with both fists.
    â€œHold on!” shouted someone inside. “Keep your hair on.”
    The door suddenly flew open.
    I found myself face to face with a man. I didn’t know what to say. Should I say why I’d knocked on the door? The man had no idea what to say either. First of all, he looked me up and down from top to toe. Then he leant forward, trying to see down the neckline of my green shirt. He had a bulbous nose and skin so dark it was almost aubergine colour. There was actually something rather charming about him. Either that or I was still seething from my recent quarrel with Selim.

    â€œHello,” I said. “I’ve been told there’s an apartment for sale here. Is it this one?”
    â€œNo. It’s not,” he said, moving to shut the door.
    â€œIs this apartment yours?”
    â€œYes, it is.” But he was clearly lying.
    I leant on the door with my hand to stop him from closing it.
    â€œMay I see inside?”
    He waved his hand in the air as if to indicate that I was mad.
    â€œI just told you – it’s not for sale. So what’s the point of looking at it?”
    If I were the sort to be scared off by bullies, I’d have been sitting at home doing embroidery, or making lace edgings to put on hand towels.
    A man’s voice called out from inside, “Osman! I can’t wait any longer.”
    â€œI’m coming,” replied Osman in a polite tone of voice. Or as polite as a thug’s voice can be. He pushed the door towards my face.
    I don’t do bodybuilding and I’d never claim to be capable of cracking a dozen slabs of marble with one hand. In other words, there was no way I could prevent him from closing the door. My only option was to put one foot inside and squeeze my body into the space between the door and the door frame, which is what I did.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he said, without a trace of the politeness I’d just heard in his voice. “What do you want?”
    He was getting annoyed. I was too. In any case, I’d been looking for someone, anyone, I could have a fight with that would put them behind bars.
    â€œHold on, don’t I know you?”
    I said nothing. I was busy thinking about what to do next. I was, of course, well aware that I was behaving like a lunatic.

    â€œI want to see this apartment,” I said, my voice as edgy as my nerves.
    â€œWhy are you being such a bloody nuisance, woman?”
    He got hold of my arm and tried to push me out of the way.
    The man inside had still not even bothered to look out to see what was going on.
    â€œI just want to see inside this apartment,” I repeated.
    â€œAnd I told you it’s not for sale,” he said, tapping his ear with his forefinger. “Are