Phnom Penh Express Read Free Page B

couple of regulars loiter at a table in the corner, delaying going home. A jazzy tune plays softly in the background. Phirun walks straight up to his boss who’s sitting at the back drinking this evening’s last cup of coffee.
    “Nina, I’m sorry...” he starts but is helpless to hide the grin spreading irresistibly across his chop. The happy chocolate effect is evidently one that lingers.
    Before Phirun gets the chance to dig his hole even further, Nina interjects, gesturing for him to sit down.
    “Let’s not make a big issue out of this,” she begins. “I just want you to understand something clearly. You can do whatever you like at home, but at the chocolate shop you make chocolates, nothing more.”
    “That’s what I was doing,” he tries to joke but stops when he notices Nina’s dark mood.
    “You look worried, boss,” he half teases. “What’s up?”
    “I usually hate listening to people complain,” she sighs, “but since you asked. Quick coffee?”
    Nina starts to explain her mounting pile of problems. It all started with the locals who live in the ‘little village’ behind her new building. The ‘little village’ is actually a large backyard cramped with small wooden houses that are, in turn, cramped with large families. The people living there almost started a small revolution over Nina’s new air conditioning system. The industrial unit had been attached to a wall inside the alleyway leading to their backyard. It would have to be removed, they had decided. And removed within twenty-four hours or the chocolate shop might be tested for its fire safety credentials, was their neighbourly missive. Arson has always been a powerful argument for Nina, who quickly obliged.
    Then an entrepreneurial servant from the Ministry of Commerce had contacted Nina to let her know that, in retrospect, the cost of her business licence had mysteriously risen three hundred per cent, and she was kindly requested to settle her bill as soon as it was convenient. It would pain his heart to see her shop’s licence revoked, he assured her.
    The trouble didn’t stop there. The very same day, another dutiful public servant, this time hailing from the Ministry of Labour, had contacted her to “discuss your staff’s work permits”.
    “What’s wrong with them?” Nina had asked.
    “Oh, don’t worry, we’ll find something,” had been the bureaucrat’s answer to an unnecessary question. She was to present herself, with the cash, at his office the following morning at 10:30 AM .
    Then, as if by black magic, the construction company’s manager informed her matter-of-factly that the cost of building materials had increased, and that the price estimate for the final part of the job would have to shift upwards accordingly.
    “What? Again?” had been her naive reaction. “Why?”
    The construction boss had feigned surprise.
    “Because of the war in Iran, of course,” he’d said — and didn’t she know that the price of fuel had gone up too?
    “Iraq.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Iraq. Not Iran. There’s no war in Iran. Not yet.”
    “Yeah, whatever. Fuel’s still gone up.”
    Nina sips her coffee and looks at Phirun, desperation etched across her face.
    “If things go on like this, I’ll be finished before I’ve even started.”
    “Maybe those bureaucrats don’t take you seriously because you’re a
barang
,” he replies thoughtfully, using the Khmer word for foreigner. “Shall I go talk to them?”
    Phirun isn’t particularly keen to deal with any bureaucratic types, but after the happy chocolate incident he feels he owes Nina a favour.
    “Be my guest, Rambo, but I refuse to pay bribes. They can have some of the luxury chocolate gift boxes as a deal sweetener, but no money. Once you start paying out, there’s no end. Cambodia has to grow up.”
    “Bribery happens in every country,” Phirun protests quietly.
    “Not to this extent. It will kill my business.”
    “Have those gift boxes arrived yet?”