ՆԻԿՈԼ ՓԱՇԻՆՅԱՆ. ԵՐԿՐԻ ՀԱԿԱՌԱԿ ԿՈՂՄԸ
47. սեռական ակտի փոխարժեք
Ես շատ արագ հասկացա, որ Կուբայից Ճապոնիա մեկնելը այնքան էլ հեշտ գործ չէ: Մարդատար նավեր չեն աշխատում, իսկ Ճապոնիա մեկնող բեռնատարներ կարող են ամիսներով, նույնիսկ տարիներով չհանդիպել: Ինձ ասում էին, որ եթե բրիտանական եւ ֆրանսիական վիզաներս ուժի մեջ են, իսկ դրանք ուժի մեջ էին դեռ, ամենատրամաբանականն այն է, որ մեկնեմ Մարտինիկա կղզի կամ Մեծ Կայման կղզի, որտեղից Ճապոնիա մեկնելը ավելի հեշտ կլինի: Բայց անգամ այդ կղզիներ մեկնելը բարդ էր, տրանսպորտային կանոնավոր կապի բացակայության պատճառով, եւ այստեղ էլ պետք էր հույս դնել բեռնանավերի վրա, որոնք էլի հաճախ չէ, որ ելումուտ էին անում Հավանայի նավահանգիստ:
The other side of the world - Nikol Pashinyan
47. The Exchange Value of Sexual Intercourse
I found out pretty quickly that going to Japan from Cuba was not such an easy task. The ocean liners for the transportation of people didn’t operate here, and it could be months before cargo ships leaving for Japan would stop by the island. I was told that if my British and French visas were still valid, which they were, the most logical thing would be to go to Martinique Island or the Great Cayman Island, from where it would be easy to leave for Japan. But even going to those islands was complicated due to the absence of regularly scheduled transportation, and here, too, one would have to rely on cargo ships a although even these didn’t stop at Havana’s harbor with any frequency.
You’ve already gathered that Havana is a pretty boring place. As soon as you left the nice area of the center of town, you would feel the poverty and misery so much so that after the second day, I didn’t leave the “Havana Riviera.” The reader probably noticed that this is the only hotel name I’ve mentioned. The reason is simple: if you’re a foreigner and go to Havana, you have two choices: Havana Librè or Havana Riviera. In the evenings our hotel would become the central point of Havana, where foreigners working in Cuba and diplomats would gather to play tennis, billiard and poker, to hear Latin American music, to drink ‘gashasa’ and to mingle. There was no other place these people could get together. I got to know a lot of people and everyone knew that I needed to get on a ship going to Japan pretty soon.
Then one day, the blond guy, through whom Cecile had tried to arouse jealousy in me, brought some good news. It turned out that the guy was the son of the Argentinean Council in Cuba and had heard that in the next few days an Argentinean cruise ship was scheduled to arrive in Havana. It was carrying tourists around the Caribbean Sea, the Pacific Ocean, including Japan. This was great news because the possibility of finding room for one more person on that boat was great, especially if the blond guy (whose name was Julio) and his father mediated on my behalf. Julio promised that he would keep me informed as to when the ship would be coming and would try to solve my problem. If there were no unseen circumstances, he didn’t think there would be any problems.
So, for those of us from foreign countries, evenings on the beach were our consolation. But Charles was very content. He said that Cuban women were fiery and knew how to handle themselves in bed. One evening Charles was telling us about his amorous feats. Seated around the table on comfortable chairs were the mulatta, Raymond and Elise, Cecile, Julio, a few other people, and me. Charles was telling us about the unforgettable times they were having in bed, and was curious to know if any of us had been lucky enough to hear his groans during love making. Getting a negative answer, he turned to the mulatta:
“We should work harder, my little kitten,” which was followed by the mulatta’s laugh, and then ours.
Charles was constantly talking about his amorous adventures, about sex, and was developing some of his views for us, like his ancient ideas on the exchange value of the sexual act. When he announced that he was about to further explain this to those sitting around the table, Cecile abruptly got up and left. Those present were under the influence of gashasa and showed an interest in what he was about to say.
Charles was explaining that one way or the other, men pay for every sexual act they engage in, regardless of the person with whom the act is held—one’s own wife, lover or prostitute.
“I’ve figured out that currently the average exchange value of each sexual act is 70 Euros. This means that every man, regardless of the person he engages in sex with, pays 70 Euros for each act.”
“How so?” Elise asked.
“Very easy, my cutie. Now, you’ll say that Raymond doesn’t pay you anything for your relationship. But if he doesn’t pay you directly it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t pay you. He gets you all kinds of presents, takes you to different places. Raymond paid for your trip to Havana, didn’t he? He did. So if, starting tomorrow and for a whole month, you kept track of how many times you and Raymond made love and during that time how much money he spent on you, then if you divide the second number in the first, you’ll get the price of each sexual act with you. The same applies to married women, although they think their husbands aren’t attentive enough. I’m not taking into account the laws about the exchange value of sexual acts. For casual lovers you don’t need to buy a car, presents for their fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters. But if we were to look at the issue from the point of view of price, it becomes evident that legally married women are more expensive. From the point of view of pure business, from the point of view of profit, the prostitutes are better because they allow you to maintain a clearly planned budget…”
“How can you compare legally married women with prostitutes?” asked a lady I hadn’t seen before, and who seemed to be part of the large crowd that had gathered around our table.
“Women,” explained Charles, “differ from each other not by their status but by their class. Like cars, they are of different classes and styles. There are D class cars, sports cars, limousines and sedans. The same is true for women: some are Rolls Royces, and others are like Volkswagen-Gulfs.”
The mulatta was excited:
“What am I, dear?” she asked.
“You, my little kitten, are a 1972 Buick,” said Charles calmly.
Those of us around the table almost burst out in laughter, but were able to control ourselves only through supernatural efforts:
“You disgusting thing,” said the mulatta getting up, acting offended, ready to leave:
“But my little kitty, do you know how much a 1972 Buick costs these days?” If it’s in good condition, like you, the price will be astronomical.”
The mulatta smiled:
“Are you telling the truth, my precious?”
“Of course I am. If you don’t believe me, ask Raymond.”
Raymond nodded his head in agreement and confirmed what Charles was saying. The mulatta sat back down.
“Okay, so,” continued Charles, “there’s the Rolls Royce, and there’s the Buick. You can have your own Volkswagen-Gulf or rent it. I mean, if you rent the car, if it’s a Volkswagen-Gulf, it doesn’t stop being Volkswagen-Gulf. The same applies to women. If you have a Volkswagen-Gulf at home, you spend the same amount of money to drive it once as you would if you had rented it. If I may say so, this is a brilliant approach,” summed up Charles, putting out his cigar and adding, “Some people are in a hurry to get their hands on a Rolls Royce. But they find out soon enough that it uses a lot of gas and that the spare parts are expensive. So, it’s better to have a Volkswagen-Gulf and to rent the Rolls Royce once in a while.”
Elise, the mulatta and that unknown lady started asking questions of Charles. I got up to go for a swim. At that time of the evening the water of the Gulf of Mexico is especially pleasant.
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