Dada Five

The work was always hard at the warehouse. We’d freeze the fish at our shop but the merchant house as they called it was for all the grain and herbs and plants that we sold the fish around the river kampongs of the district; this was part of the dynamics of the industry

‘People just don’t want something lying on the slab anymore’, the boss said, ‘it reminds them of their own death’.

There had been good catches off them fucking Thai boats. My boss was nice to me. He asked me if I wasn`t too tired and also to know how old Dada was when he passed away. I said in his eighties so I wouldn’t make a mistake. I don’t know why, but he seemed relieved and to consider the matter closed.

Bills of lading were piled up in a stack on a desk in the back and I had to go through them all. At twelve o clock, I washed my hands before leaving the shop for lunch. I like this moment of the day. In the evening, it`s not as nice because the shop is like a wasteland and all the towels are soaking wet: They have been used all day long and the fish have left their smell above the ice. I once pointed this out to my boss. He replied that he was sorry but that in the end it was a minor detail and not important for the running of the business and besides all you smell in the morning is fresh disinfectant and the merchant house is always perfumed in its dealings with the public.