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The orchestra was playing the Romanian melody “Doina.”71 Or more precisely , the one playing was our Annie on solo flute; the rest were just chiming in. We listened from the inner salon. But, you will ask, who is this “we”you’re talking about? Who? Everyone knows who: the senator, Othello, Stuvencho, and me. A tall bottle of white Chateau Sandrovo stood before us, and next to it another of Giesshübler. We were lolling around a table, cigarettes in our mouths, catching the musical flourishes of “Doina,” and we had surrendered ourselves to a pleasant far niente, the business of doing nothing. The next day was Sunday. We didn’t have to work, and we could stay out a bit later. The music was decent, the fräuleins were pretty; we were confirmed bachelors. Perfect! So there we were, when all of a sudden, the flute went off key, and at the same instant, the whole orchestra fell out of tune. Just then, Stuvencho laughed out loud and said, “That damned Othello! He’s such a joker! Just look at him!” The senator and I immediately turned around, and what do you think we saw? That devil Othello! I don’t know how he comes up with those pranks of his! He had stolen away without any of us noticing, asked the waiter for a lemon wedge, and, catching the eye of the flute player, without the others noticing, started nibbling the lemon right in front of her.  Bai Ganyo the Journalist  71. This chapter first appeared when Bai Ganyo was published as a book in . The remaining chapters were not part of the original edition, and all but two of them appeared in the periodical Zname (Banner) as inserts (see the preface for details). As noted in the preface, all the stories featuring Bai Ganyo were only gathered together for the first time in Chipev’s  edition of Aleko’s work. The dates that appear at the end of chapters – are the dates that Aleko completed the stories, which differ from the dates of publication listed in the preface. She was a young girl, impressionable, so naturally, her mouth watered, and her lips puckered up in anticipation of that tart lemon juice. Well, just try to play the flute under such circumstances.We laughed till tears rolled down our cheeks. The music stopped. From the street we heard a kid shouting,“Hot off the press! Get the la-test news-pa-per! Get the National Grand-eu-eur!” Huh, what’s that? The National Grandeur? They’ve got to be kidding! Still infected with laughter from the lemon joke, we all started laughing again. Just then Gedros arrived. “Hey, Gedros, how’s it going? Sit down! Want some wine?” “Ah, Othello, my good man. Why are you crying? Here, wipe your little nose,” teased the ever-cheerful Gedros. “Gedros, what’s that newspaper, the one they’re shouting about on the street?” “What? You mean you don’t know about Bai Ganyo Balkanski’s paper?” “You’re pulling my leg!” “No, I’m serious! Ganyo Balkanski is the editor in chief and owner of the newspaper the National Grandeur. Aaah, it’s quite a story. You really don’t know anything about it?” “Come on, do you really mean it?” “Indeed I do! Just wait till I tell you all about it. I got the whole story today in great detail, and I’ll tell it to you as if I had been there myself.” We had them close the door to the inner salon, and Gedros began. This is what he told us. 2 A meeting was set up at Bai Ganyo’s. Those present were the master of the house himself, Gochoolu, Dochoolu, and Danko the Thug. They put their heads together and began to mull over what kind of business they should set up in order to make the most of the current situation. “We need to get in on the action, too,” said Bai Ganyo.“Patriotism without payoff is for the birds. Now tell me, given how things stand these days, how can we get on the gravy train? What do you say, Gochoolu?” “Who, me? To tell you the truth, Bai Ganyo, I still haven’t changed my mind. We should open a Russian traktir—a little Russian restaurant.” “We should what?!” “I’m telling you, we should open a Russian traktir,” insisted Gochoolu. “What’s the matter with you...

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