“Find out what this guy wants. If he's looking for work, tell him we don't need anyone today.” Having addressed the bodyguard in dialect, the boss drives off in his SUV.
The Maghrebi speaks perfect Italian. He doesn't wear any stripes on his sweaty shirt but it's quite obvious that he's the caporale, the “gangmaster”. “Are you from Romania?” A grimace is all it takes to convince him. “I can hire you. Tomorrow”, he promises. “Do you have a girlfriend?” “A girlfriend?” “You have to bring me a woman. For the boss. If you bring him one, he'll put you to work right away. Any girl will do.” He points to a twenty-year-old woman and her companion who are working on a conveyor belt attached to a huge tractor gathering tomatoes. “Those two are Romanians, just like you. She slept with the boss.” “But I'm alone.” “No work for you then.”
There's no limit to the shame in the triangle of slavery. The gangmaster wants a woman for the boss to screw.
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