The two self-proclaimed commentators had just picked up their imaginary microphones again, in order to now accompany Peter and Nada to the dance floor, when Patrik and Matevž appeared at their table, both looking very awkward. Patrik turned to Melita and asked her, in a very gentlemanly manner, if she would like to dance. Melita’s face showed signs of panic, and in desperation she turned to Matjaž and stuttered, as if she were straight out of Pride and Prejudice, ‘I’d love to, erm, dance, but I’ve already promised the next dance to Matjaž.’ He assumed his new role immediately and nodded politely, and Patrik and Matevž literally froze.
Matjaž looked at the two frightened young men and could not resist the temptation. He said politely, ‘I think that those two ladies are still available, though’, and nodded towards Uršula and Ludovika. Not having noticed the touch of malice in his suggestion, Patrik and Matevž blushed, and then headed off to do what was right. They led the two elderly ladies to the dance floor.
Soon no one remained seated. Matjaž spun Melita around. Nada placed herself in the capable hands of Peter, who had decided to show his dancing pedigree to the entire community of Hotel Turist, Jajce. Patrik danced unconvincingly with Vika, while Uršula commandeered Matevž with a fair amount of success. Finally Anica ended up in the arms of Lojze, while Dušan took over with the lively Milica.
At around midnight Melita and Matjaž sat themselves down in the safety of the darkness beneath the old linden tree, away from the remaining company, and smoked cheerfully. Looking at the dancing lunatics, with an average age of around sixty, she smiled and said, ‘You are the only normal person on this trip.’ She butted his shoulder with her head.
‘It’s that bad, I know, right!’ he smiled, and she smiled back at him playfully.
‘So how come you don’t have a girlfriend?’
‘How do you know that I don’t have one?’
‘You wouldn’t have been so determined about true love not lasting for ever if you did’ she said, proud that she had accurately connected her observations.
‘But how do you know that I’m not just a cynic who doubts and undermines everything, even when in a relationship?’ He looked at her provocatively.
She averted the overly complicated question. ‘As if cynics don’t believe in love!’
Matjaž looked at her with distrust. He didn’t have a response, so he asked her, ‘Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’
‘How do you know that I don’t have one?’ She looked at him from beneath her eyebrows.
‘Because women who are happily in love don’t need to dress so desperately provocatively, like you first wanted to for our gathering this evening,’ he replied.
‘Mate, what do you know!’ she spat back at him scathingly. ‘Girls always try everything to impress, or at least the cool ones do anyway. Also, you’re being unintentionally offensive now, you know.’
‘Don’t you dare insult me; my offence is always intentional. What did I say?’
‘You suggested, perhaps without realizing, that I didn’t really want to impress anyone by dressing like this, or even worse that I’m not impressive at all.’
‘Guilty!’ Matjaž clutched his head. ‘It was completely involuntarily and unintentional. But on the other hand, it didn’t seem especially necessary to point out that you’re very pretty.’
‘Why do men always think that they don’t need to tell women they’re pretty?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, you pretty women are already well aware of it and know how to exploit your charms, so why would I encourage narcissism?’ he insisted.
‘Now I understand why you’re hot, I mean why you’ve not, got a girlfriend.’ The two of them laughed at her slip of the tongue.
‘I don’t actually know why women love to hear it so much. Do you collect compliments like trophies to show the grandkids?’
‘No, it’s simpler than that. It’s just nice to hear. It’s a code so that we know you like us,’ Melita said, trying to explain things more clearly.
‘I understand, but all too often female beauty is a veil concealing the horror underneath,’ Matjaž said, testing her.
‘And so veiling things is something that only women do, is it?’ she remarked, and again searched for his response with her eyes.
Matjaž ran his hands through his hair, as though he were thinking about it, and finally said, ‘Wouldn’t you rather a guy told you that you were intelligent, that you were kind?’
‘No,’ she replied dryly.
‘Elaborate!’ Matjaž was enjoying the role of mentor.
‘What? Oh, I need to explain it to you, do I? If a guy says to me that I’m fucking clever, he’s just friend-zoned me, get it? It’s like the equivalent of saying that my Ugg boots don’t suit me or that he’s gay.’
‘Does your mum know that you talk like that?’ Matjaž goaded her with his moralizing tone; her slang, and especially her tone, reminded him just of how much younger than him she was.
‘Let me elabo . . . raborate. Basically, saying “You’re pretty!” actually means, in translation, that a woman is attractive, like, that the man wants to fuck her.’ She looked at him for confirmation of whether she was clear, and when she received it she continued, ‘But not just that, when a person invests in their beauty, in their appearance, that orderliness then settles inside, and even if you’re not really beautiful you act that way around others and then you start to like yourself, too. Get it?’
‘And so earlier you thought that short skirt and fishnet top would top up your inner beauty?’ he stung her again.
‘I don’t believe in inner beauty,’ she said provocatively.
‘Neither do I’ he replied, and he caught her expression of pride when she realized that she had been a good match for him. He couldn’t resist kissing her. She didn’t pull back.
He’d already had his hands all over her body even before they ended up in his room, and she was a quite a match for him in the art of groping, too. He laid her on the bed and started to caress her. ‘What was it like, your first time?’ she asked him.
‘What, is this your first time? Didn’t you say that . . .’
She burst out laughing. ‘Of course I did, it’s not my first, not even second or third, I just wanted to see your reaction,’ she said and quickly clasped her arms around him, as if she was scared that he’d now run away. Matjaž realized that in matters of love and affection Melita expected an even shorter duration than he did. It was he who then took the lead in kissing her, until she started talking again. ‘Do you know, for a photographer you don’t take very many photographs?’
Without removing his lips from her body, he replied, ‘There aren’t that many things worthy of a photograph in this world.’
‘What about people?’
‘Would you like me to photograph you?’
She burst out laughing again. ‘Of course not, I just suddenly thought that I know absolutely nothing about you.’
‘Would you like me to stop?’ He finally let her go from his arms.
‘No way,’ she said, again slightly in fear, clutching him tightly. They slipped back into a sumptuous embrace. When Matjaž placed his lips on her neck for the second time, she started talking again. ‘Did you take pictures of your ex?’
He was now completely confused. ‘Sorry?’
‘Your ex, did you ever take pictures of her?’
‘Rarely,’ he said, and turned over on to his back, away from her.
‘Don’t turn away,’ she said gently, scared that she had finally repelled him. ‘We’ll get to that, I’d just like to talk a bit more,’ she said pleadingly.
‘I hardly ever photographed her,’ he said, turning back to face her.
‘Why? Was she not worth a photograph?’ asked the naked Melita, taking his hand.
‘No, it wasn’t that,’ he said, lost in thought, starting to stroke her.
‘At first it was the opposite. It seemed like taking a photo of her wouldn’t do her justice.’
‘Do you mean
that she wouldn’t have liked how she looked?’
‘Oh, no, she really encouraged me to take photos. She really liked my pictures. More than that, there were many times when she wanted me to take her picture.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘She wanted me to take a photo of her every year in the same place, so that in our old age we could put on an exhibition of her portraits entitled “Free Fall”’ He laughed, and Melita did too, although when she heard about such closeness between two people she wished for a moment that she could also have that with somebody for once.
‘But what then?’
‘What when?’
‘Why didn’t you want to photograph her?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t want to betray her image. It seemed like I just couldn’t get it down properly, couldn’t capture it. A photo would have been an injustice.’
‘Interesting.’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t want to photograph most people because they’re uninteresting, but you didn’t want to photograph her because she was too beautiful?’
‘I never thought I’d need her photograph, I thought we’d always be together,’ he said bitterly.
‘What, would you rather have loads of pictures of her, so that now you’re not together any more you could maliciously delete them?’
‘I wouldn’t delete them,’ he said honestly.
‘Will you do me a favour?’
‘What?’
‘Take a photo of me!’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘Yeah, right now, beside you, take a photo of me!’
‘I don’t want to. The light is bad, you won’t look as nice as you could.’
‘One photo, Matjaž, please.’
Without really understanding what Melita really wanted, or knowing what would come of it, he took out his camera and started to photograph his naked lover. Through the lens she seemed almost prettier than before; so young and soft and with a kind of indefinable determination on her face – almost no longer the girl that he had heard on the balcony earlier, but a woman who was chasing something.
‘What now?’ he asked her.
‘Show me,’ she smiled. ‘Nice,’ she admired her images. ‘Now delete them.’
‘What? But they’re good pictures, they’re not bad at all, a lot better than I thought . . .’
‘Nah, just delete them. I’m not going to be one of these nostalgic women like my mum, who looks back wistfully at old pictures of herself.’
‘Then at least leave me to be nostalgic, so I can look at these pictures of you wistfully when I’m an old man . . .’ Matjaž said, almost in a panic.
Melita burst out laughing. ‘No, just delete them, they won’t do you any good either.’
‘No, I won’t!’ said a desperate Matjaž.
‘Things come and go! It’s no tragedy if those go,’ she said enigmatically, almost as if she were a grown-up who had skilfully manoeuvred the scene in order to finally ensnare her lover.
He looked at her sternly, trying to understand what she wanted him to say, whether it was some kind of perverse game where she was going to accuse him of abuse. Melita’s face gave nothing away except a trace of victory for having taken the initiative in this situation. He deleted the photographs, shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Melita turned off the light and snuggled up to him. Then they slowly glided into tender lovemaking.
When he woke up, she was no longer there. He was pleased that there was a new day on the horizon, that the day was sunny and that his hangover was not too awful. Before going down for breakfast, he took a shower and shaved. He liked what he saw in the mirror, and he gave himself a seductive wink.
Nada
At breakfast he caught sight of the smiling and incredibly attractive Melita, who was joined at the table by Patrik and Matevž. Those two were also looking rather different compared to the night before, seeming much more relaxed and talkative. He realized that most people had already had breakfast, as apart from the full table in front of him there was only one other occupied table, full of people that he didn’t recognize. Matjaž went over to the table of familiar faces and greeted them, smiling.
‘Well good morning!’ Melita beckoned him over seductively. The young guys offered their hands, realizing that they still hadn’t introduced themselves.
‘May I sit down?’ asked Matjaž.
‘Of course,’ said Patrik kindly.
‘We’re actually just leaving, though,’ Matevž said dryly.
Matjaž looked at Melita questioningly. She shrugged her shoulders and, slightly embarrassed, smiled at him and said, ‘Before we leave we’re going to quickly pop to town for postcards and stamps.’
‘Oh really, are you going to write to Daddy?’ Matjaž asked coldly. The smile disappeared from her face.
‘When are we leaving?’ Matjaž asked the remaining two members of the group, not looking back at his fickle lover.
‘In just over half an hour, if I’m not mistaken,’ answered Matevž, again in a monotone voice.
The anxious Patrik looked at his buddy. ‘So we really had better get going.’
Matjaž was left alone with his bread, butter and marmalade, the brew that they rather uncritically called coffee, and an apple. Nada sat down next to him, rather conspicuously. She smelled like a rose garden and was dressed in a white tunic, which served as a means of revealing her rather impressive cleavage.
‘Oh, good morning’ he greeted her.
‘Listen, do you happen to have seen . . .’
‘Yeah, she just left with the two guys to get a postcard for her dad,’ he interrupted.
‘No, I know where Melita is. Have you seen Peter anywhere?’
‘No I haven’t seen anyone, apart from Melita and the guys.’
Nada stood up. ‘Well I’m going to dash off, then, I need to ask him something urgently . . .’ Matjaž couldn’t bear to think what could be so critical at this hour. He decided that he was not going to over-think her daughter’s inappropriate behaviour, but he had to admit that the tempestuous Melita had succeeded somewhat in eating away at his self-confidence.
On the way to the AVNOJ museum, where the group were to pay their respects to the fallen Partisans and the whole awe-inspiring history, he bore witness to a controversy that arose between Dušan and Albert, accompanied by another pair of pensioners who had no real enthusiasm for discussion and just nodded here and there – first to one side, then at the other.
Matjaž, not well versed in the matters of the National Liberation War himself, joined in with interest although he barely understood the situation.
‘How can you question the second AVNOJ assembly? This is where the foundations of equal rights for each of the six republics were put in place – its independence, even Slovene independence’ said Albert passionately.
‘But that’s just it – tell me, where did that get us, dear Albert? If Yugoslavia had been more centralized and less nationalistic, it never would have met its demise.’
‘It would have happened even sooner, all the disparities between republics would have appeared even sooner,’ persisted his hot-blooded companion.
‘I don’t think so myself, I think it would have been better.’
‘But will you accept that the second assembly was presided over by intellectuals from all over Yugoslavia, such as Josip Vidmar, Edvard Kocbek . . . ?’
‘So what?’ Dušan reacted childishly.
‘That is what earned AVNOJ additional legitimacy; it was founded on intellect, on reflection. If nothing else, it was a reflection of the political reality at that time, in particular the way in which we broke away from the old Yugoslavia, a prison of nations.’
‘It doesn’t matter, let’s leave it there,’ Dušan said, calming down.
When they arrived in front of the museum, Matjaž distanced himself from his group and went with his camera to look around. He was moved by the crowds who had gathered there. They came from all over, from different republics and generations, with flags, with thei
r titkovkas – the green Partisan caps, with pictures of Tito, with banners reading ‘Death to fascism, freedom to the people!’ and ‘Brotherhood and Unity!’ and ‘Tito – The Party!’ People were shaking hands; some even hugged each other. They sang Partisan songs. It seemed to him that the groups from Slovenia were the loudest and most organized. He even appreciated the choir, and of course documented them immediately. He had no idea before now that these weren’t the only crazy Slovenes who came here, and that detachments from the Štajerska, Primorska and even Dolenjska regions were here, too. At one point he felt as if he had found himself in an alternate universe of friendly, smiling people who had surrendered themselves to communal ritual with no trouble at all, with a shared love of some old, fallen country.
He was taken aback when a group of women in neckerchiefs came towards him, offered him a carnation and mumbled something; nor did he know how to best to respond when some men, wearing unfamiliar uniforms, wanted to shake his hand, and even less so when a group of young Pioneer scouts asked him to join in with their traditional dance. He captured those happy faces through the lens, as if this would allow him to understand them better. To him it all seemed stupid, absurd – as if people came here to visit their own past, or worse, to recreate a history that was never experienced in such a nice, relaxed environment, as they tried to make out now. He looked around, back and forth, to see whether he could catch a glimpse of Melita, but he didn’t see her. He looked for other members of his expedition, too, but in vain.
He thought, maybe Yugoslavia now remained entirely within this construction of an entity that never existed, and had become only the missing link between the strangers that came here. In a similar way, the museum interior seemed like a piece of history that had been relocated, intact, to the present, to this reality where it coexisted perfectly with a kind of promise of peace provided by nice ideas and courageous acts of the past – except by now these were disfigured, fratricidal acts of the not-so-distant past.
He was happy to find his fellow travellers in a nearby bar having a coffee break. Some had been impressed by the event countless times before. Albert and Dušan, who after seeing the exhibition had obviously been able to smooth over their disagreement, were revisiting their experiences of the museum’s most inspiring artefacts. More earthly thoughts ran through the minds of other members of the group: Milica was explaining to Anica about a special OAP discount at Spar, which was a much better value supermarket than Mercator. Martin and Lojze just listened without much interest, first to the male and then to the female debates. The table livened up somewhat when Nada joined them. ‘Ah phew, I was worried that I was going to be left in Jajce for ever. I can’t find my daughter, I can’t find her anywhere, and Peter isn’t anywhere to be seen either.’
Jela Krecic Page 12