The air was keeping its distance.
I was further down than I had thought.
Come on, come on!
Aaah!
Air and light at long last. Applause from the cliff. I could see my audience stand up and clap.
Zlaja shouted:
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘Just asking.’
‘How did it look?’
‘Not bad. But a little frog-like. You bent your knees at the end.’
‘Shut your face, man! It was absolutely perfect!’
We went back to the bay, dried off and relaxed. Zlaja threw out a few pearls and told a few jokes, but he was nowhere near my level of activity. I was completely buzzing. The adrenaline whipped around in my body. Caught myself fencing with my arms. Only now did it dawn on me what I had accomplished. How far-fetched the entire project had been. That was the jump of a century. Shame there weren’t more people who had seen it. A couple journalists and photographers from the national newspapers, for example. That was front page material, it was.
‘Hey, what about meeting up tonight?’ I asked the girls. ‘Throw a little party. Light a fire. Celebrate my jump. Drink a few beers. Just the four of us.’
No, they had to get up early, they said. They were going to Grozvin to stay for a few days. They would wait for a third friend and were returning with her to Majbule on Friday. Mateja’s aunt lived in a house not far from the camp.
I looked at Danijela while she explained this, and I really felt like licking the salt off her slender upper arm. It was white and fine as dust.
Then I realised what she had just said, and I thought: what the hell! Here I thought that this was my day. My big moment. And then everything gets so difficult: they’re leaving, coming back, Friday, maybe. What the hell kind of crap is this?
‘What do you say to that?’ I asked Zlaja.
I expected full back-up. A couple of strong arguments – something that could make them change their mind. But Zlaja said:
‘No, let’s just say Friday. We can arrange a time.’
What?
‘What’s going on with you, man?’ I shouted when we had said goodbye to the chicks. ‘Have you got plans for tonight, or what?’
‘No, I’m doing the same as you. Nothing. Shit!’
‘Why didn’t you back me up then? We’ve spent the entire day on the preliminary work. I put my fucking life on the line.’
‘Easy. You can be a little too cool some times. They like us, and they’ll be back soon.’
‘They say!’
‘They say, and they will. You’ll see. You just have to relax and not look so overstrung. You were completely sold, man! They could see that. You laid it on a little too thick.’
‘Thick? You were the one who set the scene that loads would happen. And then you’re just sitting there saying next to nothing! Is it because your Dutch chicks are coming soon, or what?’
‘You’ve still got a lot to learn, Miki. You’re only sixteen. Talk – that’s just a small part of it. Didn’t you even see the way Danijela was looking at you?’
‘No. And I don’t bloody care.’
‘And that’s how you came off. You were just going on and on. Instead of smiling back at her, communicating, charming, being cool. And as far as Miraja and her friends are concerned, they aren’t coming for another two weeks. Take it easy. And remember: Don’t ever push as hard as you did before! Ever!’
‘But … They were secondary school girls,’ I said. ‘Archaeologists. Do you really think we’ll see them again?’
TWO WORLDS
The day Mateja and Danijela were meant to return, I got up early. Boro had rung and asked me to help him and Marijan. They were installing electricity in a new build in the vicinity of the trade school.
I acted hard to get. I was not obliged to do work experience during the holidays. But when he said that it was urgent, that it was a matter of one day’s work, and last but not least, that I could earn an entire fifty note, I was ready.
A German tourist from Adria picked me up. He was on his way to Zagreb – very much against his will. The previous night there had been a break-in at the office of the campsite. The unknown burglar had looted all the passports of the registered guests. So he was now on his way to the German embassy to be issued with the necessary papers. Otherwise he and his wife could not return home.
It would take an entire day of his holiday, he said – and a hot one at that, because it was roasting in Zagreb almost as much as it was here. There were crowds in the streets and queues in front of the embassies.
‘But what are they going to do with all those passports?’ I wondered in English. ‘I would understand if they stole money. But what in the world are they going to do with all those passports? It’s ridiculous.’
‘Well, you should know,’ the German behind the wheel smiled. ‘You are a refugee from Bosnia.’
The police were clearly of the same understanding. When I returned later that afternoon, Mum and Dad told me that there had been another raid. The cops had knocked on all the selected doors. Everyone had to prove their identity.
At our place, they opened cupboards and drawers. Lifted the mattresses.
‘They asked about you,’ Mum said clearly worried.
‘Me? What would they want with me? The only thing I steal are grapes and figs.’
‘And you should stop that!’ Dad said. ‘You shouldn’t do that either.’
‘They asked where you were,’ Mum said. ‘It’s probably best if you go to reception and show yourself.’
‘But what do the people in reception have to do with the police?’
‘Just go down there and ask if there is any post for us. Or something. Just so they can see that you’re still here.’
‘Okay, okay! Then I can also ask them if we’re getting water today. I have to have a shower. And wash my hair!’
The water was not coming on until a few hours later, so I lay down and slept one of them away.
Dad woke me by switching on the radio.
‘Is the war over?’ I asked.
‘What?’
‘You listen to the radio bulletins every single hour, man! Do you really think the war is going to end in the meantime?’
‘Be quiet, boy,’ he said and adjusted the small knob. ‘I have to know what is happening. What else am I going to bloody well do?’
I had to take a cold shower. It was Friday, and we only got hot water on Wednesdays and Sundays. My nose ran while I dried myself. My snot was brown: pure cement dust. It was like that after work every time.
I put on my new Diesel trousers. They were Zlaja’s old pair, which he couldn’t fit any more. I said, ‘Yes please, Mother Teresa’ and cut them off below the knee. People weren’t going to bloody see me wearing Zlaja’s old trousers.
At a market in Vešnja, I bought a black Iron Maiden T-shirt, where Eddie stood on a battlefield in uniform, with a sword in one hand and a tattered English flag in the other. It was a copy of an original T-shirt for the song ‘The Trooper’, and I fell for the interplay between the black and red.
Buried in the right pocket of my trousers were the entire fifty kunas. They were folded into a small square, and I could not stop thinking about my hidden treasure. I was a rich man. I was a winner. The world was the land of opportunities and I was its hospitable owner.
Bring on the evening.
Outside a storm was brewing. A couple of thunderclaps rumbled in the distance, and there was a warm and pleasant wind. While I walked down the steps of the terrace, the light on the terrace went out. People on the balconies complained, and it resounded with good old-fashioned grumbling and juicy swear words.
Gogi, Zlaja and the girls sat under shelter in front of the restaurant smoking fags. Gogi had had a couple of shots after finishing work. He was talking a lot and entertaining Mateja, Danijela and a third girl, who in the darkness introduced herself as Isabella. Zlaja had to transla
te. Isabelle could not speak a word of Croatian.
When the rain stopped, I suggested we go to Adria and order something in the bar. But Zlaja did not feel like staring at the cheek-dancing tourists, who stepped on each other’s toes and pretended like nothing happened. The band, consisting of old, balding hippies, was not a particularly uplifting sight either. They did not look like they enjoyed it – at all. But once in a while there was a nice guitar solo or a song like ‘Black Magic Woman’ – and then Miki’s evening was saved.
‘Let’s go to Wicky,’ Gogi said and whispered to me:
‘I’m buying.’
‘How much have you got?’
‘Fifty.’
‘Same here.’
‘It’s going to be glorious.’
‘It’s going to be fucking beautiful!’
At Wicky, Dr Alban was playing at full blast. I wanted him dead at once, but it was not until we had ordered that I asked the waitress to turn it down a little. We got a whole bottle of white wine, ice cubes and a pitcher of water, so we could make bevanda. When the bottle was gone, I ordered a pitcher of the house red and a large Coke. Never before had I paid so much for one and a half litres of bambus. Never before had I ordered one and a half litres.
‘You’ve really rolling in the notes, eh?’ the waitress said. ‘Now I know why we got rain.’
I shrugged:
‘First coins, then notes. Next time we’ll bring cheques and gold bars.’
She laughed.
‘Were you flirting with her?’ Danijela asked when the waitress served her arse off.
‘No. I wouldn’t know how to do that.’
‘Yes, he would!’ Gogi shouted and smacked me so hard on the back that it really fucking hurt. ‘He’s very mature, despite his young age. Experienced!’
He cocked his head at Isabella, who he had been having some kind of conversation with:
‘Do you understand “mature?” Ma-ture?’
‘She understands that you are getting super-drunk,’ Zlaja laughed. ‘More water, Gogi. Less wine.’
‘Water? No, that’s what we’re going in later,’ Gogi raised his index finger. ‘Have you heard of midnight dips?’
The girls took a collective trip to the toilet. Danijela grazed my shoulder when she went past. I lit one of Gogi’s fags in satisfaction.
Was that a hint? Or am I just too young?
Zlaja leaned back and stretched his neck like a battle-ready boxer.
‘Those are some really sweet ladies,’ he said. ‘Really sweet! Imagine, they can turn a blind eye to your bad breath and your rotten toes! Gogi, they actually think you’re nice!’
Gogi did not get it:
‘My toes are fine.’
‘Better,’ I said. ‘Seawater and sun have really helped.’
‘And wind, the wind in particular!’ Gogi emphasised with a smile on his lips.
Just then Pero and his cousin Bruno walked through the door. Pero was wearing a military T-shirt and a pair of worn Bermuda shorts. His cousin was dragging his feet in the only pair of flip-flops he owned. I had never seen him wearing anything other than flip-flops, and you could not exactly say that they were smart.
They sat up by the bar – about four to five metres away from us – and Bruno took off his green tracksuit top. He nodded at Gogi and said:
‘Oh, big drinking session, eh? What do you know!’
‘Just wait till you see the ladies!’ Gogi answered.
‘The ladies? Well, we’re waiting!’
That was stupid. Really stupid. The man was an idiot, and Danijela and Mateja had already rejected Pero. Now the two of them would keep an eye on our table and do their best to ruin it for us. I wished Gogi could keep his mouth shut.
‘Relax,’ I whispered to him while the two ordered.
‘What? I’m more relaxed than you, man.’
‘And drunker. Just try to chill a little.’
Bruno turned around. He started to tease Gogi with inside jokes like “You old ladykiller, where have you hidden the passports?’ and ‘Are you flying across the border soon, or what?’ I regretted that I had not insisted on going to Adria, but then good old fate sent an unexpected greeting – a much needed shot in the arm.
Suddenly they played 4 Non Blondes, ‘What's Up,’ a cool song! The place was mine again. I leaned back and hummed along to the song, while I observed the two in the bar.
Pero and Bruno. The cousins. They were still after me. Back home they were called Bobi and Rade. Now they were just older, more crass, more muscular. Pero and Bruno. What types. What biceps and triceps and whatever else they are called. In the camp they were something. They had their flag on the balcony and their big mouths full of patriotic piss. But already up here, at Wicky, among tourists, plastic palm trees and ‘I say hey yeah yeah, hey yeah yeah! I said hey, what’s going on?’ they seemed like two completely out of place wretches.
Military T-shirt, flip-flops and worn-out tracksuit? On a Friday night? Jesus-fucking-Christ, how could you have so little in common?
I did not get them. We spoke the same language and lived in the same camp. But they did not head-bang and never requested a song at Ukulele. They would never be able to become a part of my band. I would never be able to become a part of theirs. Because they subscribed to Croatian Soldier and talked about fighter planes and Schwarzenegger, while I would rather spend my money on a couple of cassette tapes or nice shoes.
I got up and went to the toilet. Did not feel like listening to their smartass comments, when the girls returned. Gogi was going to have to get us out of this mess.
I urinated, washed my hands and looked in the mirror. I was not actually that ugly. My hair looked good. My eyes seemed clear, if not a little nervous.
Maybe I should not have left the table, I thought. Maybe the two of them have already squeezed into my spot.
They had!
Almost.
Bruno stood right up against our table. He spread out his arms and babbled about something or other, I couldn’t hear because of the music. Gogi got up and looked alternately down at his lap and at Bruno. He shook his head and smiled ironically, while Pero approached from the bar. I could already see where the first blow would come from. I was about to shout: ‘Gogi, watch out!’ But it was just my massive paranoia.
The music stopped. A male waiter got involved with some reproving words, holding a cloth. Isabella was picking up a water glass that had been knocked over, and Zlaja put the cigarette butts back in the ashtray.
‘Sorry, sorry!’ I heard Bruno’s stupid sarcastic voice. ‘It was an accident, man!’
Gogi swept out his hands and wiped off his trousers with the cloth. Pero dragged Bruno by the arm, and they went out on the covered terrace. They sat there and plagued my view for nearly half an hour. They disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived.
‘Cheers!’ I said and sponged a cigarette from Mateja.
I took a proper drag and heaved a smoke of relief diagonally upwards.
Maybe it will be a good night after all.
MIDNIGHT SWIM
‘These are rubbish, they’re not even ripe,’ I said on the way down to the bay, ‘because it's now I fancy some.’
‘Grapes?’
‘Yes, dammit.’
‘I think we should go for that swim!’ Gogi said. ‘I need to freshen up a little.’
‘What do the girls say?’
The girls sang ‘Two dinara, mate’ by Bora Čorba. Mateja said she was crazy about him, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the old rock’n’roller who had written some super cool lyrics, was now one of the worst nationalists in Belgrade. I just said that Dead Nature was one of my favourite albums.
Bora Čorba: a massive disappointment! He had betrayed everything rock stands for.
The Slovenian Italian trio slipped past Mateja’s aunt to grab towels and put on their bikinis – ‘No, it’s called a midnight dip, not skinny dipping!’ – and I grabbed my swim trunks in the meantime. Zlaja a
nd Gogi were going to swim in their white underpants. Not even they dared to swim naked.
Down by the pier we carefully stepped over the round, slimy rocks. The moon was gone. The only thing that lit up the glassy water were the few lamps from up on the path. The water felt unusually warm.
‘It’s because of the air temperature,’ Zlaja enlightened us. ‘It falls quicker than the water temperature.’
‘Back home,’ I said, ‘when we lie on the beach and the storm comes, we immediately jumped in the water. It was totally cool. You only got cold when you stood up.’
Mateja and Danijela began to splash water at Zlaja and me. I threw myself forward, dove down and raced into a forest of women’s legs. I tickled a couple of them, heard a sharp scream pierce the air above the water – and then came the blow:
Boom!
Right in my face.
Right in the jaw.
The legs thrashed, and I grabbed my mouth:
‘Fuck, man!’
My front teeth were on the seabed. I had no doubt.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ Danijela shouted.
Damn, she kicked hard!
‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fine!’
‘It wasn’t on purpose! It was a … reflex!’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know that! It’s all right. My teeth are just a little loose.’
I carefully checked with my tongue. Blood. The teeth were apparently all there, but there was a hole on the inside of my upper lip. I rinsed my mouth with some seawater, and the salt made the wound sting.
‘Are they loose?’ Zlaja asked.
‘No. But I’m afraid I’m going to have a double upper lip! It’s going to swell up.’
Gogi lay down in the low water snorting like a rhinoceros.
‘I’ll stay here,’ he said.
He was twenty-one years old, born and grew up by the Danube, Europe’s largest river, and still he could not swim.
The three mermaids, Zlaja and I swam out towards a log raft that was tied to an anchor further out. Danijela was older than me. All of two years. It held me back. A few more signs that she did not think I was too young – that was what I was still waiting for. No move before, I promised myself. Not because I was scared of rejection as such. Fabio and I had picked up an entire collection of rejections at Ukulele. I just thought that the night was really cool, and didn’t feel like spoiling it for myself. I shouted:
Ukulele Jam Page 23