Ten metres from us, a gigantic hero of the people from Tito’s war stared at us. He watched over us with a tarnished machine gun, which just like him was made of bronze. The park was named after him, and his statue still stood in it place in the middle. Even though unknown suspects had attempted to remove it. Even though the newspapers were abound with reader’s letters for and against – with discussions about whether the man was a Croatian national hero or a communist war criminal. As often was the case with many things, it was a subtle line.
Both of Suzi's earlobes tasted of salt, the left more than the right. She smelt of summer, night and sea, and she kept adjusting my hair.
I played harmonica on her bare thigh.
‘That tickles.’
‘Of course it tickles.’
At the foot of the hill towards her block of flats, she said, that I didn’t need to walk with her any more.
‘You have to get home, too.’
‘Yes, I have to go to Majbule.’
We agreed to meet Monday at one, in front of her school. We did not expect to have very many lessons. It was only the first day of the school year.
‘If it drags out, then I'll just sneak out and wait for you,’ I said.
‘Already?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure?’
I nodded:
‘Sure as shooting. Good night!’
‘You too.’
‘And remember to dream about Miki!’
She laughed. Took a couple of steps back and stood up on her toes. I closed my eyes and got an extra kiss. She ruffled my hair with both hands.
‘See you, cutie!’
‘See you!’
The ceiling of heaven sank. Or was I growing? I could sense it right above my head. Every twentieth step, when I checked if it was still there, it hung there and reminded me of what a fantastic night it had been. About how fantastic the night still was.
The vast majority of the city was asleep. Only a few cars came driving past. The silence around me and the sound of my footsteps sounded good together. The pavements were there for me alone. I was the world’s happiest man and full of strength.
Seventeen, I thought. I am seventeen, man! How crazy is that!
It had to be celebrated. It had to be celebrated a little more. I took the small bottle of rum out of my pocket and drank. The bottle was half-full, and I was full of energy. I could easily have walked straight up to the citadel and done the whole trip once more. I could have drunk and danced and walked Suzi home over and over again. It was no problem, no matter for Micky the Beast, the fifth member of the famous band, Hard Turd Machine. He could do anything. He knew every street in the city by heart. He could walk to his usual hitchhiking spot with his eyes shut. Show the tourists around in the meantime, if need be.
QUIET AND DARK
I drank the last drop of rum and threw away the bottle. I opened the car door. It was Toni, who had recognised me and had stopped. Toni was one of Zlaja’s old friends, one of Majbule’s ultimate biggest pop boys. I normally did not trust him, but was really happy to see him. I had waited for nearly an hour.
Toni’s car was a rumbling bunker of sound: 2 Unlimited with ‘No Limit.’ Damn I hated that song. Sitting in the front seat was a skinny guy staring into the darkness. He had a flat nose and wore a cap. He did not introduce himself and did not say a word the entire trip.
Toni asked:
‘What happened to your hair?’
And I replied:
‘I got an electric shock at work!’
That’s as much as I remember that trip.
The last two kilometres I had to manage on foot. Toni lived in the centre of Majbule. When I climbed out of the car, I noticed that I was not only drunk. I was blotto. The rum had hit me rather hard.
The streets were deserted. I don’t remember meeting anyone at all on the road. I remember it was dark. Very dark. The clouds had swarmed together in the sky, had covered it completely.
I walked past the roundabout and sang: ‘And behind a cloud my moon has hidden, it has hidden my paths. Your struggling is in vain, fiddler. The other one gets the yellow quinces.’
Filthy Theatre! Good old Filthy Theatre. They too had become great patriots. They too had sold out, just like Bora Čorba, the fool! ‘Stamp your heels and say, ‘Everything for Croatia’’? The shittiest title on an album in the history of rock!
But they still made good ballads, I had to give them that. Cool refrains!
I approached the camp. The details of the night struggled for my attention. I had a hard time maintaining my thoughts on a single one. The pre-party at the citadel, Suzi’s salty earlobes, six White Button cassettes in a display window, bambus, the massive head-banging seen from the very back of the stage.
I zapped from one high point to the next. Felt an ultimate happiness all over my body. What a summer! What a night! What a birthday! And Suzi, the chick was completely undefinable. She had a bloody sense of humour. Just the thought of our meeting on Monday made my entire being tremble.
The note with Suzi’s telephone number was in my right pocket, and I made sure it was still there when I suddenly spotted a car. It was an old Renault 4, I remember. It parked about fifty metres away from the Muscle Market. The car’s lights were out, and it was parked almost in the middle of the road. There was no indication that it had been in an accident or anything like that. It was also completely empty.
As I passed the reception building, as usual I saw the faint lamplight behind the counter. It must be the desk lamp the psychopath normally left on. A pair of flip-flops, one on top of the other, were on the floor in front of the worn, rectangular sofa. I could glimpse his bare shoulder and a little of his back in the gleam of the light. He was wearing a sleeveless jumper.
Down from the beach a couple of distant shouts were heard, and I estimated them to be coming from the D3 side. There was a good place to light a fire down there, and straight away I felt like going down there. I still felt full of energy and convinced that there was a party down there.
A fire down by the beach, I thought, a fag and a little more partying would be a perfect continuation – a perfect bonus track on top of this brilliant concert evening.
When I went past the reception and turned towards the terrace and its excessive amount of lights, I bumped into a man I had never seen before. He came from the terrace, but was already standing in the shadows when we barged into each other.
I have often later wondered about that, that I of all people ran into him. That we literally bumped into each other. Had I taken another way towards the camp from Majbule, I probably would have avoided him. Because then I would have gone in through the gate by the bungalows or through the side entrance by D1. But I took the other way, because it was shorter.
We apologised to each other, and said almost at the same time, not to worry about it. I could not see the man’s face, but from his accent I could hear straight away that he was a gypsy, and Serbian into the bargain. He had a distinct Ekavian accent, and only later did I wonder why I was not more puzzled by it. That it did not make me more cautious.
It also surprised me that he just opened up with such a strong Serbian accent. Of course he could not know where I was from. I could just as well have been a high-ranking Croat with strong family ties to the president or his inner circle.
‘Problem,’ he said. He had got lost, and now his car had also run out of ‘soup.’ He needed help. Was there a phone box in the area. He had coins. He just had to ring someone who could come and bring him a can of ‘soup.’
‘Obviously, man, of course, it’s right here.’
I led him five metres back in the direction he came from, and pointed at the other entrance to the reception – the one facing the terrace.
‘Here! Look here,’ I said really excited that I was able to help him.
I don't remember if I did it, but it would not surprise me if I patted him kindly on the shoulder and said that everything was going to be
okay. What the hell was I thinking?
The psychopath got up and opened after numerous knocks on the door. He looked more sad than upset when he switched on the main light. He moved incredibly slowly.
‘What is it?’
The man, who turned out to be around forty, told him that he needed petrol. He had to ring someone in Lovgar. He spoke very energetically and apologetically, and the waking night watchman was clearly struggling to follow him.
‘Come in,’ he said in the end.
I got the impression that he did not recognise me at all. He did not deign to take a single look at me.
The man went inside and Bruno closed the door on my face.
I turned around and walked across the terrace, happy to have been able to help the man.
All the balcony lights in D1 were out, also ours on the second floor. I took it for granted that Mum and Dad were asleep. That I could just go down to the beach and prolong this night by an extra hour or two. I had long since lost sense of time, but it must have been getting on five.
On the way towards the stairs that lead down towards the path, I heard voices again. This time right down on the staircase. Someone going up them.
Zlaja and Fric!
‘Hey, man!’
We threw our arms around one another.
They wished me a happy birthday, and Fric grabbed my hand, as if we were going to arm wrestle:
‘Shit man, now that is a hairstyle!’
Zlaja said:
‘Cool, man! What’s going on? You look like a zombie.’
‘Where did you get to?’ I pretended to be disappointed and asked Zlaja for a fag.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry!’ he said. ‘It was the plan, believe me. There was nothing we would rather do. But then we met the craziest group of chicks from Hungary and …’
‘Yes, in Adria,’ Fric nodded. ‘It’s inconceivable. They beat everything I have seen.’
Zlaja lit my cigarette:
‘It took time and …’
‘Okay, okay! It’s all right,’ I said. ‘It’s a good excuse. Actually the only one I can accept. You guys know that. And I love you guys, dammit. You know that too. I love you!’
They laughed:
‘Shhhhh! Not so loud!’
‘Damn are you ever drunk!’
‘What have you been drinking?’
‘A bit of rum,’ I said. ‘Just a little bit.’
‘One of the girls is just the thing for you,’ Zlaja said. ‘Trust me. There are nine. We just nab three of the best.’
'Nine? Wow! An entire flock.’
‘A fucking volleyball club, man! On an excursion! Sixteen, seventeen years old, the entire lot.’
I thought about Suzi. She was also seventeen.
‘No, forget it,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a date on Monday.’
The moment I said Monday, I heard the reception door open.
I stood with my back to the door, and when I turned around, I saw Bruno approach at a brisk pace. It completely caught me off guard. That all of a sudden he was anything but sleepy and slow moving.
He came racing out in bare feet. Still wearing an undershirt and Bermuda shorts. The sound of his bare soles on the terrace’s cement made a dull but loud echo.
‘You two,’ he said to Zlaja and Fric. ‘Go home! Get lost!’
‘Why?’
‘You don’t live here. You don’t have anything to do with this place. Get lost!’
‘What?’
‘We were actually on our way home,’ Fric said.
‘No, let’s go down to the beach,’ I said. ‘There’s a party!’
‘No, you’re not going anywhere!’ Bruno hissed.
‘What?’ I said and looked at him.
‘There’s nobody on the beach,’ Zlaja said.
‘You are not going anywhere!’
‘Why not?’
‘Why not? “Why not?”’ he said in a spastic voice. He impersonated my way of talking.
‘Why did you drag that gypsy into the camp?’
‘Drag in? No, he was already …’
‘He was wasted, man! Just like you! You can’t be dragging all the scum of the earth in here! Children live here! Families! Do you follow?’
He did not shove me. He barely nudged me. Kind of pedagogical. Didactic. With an open hand. Nothing special and nothing I would not have been able to handle on a normal day. But I was anything but sober, and he caught me off balance. I stumbled backwards a couple of steps, tripped over Zlaja’s feet and fell over.
‘Dammit.’
I leaned on my right elbow:
‘He was …’
He was already in the camp, I wanted to say, but went quiet. The sight of the fascist and Zlaja and Fric from my frog perspective made a strange impression on me. I did not like the position at all.
I got up quickly and immediately got dizzy. I stood right by the top of the staircase, lost my balance and fell down. Luckily I flew down at an angle, so that I immediately hit the railing with my left arm. I instinctively grabbed one of the iron uprights and the rest of my body slipped four or five steps down.
It was completely idiotic. It must have looked very strange.
Zlaja took a few steps down to help me, but I got up and twisted my arm free.
‘I’ll be fine.’
I got really angry, but pushed the anger aside. My towering mood did not lay in ruins yet. I felt that I could easily endure this one humiliation. Kick the fascist out of this night. Remember everything else, all the cool stuff. If he turned and left, I would easily be able to forget him and what had happened.
But he did not do that. He stood up there and let out a series of muffled ‘Ha! Ha’s.’ I hurried up the stairs despite a thumping pain in my one knee.
‘Tsk, tsk, tsk! Look at yourself, boy,’ he said. ‘You look like a scarecrow. A shaggy shit!’
I finally stepped onto the terrace.
‘Leave us alone,’ I said. ‘There’s no problems here. We’re minding our own business.’
‘Oh, are you?’
‘Yes. And that man was already in the camp. He was standing right here.’
‘Don’t lie to me, you little faggot! I saw you walking together!’
The last sentence shook me so much that I froze. He said it with such boldness, that at first I really doubted myself.
‘What?’
Zlaja and Fric did not have a clue what we were talking about.
‘You came here walking together! Down the road!’
I saw the image of his flip-flops and his shoulder. The picture I had seen through the glass door of the reception.
The doubt disappeared:
‘You must have dreamt that!’
‘What did you say?’
‘That you must have dreamt that!’ I repeated more irritated, because his ‘you little faggot’ had in the meantime reached my dying brain cells.
He shoved me again.
‘Are you saying I’m lying?’
The two falls, the pain in my knee, and what he had said about my hair – all of that I could put up with. But this was too much. To make fun of me in front of my friends and make me think that what I had experienced had not happened – was simply too much. Still I tried one last time to ward him off, to dodge him before he got really aggressive.
‘No … I don’t know,’ I said. ‘You have your truth and I have mine … Fair enough?’
What the hell else was I going to say? He had already grabbed me by my shirt.
Zlaja attempted to get between us, but was shoved aside. Fric stood looking in shock.
‘Are you saying I’m lying?’ he repeated, as if he had not heard what I just said. ‘Are you saying I’m lying?’
I did not answer.
A tuft of hair fell over my face and covered part of my view but I did not move it. I just looked at him.
‘Eh?’ he said, and gave me a limp slap.
The blood rushed to my head. I was so provoked by the way he slapped me. At half s
trength. The arrogance. It was as though I was not even worth the effort.
I completely lost control, and like a genuine llama I spat in his face:
‘YOU YOKEL! DO YOU THINK I’M SCARED OF YOU?’
He let go of me with one hand and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. I think he was surprised.
‘Miki, come on, we’re taking off!’ Fric shouted but I did not move.
‘WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME IN PEACE! I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING TO YOU!’ I stood shouting instead of either landing one on him or taking off.
‘Shut your trap! People are sleeping!’
‘YES, AND YOU WERE TOO. THE MAN WAS INSIDE THE CAMP AND YOU WERE SLEEPING! I …’
I did not see it coming. I just felt a rock hit my right temple. It pushed me to the side, and the pain announced itself after a delay.
The blow was hard, but much to my own surprise I remained standing. Zlaja and Fric shouted at the moron, and suddenly, like some kind of ghost, my Dad appeared between Bruno and I.
‘Leave my child alone!’ I heard him say.
His presence confused me. I managed to notice that he was half naked and not wearing his glasses, before the moron punched him.
Dad groaned: ‘Ow-oww!’ and fell. I swung my right arm as hard as I could. I wanted to hit the fascist in the face – that stupid, unshaven face – but he blocked. He twisted my arm around my back and pushed me away.
Then it all happened bloody quickly. The psychopath raced towards me. He started with a series of blows, both from the right and the left. I waved my arms and evaded as best as I could but I had no chance. He had got hold of my shirt again, and I could not tear myself loose. At one point I stood bent over at hip height, while he held my hair and dragged me aside.
Zlaja’s Fric’s and Dad’s voices and words like ‘Leave him alone!’ and ‘Hey, hey!’ only seeped in faintly. Everything began to flicker in front of me. My right side was burning the most. The psycho was left-handed. He spouted a lot of shit while he hit me, but the words seemed strangely foreign to me. They could just as well have been spoken in German, English or Swedish for that matter. He blabbered and bickered and flooded me with groaning syllables.
If I could just hit him once, I thought. If he would just shut his trap.
Ukulele Jam Page 29