by P. J. McKAY
‘You okay?’ Ivan murmured after what seemed like an eternity. ‘It’s late, Jela. I should go.’ When I didn’t respond, he tapped me on my shoulder. ‘Draga, what’s the matter, my beautiful?’
I turned to him, willing him to caress my cheek and feel the dampness. ‘It’s just . . . you seemed distant over dinner. I know you think it’s best we keep things a secret but I want to be open with Mama and Tata. Make them see.’
‘Ah, Jela. Not now.’ Even though he was whispering I heard his exasperated tone. ‘I’ve got too much on my mind already. You’re too impatient. Trust me. I know what’s best.’ He flipped onto his back, and his arm was like a stick at my side.
I pitched up on my elbow. ‘But I love you and I want them to know that. Why hide my feelings? They should know how you feel about me too.’ I tickled his side in that place I knew he found impossible, desperate to lighten the mood. ‘I know them best, remember.’
He grunted and shifted from my touch, turning his back on me. I worried that I’d sounded like a whining child and I swallowed back my tears, hating our silence.
‘Come on, Jela. We’ve talked about this. They’re not ready.’
‘But you can explain.’ I leaned over his shoulder to kiss his cheek. ‘You’re always saying how we’re not directly related, how you and Mama are only step-relatives with your different tatas. And besides, there’s years between you and Mama. I’m positive they’ll see it from our side.’
‘Jela, they’re so caught up in baby Jakob, they won’t see anything clearly.’
‘But I want more!’ I whispered as loudly as I dared. ‘I hate going behind their backs. And what if Nada and Antica find out?’
He turned towards me. ‘We need to bide our time. Be patient. Nothing would be worse than rushing and risking everything.’ He ran his finger down my cheek. ‘Come on, you know this.’
He swung his legs out of my bed then sat with his back to me attending to the condom. It was his habit to leave it on the chest of drawers beside my bed, on top of the empty foil package. He stood, leaning to tuck the covers around me and kiss me on the cheek.
‘Go to sleep.’ He ruffled my hair. ‘Everything will seem better in the morning, Draga.’
He padded back to his room. I lay awake for the longest time, still unsettled and grumpy. Of course we were in love, and I wanted to believe in his judgement, his assurance that once the roading project finished he would take me away. But at the same time I felt confident that Mama would understand, that she would bring Tata around too. Surely Tata could look past the complicating factors and see we were a good match.
I edged across to lean over the side of my bed and hunt for the squares of paper I’d squirreled away in the bottom drawer. Rather than feeling a small thrill as I had in the first weeks when wrapping the used condom, it felt more like dirty women’s work. I shoved the illicit parcel under my bed and lay back down, staring at the ceiling. I wanted so much to experience that moment of ecstasy myself, and yet how could I when I was always worried Mama or Tata might hear us?
The next morning, I rapped on Mare’s door and let myself in, heading first for her kitchen to dump the bag of pomegranates I’d picked that morning from our tree. It was my day off work but Mare had begged me to come and help her out. ‘Is that you, Jela?’ she called. ‘I’m in the lounge.’
She was sitting in one of the brown armchairs, her black housedress unbuttoned to her waist, nursing baby Jakob. He was wrapped up tightly in a knitted shawl. The morning sun had worked its magic, lending a cheerful glow and warming the small lounge. Mare and Josip had moved into the tiny house three months back and she had made it homely with their few possessions. She had a knack, small details like the lace cloth draped over a low wooden box to transform it into a table between the lounge furniture, and a small jar of lavender placed on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.
‘Have a seat.’ She nodded towards the armchair opposite. ‘Had a sleep-in? Lucky you.’
I wondered when she’d last washed her hair. It looked lank and Mare was usually so fastidious. No wonder she looked exhausted. Jakob had grown so much, and Mare’s milk was his only source of food.
‘Took a walk to the harbour first,’ I said. ‘It’s such a beautiful morning.’ I thought how the package I’d just disposed of was saving me from this same fate — breast exposed, baby attached.
‘Does it hurt?’ I sat down with a shiver running through me. ‘Looks like he’s eating you.’
Mare laughed. ‘It’s not that bad, Jela!’ She tickled Jakob under his chin. ‘Had to learn a few tricks, though, didn’t we little man?’
‘Seems like you’re doing a great job,’ I said.
‘I worry there’s not enough milk sometimes. You’re such a hungry boy, aren’t you, Jakob mine.’ Her smile seemed resigned. ‘If I can do it with these pimples, you’ll have no problems.’
I picked at the threadbare armrests and closed my eyes. The sun felt luxurious on my face, autumn having leached out the intensity. I’d been determined to get rid of the package before coming to help. I was petrified Mare might smell it or, worse, that the contents might leak and stain my bag. I gazed out the window, shielding my eyes against the sun streaming in. Jakob finished suckling and Mare lifted him so he was upright against her shoulder.
‘Come on, let that wind out, little man,’ she said, rubbing his back using small circular movements. ‘This will be you one day, Jela.’
My stomach turned. ‘One day,’ I replied. ‘All in good time.’ I had an impulse to run. The memory of that stickiness I’d felt back in Dubrovnik still taunted me. There was always the chance that a condom might leak inside me.
Jakob let out a mini-explosion. ‘Oh, clever boy!’ said Mare, her face like an open book. ‘Wait for it . . . Honestly, Dragi, you’re as predictable as your tata!’ She pinched her nose and scrambled from her seat. ‘You need changing before a cuddle. We can’t be putting Teta off, can we.’
She bustled out of the room. I eased back in my chair but still felt on edge. Mare hummed in the bedroom, just off the lounge. I wanted to feel happy too. I was in love and my life was about to change for the better — but the subterfuge was killing me.
‘Will you hold him for me?’ said Mare, returning to the room, cradling Jakob. ‘I’ve some jobs in the kitchen. Are you okay? You seem distracted.’
I held out my arms. ‘I’m fine. And of course I don’t mind. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
‘There,’ said Mare, laying Jakob in my arms. ‘Now you two can get to know each other. It’s such a help. You wouldn’t believe how much time he takes.’
‘You go,’ I said. ‘We’ll be fine.’
Jakob stared up at me from his tiny wrinkled face. He wriggled his arms free to reach up and wrap his hand around my little finger, tight as a clamp. I had been tiny once and Mama would have gazed down on me, knowing it was her responsibility to protect me. I remembered her in El Shatt, whispering assurances in the tent, Family is the most important — we help each other through the tough times. It was no wonder Ivan downplayed family, given the shock of losing both his parents as a teenager. I thought about Tata holding Jakob, how he seemed a changed man, softened around the edges. Mama would understand — she would convince Tata.
With Jakob still staring up at me I knew it was time to take matters into my own hands. In this instance, I knew best.
I left Mare’s place just before midday feeling much lighter, but the closer I got to home the more my sense of conviction faded. I pushed myself forward, trying not to dwell on the negatives. Mama was in the bathroom, leaning over the bathtub scrubbing at one of Tata’s shirts on the wooden washboard. The water was a dirty sludge and my guilt felt like a heavy cloak when I remembered my luxurious bath the night before. Mama was so engrossed she didn’t hear me approach.
‘Mama?’ I tapped her on the shoulder and she turned back, her face set in deep concentration.
‘Ah, Jela,’ she said, pushing her damp curls from h
er forehead. ‘Perfect timing. I need a break. How’s my Jakob doing today?’
‘Fine, and feeding beautifully.’ My voice wavered and Mama looked at me, concerned.
‘Mare’s doing a great job, it’s not easy,’ she said. ‘But, whatever’s the matter?’ She pushed against the bathtub, dragging herself to her feet.
My tears were streaming. I felt sick. All my self-assurances were crumbling like lies.
‘Come.’ Mama pulled me to sit on the edge of the bathtub beside her. ‘Tell me what’s wrong. Nothing’s that bad, surely.’
I couldn’t look at her. All my bravado disappeared and I couldn’t control my sobs. I wrung my hands, feeling as dirty as that bath sludge.
Mama squeezed my shoulder. ‘Now stop it. Listen,’ she said, firmly. ‘Tell me what the matter is.’
‘It’s Ivan,’ I managed to splutter.
‘Have you heard something? Is he hurt?’ She sounded desperate. I’d gone too far now.
‘No, Mama. No. He’s not hurt. It’s . . . we’re in love. I thought it was obvious after Dubrovnik.’
I blinked away my tears, searching her face for affirmation. Mama closed her eyes and looked away. When she turned back her face was pale and drawn. I’d never seen her look so serious. ‘You must tell me the truth now, Draga. The whole truth.’ Mama rubbed my back.
I began at the ball and from there my secrets tumbled out.
‘Enough!’ Mama said, edging away as though I was contaminated. ‘I’ve heard enough.’ She thumped her fist on her leg. ‘This can’t go on. How could I have been so blind? My own brother. And under my own roof!’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Mama! We can work this out. He loves me. We’ll find a way.’
Mama took a deep breath and shook her head. ‘Gabrijela. Listen. This can’t continue. First I must speak to your tata.’ She was like a cornered animal, the way she shrank back, the frightened look in her eye. ‘Leave me. I need time to think.’
I stood and shuffled past her, pausing at the doorway, desperate for her to beckon me back, for her to take me in her arms and reassure me that everything would work out. But instead she stared without seeing me and everything felt wrong. As I climbed the stairs to my room each step felt leaden. All that had felt possible now felt impossible.
For the entire afternoon I waited. Mostly I prayed, my fingers working through the decades on my rosary beads. Mama remained downstairs. I’d expected her to relent, to call out for me to come and help with the dinner preparations, but the house remained eerily silent. My prayers were a foil to stave off my other thoughts but at times my fingers worried the same bead, over and over, my traditional prayers replaced by thoughts with no structure: What have I done? I should have known better. How will this end? Lord, help me. I’d force my fingers onwards: Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. This wasn’t the time for tears. I would need all my reserves and energy for what was to come. One of Mama’s sayings haunted me, nevolja nikad ne dolazi sama — misfortune never comes alone.
The front door opened. Tata cursed and I heard the familiar thump of his boots as he pulled them off. Mama’s voice was there too, her urgent voice. The kitchen door clicked shut and I paced my room, heart pounding, feeling lightheaded. If this was like most nights, Ivan wouldn’t be far behind. I didn’t have to wait long. Ivan must have barely been over the hearth before Tata was yelling. I covered my ears.
Moments later Mama was banging on my door, pushing it open. Her face was panic-stricken. ‘We should wait here. Let your tata deal with this.’
It came like an explosion, ‘Boli me kurac!’ Tata’s voice hurtled through my floor boards, followed by crashing and banging. Something large smashed and I wrenched away from Mama, charging for the door. I had to stop Tata, and Ivan needed my support.
‘Jela! No!’ Mama cried. ‘We can’t trust either of them!’ A wave of guilt washed over me as Mama rushed forward and tugged at my sleeve. ‘Let me.’ She pushed past as another round of swearing erupted from below.
I shadowed Mama’s frail back down the stairs. The noise was deafening. We pushed through into the kitchen and I craned my neck around the corner, to the small sitting area where all the shoving and yelling was coming from. I wanted to scream, ‘Stop it! We can fix this!’ But my words pounded in my chest and refused to escape. Mama steadied herself at the dining room table, gripping one of the chair backs. I sheltered behind her, peering over her shoulder.
Ivan and Tata were tussling in the middle of the small sitting room which was now a scene of carnage. Ivan was in his Party uniform but his hat lay trampled to the side, the top flattened and the peak ripped away. Mama’s favourite vase lay in jagged wedges, smaller shards of the aqua porcelain scattered about, some lying close to Mama’s feet. My eyes filled with tears. The vase had belonged to Baba, Mama and Ivan’s mother. It always sat on the small table next to the sofa but this was smashed too, one of its thin legs at an impossible angle. Ivan swung around to face us, blood streaming from a gash on his temple. I gasped, feeling nauseated. He grabbed a fistful of Tata’s checkered shirt and was struggling to keep him at arm’s length, pushing Tata backwards. I worried Tata would slip in his thick woollen socks and cut himself.
Mama’s hand was at her mouth and I edged up to stand beside her. ‘Stop it!’ I shouted, surprised at the strength of my voice.
‘You stupid girl!’ yelled Tata, turning and shaking his fist at me. ‘You’ve brought shame on our family!’ He swung a punch but Ivan intercepted his arm. ‘Get your filthy hands off me, you bastard black sheep!’ Tata bellowed, twisting and trying to shake off Ivan’s hold. I shrank backwards again, Mama too.
‘Calm down, Ante,’ said Ivan, sounding irritated. He still had hold of Tata’s shirt. He jerked his head around to stare at me. ‘Why not let Jela speak for herself? She’s had a part to play.’
I waited for Ivan to say the words. To tell Tata that he loved me. Those same words felt crushed inside my chest but somehow the silence forced them out.
‘Tata, I love him. We love each other. Hear Ivan out. Please.’
Balls of fire were behind my cheeks and my hands were a trembling mess. Mama reached out and pulled me close but her embrace felt stiff. I stared straight ahead, scared to look sideways. Both Tata and Ivan were still for a moment.
‘I’ve heard enough of your filth!’ Tata said, glaring at me. He turned and sent a glob of spittle towards Ivan’s shoes. ‘There’s what I think of you!’
Ivan roared and kicked out his leg. Mama and I leapt back, knocking a dining chair and sending it crashing to the ground. Ivan was frog-marching Tata backwards. A few steps more and Tata would trip over the broken side table.
Mama rushed forward and tugged on Ivan’s jacket. ‘Ante! Ivan! Enough! Move away now. Both of you.’
To my surprise, Ivan released his hold on Tata and they both retreated a few steps, still bristling. Mama stood to the side while they faced off, pacing like caged animals, back and forth, shaking their fists at each other.
Mama pushed the flat of her palm towards Ivan. ‘Go and pack your things.’ Her voice was as hard as stone and she pointed towards the door. ‘Let him past, Ante.’ She motioned for me. ‘Gabrijela. Come.’
I skittered over to stand beside her, looking down at my feet.
‘Open your mind, Ante. You’re a fool!’ Ivan said, and I jerked my head up. ‘Can’t you see Jela wants more? That you’re killing her spirit.’
I searched Ivan’s face, aching for his smile, for his look of assurance, but he stormed towards the kitchen door. His shoes clicked against the tiles as if he was marching.
‘Jela took a chance,’ he said, turning back at the door. ‘You’ve ruined all that. Frankly, you disgust me.’
I snuck a glance at Tata. He was still glaring after Ivan as his footsteps pounded up the stairs. I reached for Mama’s hand. ‘Mama, Tata. I love Ivan. I need to talk to him before it’s too late.’
‘You’re going nowhere!’ yelled Tata. ‘You’ll
never speak to him again. Ever! Understood? He’s not family. He never was. And you . . . You’re zamazan! Soiled goods! Who will have you now?’ He shook his head as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
‘Stay,’ said Mama, clenching my hand tighter. ‘Let him go.’
‘But I want him, Tata. We want to be together!’ My tears were streaming and my words sounded like muffled gulps of air.
‘Can’t you see? You’re a fool, Jela.’ Tata shook his head as though all the answers had deserted him. He stalked past me and slumped down at the dining table, cradling his head in his hands.
‘Come,’ said Mama, leading me towards the sofa. We picked our way through the debris and Mama sat me down. I stared into that room that was so familiar without seeing a thing. Ivan’s footsteps crashed down the stairs and the front door slammed.
DECEMBER
When anyone asked, we told them Ivan had moved to Lumbarda to be closer to the business end of the project. Somehow I had made my way through the weeks, one foot in front of the other, polako, polako, disguising my sadness in the form of another lie: my Kapetane hadn’t contacted me and I’d been taken for a fool. I shared this with Nada and having to endure her smugness was a kind of penance. I was consumed by thoughts of Ivan. His absence was such a wrench that I questioned whether I could go on. My body ached for his touch. I felt mortified knowing I had ruined everything, but mostly I was disgusted at the reaction of my parents. How they had failed me. That they didn’t want the best for me. That they wanted me to suffer.
Three weeks after Ivan’s departure Nada and I were leaving Jadranka when a shrill whistle came from somewhere close to the building, startling us. It was twilight, that point in the evening when the shadows have lengthened but night hasn’t yet claimed all of the light as its own.
‘Jela! Can I have a word? Alone.’
I peered into the shadows. Stefan, Josip’s new friend, was sitting on an upturned fish crate pushed up close to the factory wall, his black beret and slate-coloured jacket a perfect camouflage. Nada threw me a look that seemed to say, Is this what you’ve resorted to now?