The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Page 21

  Helena doesn’t hesitate. ‘Not at all. You must do what’s best.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ says Bex. ‘Give Luisa some space.’

  Luisa’s relieved. Any other time they would enjoy setting up their beds and reflecting on their day, but everything’s wrong now. She pulls the quilt cover up, balling a corner in her tight fist. She rubs it against her chin just like she did as a little girl. And then her mind casts back further, back to that place where love was unconditional, Mum sitting on the bed beside her, tucking her in tight, a snug bug in a rug. Idi spavati moja draga djevojka — go to sleep, my darling girl, go to sleep. Mum’s hand brushes her forehead and although sleep comes quickly, it is fitful and the night passes slowly.

  AUGUST

  Friday

  Bex isn’t there when Luisa opens her eyes the next morning, but she’d seen the mounded shape of her in the night. Luisa finds her in the kitchen, sitting at the table studying a map. The table is covered with a white cloth and breakfast is laid out: bread rolls, slices of ham, cheese, fresh figs, strawberry jam, and a carton of juice. Luisa’s lips feel so dry, but every time she licks them is a reminder. Her stomach turns and she’s unsure whether it’s hunger or nerves.

  ‘How did you sleep, hon?’ Bex asks, glancing up.

  ‘Good. I guess.’

  ‘You must have been exhausted, poor thing. You were dead to it when I came in. Helena said to make ourselves at home. She’s gone to work. She’ll be back mid-afternoon.’

  Poor thing. Is that the best Bex can manage? Luisa might as well have just stubbed her toe. The wooden chair is heavier than she expected and she uses two hands to pull it out. She eases herself down, wishing there was a cushion to sit on. Bex is still studying the map and Luisa takes in the room with its black-and-white lino floor. Yellow chintz curtains line the window above the stainless-steel bench and sink. The stove is similar to the one at home with the curly elements. A noticeboard above the table has a collection of items, pinned at all angles: five or so postcards, a scene from London, another from Paris; pictures of flowers and a cute tabby kitten torn from a magazine; a white card inlaid with a gold cross, maybe a mass timetable; and pinned neatly in the right hand corner, a photo of Nikola with his arm around a middle-aged woman, both of them laughing. Despite everything, Luisa smiles. In this country of strangers, his face is familiar now and he had the compassion to help them.

  She reaches for a plate, taking a roll and smearing it with jam. If she can forgive Nikola, why can’t she do the same for Bex? But even looking at Bex’s face makes her feel like shouting, bringing Bex to account, listing all the reasons why she’s culpable. And she had expected more, an apology, more guilt. Bex should have protected Luisa but instead she let her down and now, it seems, wants to skim over the surface of what’s happened. How could she have ignored her on the bus? Poor thing. It seems she wants to wipe her hands clean, pretend it didn’t happen. Maybe that’s how she deals with all her relationships when shit happens.

  ‘Helena’s suggested we talk about a plan,’ says Bex, not meeting Luisa’s eye. ‘She can help organise bookings. I’ve told her we’ll probably fly straight to London.’

  ‘Stop it!’ snaps Luisa. ‘Just stop your stupid plans!’ It’s unbelievable Bex can be so business-like, disregarding her dream, dumping it like trash. How could she not understand that her leaving will mean Luisa has lost everything?

  Bex stares as though in disbelief ‘I’m only trying my best. I assumed that’s what you’d want? You were the one who wanted to come here. I’m just trying to get us out.’ Her eyes well and she presses her sleeve against them. To Luisa it seems she’s hiding.

  ‘And what about what I want?’ says Luisa. ‘Have you thought about that? Or don’t I count anymore?’

  Luisa takes a bite from the roll but it hurts to eat. Bex turns away and Luisa chews slowly, turning the bread over in her mouth. But what does she want? Back on Samos she was convinced she needed Bex — thought the whole experience would be reduced somehow, be less of a celebration without her. She thinks back to the choices they made in Thessaloniki, how she pandered to Bex, how dearly she’s ended up paying. She needs to look after herself now. No more compromising.

  ‘We should make our own decisions,’ Luisa says, feeling as though she’s cutting the tension in the room with a knife. ‘If you want to head to London, fine. But I want to stay and meet my relatives. Put this behind me.’ She’s surprised at how strong and calm her voice is.

  ‘You really want to stay?’ says Bex, turning back, blinking hard. ‘Even after what’s happened?’

  ‘Yes.’ Luisa has never felt so sure of anything.

  Bex is quiet but after a moment says, ‘I can’t stay. Really. Not after this.’

  It’s a pity you didn’t say can’t the other night, thinks Luisa, but it’s Mum’s voice in her head. ‘You made your choices in Bitola,’ she says instead. ‘I need to make mine now.’

  ‘Come on, Luisa! That’s not fair!’ Bex thumps the table. ‘You can’t blame me. You know I feel like shit. That I’d turn back the clock if I could.’ She covers her face with her hands and her voice is like a whisper. ‘Jeepers. I need your forgiveness. I can barely live with myself as it is.’

  And there it is. The shield that Bex has been carrying to deflect her emotions — at the police station, on the bus, arriving here, her greeting this morning — has finally been let down, the barrier that’s been niggling Luisa. But it’s those last words, I can barely live with myself, that stop Luisa short. What will more bitterness achieve? Bex is sobbing now but Luisa doesn’t move to comfort her, doesn’t have the energy. Time apart will be the only healer.

  ‘He’s not going to dictate to me,’ says Luisa, amazed at the certainty in her voice. ‘Korčula will be a new start. It’s what I came here for. If I don’t go, I’ll feel like I’ve failed, let him win.’

  ‘How will you get there?’ says Bex, peeping through her fingers. ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘Not sure, but maybe Helena will have some ideas.’

  Luisa wonders if this will be the end of their friendship. Whether Bex will always be a reminder, a dark shadow. She can’t think of that now. What’s most important will be keeping what has happened from her family, Uncle Josip included. She will have to be strong. Her family have been experts at shelving conversations, and now it’s her turn.

  AUGUST

  Monday

  Saint Helena of Macedonia, that’s how Luisa has come to think of their hostess. She has been the one positive in this struggling republic. Someone should cast a bronze bust of this woman so she can be placed on display like the one on Helena’s mantelpiece of Tito, only hers would be cast with a smile. She’s been so discreet, not probing for more information on what happened in Bitola, just ensuring that Luisa and Bex have what they need. Yesterday she helped organise Bex’s flight to London. She’s provided nourishing food — soup, rustic bread and hearty stews — and even though Luisa eats sparingly, it has helped to restore normality.

  It’s their fourth day here. Luisa’s spent most of the day in the lounge, avoiding Tito’s cold stare by tucking herself away on an armchair in a sunny corner. Over the past couple of days, in this same chair, she has fought off fitful sleep. Horrible images of Kosta rear close, that beard, those hairy arms and feet, and the only way to be rid of him is by waking. It’s easier to keep her eyes forced open. To stare straight ahead. It’s been the same at night. Thoughts of her family, even Mike, help temporarily, but inevitably she’s left feeling emptied out.

  Each time she passes Tito his metal eye seems to judge her. Maybe it’s the way she walks, still a little tenderly, or perhaps he can see right into her heart? Tito wouldn’t approve of the disunity that’s built between Bex and herself. Bex has been out for most of the day, having a look around, which Luisa knows is code for avoiding her. There seems nothing more to say, and any exchange invariably ends up feeling like a pot boiling dry: good intentions to start with but re
ducing to nothing. It’s sad, but it seems they’ve run out of solutions: the promise of a new friendship slashed just as surely as a daffodil bloom hammered by unseasonal hail.

  Luisa knows she’s partly to blame. She’s made no effort, no concessions, to allow Bex back in. She’s always found it difficult to hand out second chances when someone has hurt her. If anything, with Bex she’s been more lenient. Mum’s the same, and Anita. You can push so far but once breaking point is reached, that’s it. Why gloss over it? But it’s still hard to disguise her disappointment. Having been there for Bex in Samos, it feels as if Bex has copped out, fallen at the first hurdle. It will be a relief when she’s gone. Bex will be one less thing to worry about.

  She’s been rolling the problem of the phone call around in her head. Both Helena and Bex are adamant that she can’t travel by herself. Helena was insistent over breakfast, You must ring him tonight. Luisa knows she doesn’t have a choice. She confided in Helena that she’s worried how Josip will react, but Helena told her, Any uncle would come. Luisa couldn’t explain that this uncle might wish she’d never made contact in the first place. Each time she passes by the telephone table with its tapestry seat, half way down the hallway, she gets a queasy feeling.

  Helena joins Luisa in the lounge after their evening meal. Bex has headed off to bed with the excuse of needing plenty of sleep before her flight to London. Helena’s matronly cream blouse is tied with a floppy bow at the neck. Luisa is reminded of Mrs Dooly, her favourite teacher from college, who had a similar dress sense and no-nonsense personality.

  ‘Something to help you sleep,’ says Helena, handing Luisa a glass of red wine. ‘It might help with the phone call too.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Luisa, taking a sip. The wine tastes of summer berries, light and smooth, easy to drink. ‘Have you ever been to Korčula?’

  ‘Only once as a child. I remember it as a beautiful place. It was summertime, and the water was the clearest and most enticing colour. Bluer than blue — a match for the sky. I’d love to go back but how things are heading in this country, well . . . I don’t know.’ Helena glances over to the mantelpiece where Tito sits and takes a sip of her wine. ‘Our leader would likely be very disappointed.’

  ‘Because of the inflation?’ Luisa asks, thinking back to the comments Dick and Dan made, and the bus terminal with its mob of women. She isn’t sure whether they should be offering to pay Helena for their stay, and if so, what she would expect. She makes a mental note to speak with Bex about it in the morning. At least it will be something concrete to talk about.

  ‘The plummeting dinar’s one problem. But no, I’m talking more about our nationalistic hotheads, Slobodan Milosevic and the like, the people who want independence for their republics and greater power over others. They’re probably taking their cue from the other countries where Communism’s under pressure. They want to erode our common identity — all that Tito worked so hard for. I fear it will all go to waste.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

  ‘Too much greed and past hurt,’ says Helena. ‘When Tito died, no one could step into his shoes. Now, we have a system where the leaders from each of the six republics take turns to rule on a rotation basis.’

  ‘Do you think it’s still safe for me to travel here?’ Luisa can’t get her head around what this might mean: there’s no reference point. The politics at home seem like child’s play; the legal system here would be a nightmare in comparison.

  ‘You’ll want to keep an ear out. Be sensible. But most likely, you’ll be fine. We’re experts in this country at jumping from one crisis to another.’

  Helena gives her a warm smile. Luisa is certain Helena wouldn’t put her in any danger, that she has good judgement. Besides, one of Luisa’s reasons for coming was to understand more about Yugoslavia’s past, how it functions. Until now, her knowledge has been limited to the opinions from those at the Dally Club, or from within her family, and mostly she has let this talk wash over her. Mum always called Tito a saviour but Dida Stipan, Baba Marta and Aunt Kate disagreed. None of Dad’s family could fathom why the rest of Mum’s family had stayed put.

  ‘You thought Tito was a good leader?’

  ‘The best. He rebuilt our country from the ashes of war. I was just a baby at the time and growing up was tough, but I also saw incredible progress. You can’t have that without good leadership. Tito led our people for thirty-five years until his death. He was a master at pulling together a nation divided by past power plays. Yugoslavia’s been in mourning ever since — grief on a national scale. I worry that our country died with him.’

  ‘Mum was born here during the war years. She left when she was nineteen.’

  ‘Many of our people left, but those of us who stayed have had a good life. As I say, we had a great ruler.’ Helena leans over and pats Luisa’s arm. ‘I’m sorry you’ve had problems here.’ She scrunches up her face. ‘There are many who are dissatisfied, even those living in the furthest corners, away from all the main tensions.’

  Luisa goes to take another sip of her wine, but she’s already drained her glass.

  ‘Right, young lady.’ Helena pats her arm. ‘Enough talk of the past. Time to make this phone call.’

  ‘I’m worried my Croatian will be scratchy. Could you double-check what I want to say?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, but first you must tell me what you want to say.’

  Luisa has no choice but to trust Helena. ‘I don’t want to worry him,’ she says, ‘but here’s what I thought.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘We had some bad luck. I was hit by a flu bug and was too sick to move on from Macedonia.’

  ‘Go on.’ Helena’s expression gives nothing away.

  ‘Our money ran out because of the expensive hotel. Bex has chosen to fly straight to London, but I still want to visit them on Korčula. Would it be possible for him to meet me in Skopje and take me back? I’ll pay him back, of course.’

  ‘That sounds sensible,’ says Helena. ‘Now let’s work on the right words.’

  Luisa shows Helena what she’s written and Helena takes her time reading it through.

  ‘This looks fine,’ she says. ‘You’ve obviously had a good teacher.’

  ‘Mum spoke Croatian at home, and we got some extra tuition at the local club — not that I appreciated the lessons at the time.’

  ‘Well, it’s time to put them into practice.’ Helena stands and pulls Luisa to her feet. ‘No time like the present.’ Helena opens her arms and it feels comfortable stepping forward into her embrace. ‘I’ll stay close, in case you need my help.’ She rubs Luisa’s back. ‘Go on now.’

  Luisa lifts the handset of the black, rotary telephone and listens for the dial tone. Her hands shake, but there’s something reassuring about fitting her finger into the correct numbered hole on the plastic dial, swinging it to the right, and watching it flip back. Even the clacking sound calms her. She listens for the connection to be established, twirling the spiral cord connecting the handset to the base on her finger like she used to as a child. For some reason the safety spiel from the airline hostess crowds her head: In an emergency, place the bag over your nose and mouth and breathe normally.

  ‘Zdravo.’ The tone of his voice reminds her of Mum.

  ‘Ujak Josip. Ja sam Luisa.’

  There’s just the slightest pause, then in Croatian he replies, ‘Luisa, we’ve been waiting for your call. Are you in Yugoslavia already?’

  Luisa looks down at her scripted notes and starts to speak.

  AUGUST

  Wednesday

  Luisa stands alone in the Skopje terminal, a sullied statue, concrete limbs at her side. The airport crowd mills around her and she wonders if they even notice her. They are nothing but a blur of faces. Young, old, male, female — these are the only distinctions. The man’s voice over the loud speaker is an urgent stream. Luisa recognises only a few words: British Airways, JAT Yugoslav, Swissair. Now that the day has finally arrived she’s numb, but she forces herself to fe
el something: the kindness and warmth Helena has shown them over the past six days, and her sense of loss when Helena waved goodbye, her tail lights blending into the dirty night. They can’t have been the easiest of guests but their hostess held Luisa tightly, kissing her on both cheeks, Go well and stay strong, Draga, she said, pressing a piece of paper into Luisa’s palm. Don’t hesitate to call me.

  Behind her are rows of check-in counters and above, suspended from the ceiling, are departure boards with venetian-blind slats that flick and clack as though someone is shuffling giant playing cards, over and over. Luisa is searching for an update on Bex’s flight when Bex returns and dumps her overstuffed daypack at her feet. Luisa turns her attention to the stark bank of full-length windows that look out to the car park and drop-off area.

  ‘Sorted?’

  ‘Yep,’ says Bex, flicking her boarding pass from hand to hand.

  Luisa reflects again on how sad it is: their relationship boiling down to this. Throughout their travels it has been as though they were hitched by a bungy cord — one where they could stray only so far before being flung back together again. It was in Bitola that their cord snapped. In Bitola, Bex strayed too far.

  A noisy band of young guys approach from the side and both girls startle. Bex goes to wrap her arm around Luisa’s waist but Luisa shrugs her off and edges away. It’s a little too late for that now. But she can feel her face starting to crumple. Be strong, don’t let it show. Luisa concentrates on scanning the main entrance doors for Uncle Josip. He could be here any moment. She wonders if he’s an early type, like her dad.

  The announcement for Bex’s flight punctures the air. Luisa lets out a slow dry whistle. Bex’s face looks stretched with exhaustion; her arms hang limp by her side. It’s infuriating that Luisa still feels some responsibility for the way Bex is hurting too. They’ve both been guilty of putting up barriers over the past days. Luisa stares down at her feet, unsure of how to finish, how to say goodbye.