The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Page 25

  Further out from town the road became more rutted. We headed inland, travelling more slowly, winding our way towards Blato. At times Ivan had to swerve around potholes, and I felt self-conscious grasping him tightly again. To our right the hills rolled away, rising up towards the spine of the island. The land around us was now lush with crops and grapevines. I had rarely been this far out of town and I felt as though I was seeing my island through new eyes. Occasionally Ivan turned back, and his face, with those goggles, made me laugh inside. It wasn’t just his comical look; it was because I was feeling so carefree. He pointed out landmarks, but I couldn’t make out his words. They flew past me, trailing behind to settle in our dust.

  When we reached the start of the new stretch of road, Ivan pulled over and cut the engine. The concrete stretched like a pale grey scar through the countryside. Trees and shrubs lay trampled at the sides, a thick layer of dust muting the bright green. In their place were tall thin poles, stuck at intervals, sticks linked by wires.

  ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ said Ivan, straddling the bike.

  I nodded, but in fact I was thinking how ugly it all looked. The sun perched high in the sky like a watchful eye, beating down on us, searing hot. I thought about the men working in this heat. No wonder Branko complained.

  ‘Piece by piece we’ll snake our way through to Lumbarda,’ said Ivan, pointing ahead. Then he rubbed his hands together. ‘Time to take you on a real ride now.’ His look was mischievous. ‘Ready?’

  I nodded, but then squealed at the rush of speed as we took off. Even so, it amazed me how snugly the bike gripped the new road. When we swept around the corners, Ivan dipped the motorbike low and my skirt flapped around my knees. The sea was a blur, and when I dared glance behind me there was no sign of our tracks, just that same stretch of grey seal, like a bandage covering a wound.

  It seemed only minutes before Ivan slowed the bike and we thumped back down onto the dirt again. Up ahead, groups of men, all shapes and sizes, were clustered haphazardly along what appeared to be a scene of chaos and destruction. Ivan pulled the bike to the side.

  ‘Back to walking now,’ he said. ‘Too many hazards ahead.’

  He lowered the bike on an angle and my heart hammered in my chest. It was ridiculous, but having got myself on, I now felt self-conscious getting off it. I was grateful we weren’t parked any closer to the men and that Ivan was looking ahead. I edged backwards and scrambled off. Ivan kicked out the bike stand and swung his leg over, making it look so simple. He wrenched his driving goggles off and looped them over the handlebars.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said, smoothing his hair and running his hand over his shirt and trousers before replacing his hat. The medals on his shirt lapels glistened in the sun. I untied the scarf from my head and shook my hair loose, hoping I might look less frumpy.

  Ivan smiled. ‘Come on. I’ll have to keep my eye on you. You’ll cause quite a stir out here.’ I felt myself blushing but was pleased all the same. Ivan was already a few steps ahead and I hurried to catch up.

  The warning signs were everywhere: Danger! Slow! Machinery Ahead! Ivan must have sensed my nervousness because he placed his hand at my back to guide me. The sun beat down and a mix of discordant noises: banging, rattling and chipping — sounds I associated more with Jadranka — filled the air. I cast my mind away from work, shielding my eyes, trying to concentrate on what was ahead. We walked down the centre of a wide stretch of dirt, smoothed out to the same width as the road we had just travelled on, but still rough and uneven. I understood then why Ivan had insisted I wear my clumpy work shoes.

  Groups of men lined both road sides. Some dug and shovelled dirt while others raised picks and thumped them into the ground. Ivan explained they were digging trenches to take the pipes for the drainage and preparing edging to hold in the concrete. Most of the men were stripped to the waist and their torsos glistened wet with sweat above their long trousers or baggy shorts. The dust showed up as dark streaks down their bodies, or smeared across their foreheads, or caked on their heavy boots. Some had draped their singlets or shirts over their heads, transporting me for a strange moment back to Egypt and the headgear the Arabs had worn. The men looked up from their work, nudging each other or standing stiffly as we passed. I scanned the faces, looking for Branko, certain I would recognise someone at least, but I was left feeling like an outsider, that I was in some foreign place. Further ahead, large machines like army tanks ran up and down the dirt road. Their tyres were like looped conveyer belts and Ivan explained their job was to smooth out the new road. Still more men worked at the sides, digging trenches. At points along the line, umbrellas cast shade over tables where groups of men, dressed in uniform, some with Party caps, crowded around to pore over large sheets of paper. Ivan waved.

  ‘Great day for a stroll, Captain,’ someone called out.

  ‘Who’s your young lady?’ another said.

  I kept my head down, but inside I was bursting with pride that Ivan was my relative and that I was an honoured guest.

  Heavy metal pipes, wooden poles and metal grid sheets were stacked at the side, and trucks with tyres as tall as humans, their trays laden with rocks and dirt, worked in the area behind them. They moved backwards and forward, dumping and refilling while cranes with long arms like dinosaurs scooped up whatever had been dumped.

  ‘They’re preparing the mix for the concrete,’ said Ivan. ‘The rocks and sand go into a crushing machine.’ Without him I wouldn’t have made any sense of what was happening.

  I almost missed Branko. He was bent over a trench, pointing out something to a fellow worker, but when he straightened there was no mistaking his shock of black hair standing to attention, like a rooster’s comb. It was comforting seeing this familiar sight among all that was so foreign. I wasn’t in the least surprised he hadn’t covered his head. He took great pride in his hair and wouldn’t have wanted to flatten it. His body was cloaked in sweat and his wiry frame looked far too fine for the shovel he was wielding. No wonder he complained about his aching muscles. I understood why I hadn’t seen much of him over the past six weeks. Branko looked shocked to see me but he waved and called out.

  ‘You know this boy?’ asked Ivan.

  ‘Branko is my dragi. I thought you knew.’ I felt stupid having boasted to Branko that I’d helped him get the job. Clearly they were in need of as many workers as they could get.

  ‘Ah, Branko. The special one.’ A look of recognition crossed Ivan’s face. ‘Come. Introduce me.’

  We crossed to where Branko was standing. Some men working just along from him wolf-whistled.

  ‘Enough,’ Ivan called out sternly. ‘Show some respect.’ He leant in and whispered behind his hand. ‘Told you. This mud and dirt makes a pretty girl stand out even more. Forgive them.’

  I didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. Branko was looking this way and that. I hung back, wondering whether I should give him a peck on the cheek but I was too self-conscious for that.

  ‘Well, introduce me to your dragi,’ said Ivan.

  I was relieved he’d taken charge. I made the introductions and Ivan shook Branko’s hand. Branko still looked as though he wanted to run away and I was embarrassed he was acting so childishly.

  ‘Show me what you’ve been working on, Branko.’ Ivan’s hand swished at the trench.

  ‘Preparing for the drainage. It’s slow going. These rocks are like boulders.’ I was glad he sounded more confident.

  Ivan stared at him for what seemed like minutes. I didn’t know where to look. Finally he barked, ‘The rocks are like boulders. What?’

  Branko glanced at me as though I might have an answer. I wanted to climb inside one of the big drainage pipes at the side of the road and hide. I didn’t know what else he could say. Ivan’s eyes were steely under the bright blue peak of his cap.

  ‘Just that. Hard to move,’ Branko said, still looking baffled.

  ‘The. Rocks. Are like boulders. What?’ Ivan was talking to Branko as thoug
h he was an idiot. I’d never heard him speak this way. It made me feel like a child, too. ‘I’m less worried about the hard work, son, and more about your manners. Consider who you are addressing.’

  Branko’s eyes widened. He snapped his shoulders back and I worried that he might topple into the trench behind. ‘The rocks are like boulders, sir. My apologies, sir. I wasn’t thinking, sir.’ Branko’s eyes darted sideways as though looking for a way to escape.

  ‘Better,’ said Ivan, his voice snippy. ‘Less time talking and thinking, more time working. I wouldn’t want to involve your supervisor. We’re not here for a picnic, are we, son?’

  ‘No, sir. As you say, sir.’ Branko picked up his shovel and thrust it back into the dirt. He didn’t look up. I felt so ashamed for him. Our supervisors at Jadranka demanded the same respect, but even they weren’t so callous. Ivan strode off and I scuttled after him, not daring to look behind, but feeling Branko’s eyes drilling my back as though I was a traitor.

  Ivan and I walked in an uncomfortable silence. He seemed to be bristling and I wondered what the other workers thought of Ivan, whether they talked behind his back like we did sometimes about our bosses at the factory. I struggled to reconcile this Ivan with the version I knew from home. Perhaps the real reason Branko had refused to visit our house was because he feared Ivan. Perhaps it wasn’t for the reason he claimed, that it would be inappropriate with his boss there.

  ‘Sorry if that was uncomfortable,’ Ivan said after what felt like minutes. ‘I can’t have rules for one and not for others. Without respect, the discipline fails.’ He smiled then, and it seemed the old Ivan was back.

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said, still trying to push away what had just played out.

  A dreadful clamour filled the air, a horrendous boom which rattled the earth. I shrieked and grabbed Ivan’s arm, my heart pounding, but he burst out laughing. I stepped away, my hand at my chest. The land continued to shake and thick clouds of rubble and dust exploded ahead followed by loud cheers.

  Ivan grinned down at me. ‘Sorry, I should have warned you.’

  ‘I thought we were being shot at,’ I spluttered, collapsing into a fit of giggles, unable to say more.

  ‘Relax. I’m here to protect you.’ He took my arm.

  It was as though my giggle got strangled inside my throat. I edged away, feeling on display in front of the men, hoping Branko couldn’t see me. My fun-loving uncle was back but out there everything seemed at odds.

  ‘What’s happening up there?’ I asked, trying to divert his attention off me.

  ‘Men are scaling the hillsides and planting sticks of dynamite. We’re blasting our way through so the road can more or less go in a straight line.’

  ‘But isn’t that dangerous?’ I peeked up at him.

  ‘We give the men training. Not everyone’s suitable.’ His face turned serious again. ‘We shouldn’t go much closer. In fact, it’s probably best that I get you home.’

  He strode off and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. I scurried to catch up, thinking how as children we’d been warned to look out for unexploded mines. There were plenty in the caves nestled high in the hills behind Vela Luka, and Branko, Nada, Josip and I had often gone exploring. It was always Josip and Branko’s job to go in first, to clear the way before Nada and I were allowed to enter. Branko had a special knack for finding the caves and he prided himself on discovering any secret treasures inside. When we were younger I’d always thought of him as the brave one. I knew how much he would covet that job up ahead and I wished I could tell Ivan. But how could I when Branko had acted like a startled squirrel? I felt embarrassed that the person I loved was not seen as worthy by Ivan. That Branko had failed me by acting like a fool when Ivan had just been doing his job. By the time I caught Ivan, we were passing alongside where Branko was working. I didn’t dare look across, didn’t say a word.

  Perched up behind Ivan on the ride home, I struggled to push my bad thoughts about Branko away. I focused instead on all the new things I’d learnt since Ivan’s arrival, how he might change my life, just as Tito’s projects were making changes all over Yugoslavia. The wind streamed against my face as the familiar shape of Vela Luka, clustered around the harbour, came into sharper focus. How much did I love Branko? This wasn’t the first time that I’d allowed my mind to drift, thinking about the prospect of Ivan introducing me to one of his Party contacts: someone who might show me another side of life; someone who could change my world.

  I let Branko’s hurt settle before seeing him again, waiting until the weekend before calling around. Branko greeted me at the door to their house, his rooster’s comb dishevelled. He rubbed at his eyes, which were like saucers in his pale face.

  ‘Been curled up in a sunny spot somewhere?’ I said. ‘Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep.’ I reached up to touch his cheek but he wrenched back, half-scowling, mangling his hand through his hair.

  ‘Everyone’s out. I’m taking my chances when I can,’ he said, pouting.

  ‘I’d hoped you might join me for a walk.’ I forced a smile and threw my hand towards the street as though inviting the day into the darkened porch. Branko shook his head and I leant in, grabbing him by the shoulders and pecking him on the cheek, desperate to ease the tension and regain some familiar ground.

  ‘Stop trying to dodge it,’ said Branko, his face still drawn. ‘I’ve been wondering when you’d show up.’

  I felt as though he was chiding me, that it was his way of paying me back, that he was asserting his authority, but I was determined not to start with an argument. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go inside and talk things over, away from prying eyes.’

  Branko turned on his heel and led me into their front lounge room. He crossed to the sofa that had its back to the window looking out to the street. I left a gap between us when we sat down. Branko seemed determined not to look at me.

  ‘Come on, snap out of it,’ I said. ‘It wasn’t the worst that could happen.’

  ‘Easy for you to say,’ he muttered. ‘I’m the laughing stock at the site now. All because of your stupid uncle.’

  ‘At least you’ve got a good job,’ I said, feeling a need to defend Ivan. ‘Come on, it was just a misunderstanding. It didn’t help having me there. He’s not that bad, surely?’

  ‘He’s an arsehole. I’m sorry, Jela, but everyone thinks so. Pity you can’t see it.’

  ‘He’s only doing his job!’ I said crossly. ‘You can’t blame him for that.’

  Branko folded his arms and turned away. ‘What’s the point in talking? You’ll never see anyway.’

  I reached out to touch him but he brushed me away. I realised then that perhaps I owed Branko more loyalty, that I should have felt more torn. We sat in an uncomfortable silence and I wondered whether this was it for us, the point of no return. It would feel strange after a year of dating, and despite everything I felt nervous about losing what we had. I worried about Nada, how she might react, how it would affect our friendship. She had been the matchmaker, engineering our first date by working on me for weeks, dropping hints about Branko, how he felt about me, insisting that he was too nervous to ask me himself. I relented in the end and later I wondered if Branko had too. In a sense we’d been thrown together and perhaps this was why we’d continued to be so tentative with each other. Maybe our relationship had been slow to progress because he saw me more as a sibling too. Antica was always teasing me, asking if we’d got past first base. Branko and I never discussed it. We’d allowed ourselves to drift into a comfortable pattern, knowing that our families and friends agreed we were well suited. But at that moment, on the sofa, our relationship was thrown into sharp focus. After what seemed an age, Branko turned back and put his arm around me.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ he said, pulling me close. ‘I’m being selfish. Of course it’s not your fault. I’m just exhausted. I can’t even walk in a straight line, let alone think clearly. Let’s not argue.’

  I scanned his wan face. When I reach
ed up to ruffle his hair, desperate to regain some normality and take the tension away, as always, he smiled. His spiky black hair bristled under my fingers before bouncing back, refusing to lie down. I couldn’t help smiling too. What was the point in changing things? Neither of us was putting pressure on the other. There was no reason not to keep the status quo.

  ‘Let’s not fight,’ I said. ‘What you need is a decent rest. How about we go for a swim tomorrow? We can ask Nada and Dinko to join us.’

  ‘Okay. I promise I’ll be back to my old self then.’ He rubbed his thumb back and forth along my palm as though this was all he had the energy for. ‘Thanks for understanding.’

  I wondered whether he was also thinking that we had dodged a bullet. I’d been surprised by my confusion. All my secret thoughts about meeting one of Ivan’s contacts suddenly felt false, threadbare, an unrealistic dream. Branko was a decent man, one of the better ones around Vela Luka, and Ivan’s arrival hadn’t changed that. I would be stupid to toss it all away on a whim.

  AUGUST

  Nada, Antica and I always chose the same rock ledge, out of earshot of where the men congregated. We waited, along with Mama, Mare and little Luci, for the men to file past. It was our annual picnic to honour Josip’s birthday at our favourite horseshoe bay cradled at the base of an amphitheatre of rocky ledges on Proizd Island. The men’s ledge was halfway down with plenty of room to splay out. Ours was compact but with a bird’s-eye view.