The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Page 27

  ‘Charge!’ I jerked my head up. The front face of the trofej was now Ivan’s slide to reach the flat ledge.

  ‘Dinko! Watch out!’ I cried. ‘Our scarf!’ I hauled myself onto the ledge, turned and beckoned to Stefan. ‘Come! Quick! Here’s our chance.’

  Ivan and Josip were on either side of Dinko. Ivan held him in a chest hold and yelled at Josip to take Dinko’s legs but Dinko was fighting back, kicking up merry hell.

  ‘Show some courage, Josip!’ shouted Ivan, his voice stern as though he was on a battlefield. I thought this was a tactic to scare Dinko. Josip lost hold of Dinko’s leg. I saw he was off balance and wasted no time, stepping forward to push Josip from behind. He toppled into the water, arms and legs flaying. Ivan threw up his arm in dismay allowing Dinko to wrestle out of his hold.

  ‘Quick, Dinko, the scarf,’ I yelled. ‘The scarf!’

  Ivan waved the scarf high, out of Dinko’s reach. ‘For God’s sake, Josip!’ he yelled, his look of exasperation obvious. ‘What are you — man or mouse?’

  ‘Shut your fat arsehole!’ retorted Josip, shaking his fist at Ivan, his face streaming with water. ‘You’re not in the Party now!’

  A hush fell over everyone and the game ground to a halt. I’d never seen Josip so furious. Those in the water pedalled their arms and legs, keeping themselves afloat. Mama and Nada clung to the trofej at the side and Stefan was suspended on the rock part-way up. Even Dinko and I stood quietly, next to Ivan, as though calling a truce. I was still trying to fathom how our fun game had turned. Ivan leapt high in the air, tucking his knees to his chest and bombing into the water. He landed just to the side of Josip, drenching him with a wash of spray. Josip lunged at Ivan, still shouting obscenities but Ivan was already swimming, fast as a sprat away from the trofej.

  Josip thumped his fist into the water. ‘Boli me kurac!’ he shouted.

  Mama gasped, her hand at her mouth. She hated swearing.

  ‘Good on you, son!’ Tata yelled. ‘Don’t let him boss you around!’

  ‘Bravo!’ called Marin, punching his fist in the air. ‘Good news for us, Ante! May the best team win. You ready, Nada?’ He splashed forward, stroking out.

  Dinko turned to me. ‘Don’t know how he can call himself family. You should be just like the rest of us, happy to see him go back to his precious Party.’

  I wanted to defend Ivan but I was stunned speechless. ‘He won’t get away with this,’ I said and dived in to give chase.

  The game was up for our team but it was a matter of pride and I was determined to retrieve the scarf. Mostly I wanted to escape the cauldron and not have to respond to Dinko’s criticisms. I felt sorry for Josip but what had just played out only accentuated what had been happening around home. My already tenuous relationship with my brother had been stretched even thinner. Perhaps my admiration for Ivan had forced Josip to hold up a mirror? Perhaps he too was frustrated by what he saw? Given his explosion maybe I should have felt proud of my brother but instead I felt embarrassed. It seemed Ivan’s presence was shining a light on the inadequacies of all our men; it was clear they were jealous. But the person I most worried about was Mama: Ivan was her brother, after all.

  Ivan was quite a distance ahead, treading water, taunting me by waving the scrap of green in the air. I was breathless by the time I caught him, all the nervous energy I’d bundled and taken with me from the ledge having leached out during the chase.

  ‘What was that about?’ I spluttered, still scrambling to make sense of it all. I swiped at him, any feelings of self-consciousness gone.

  ‘Here.’ He grabbed my arm, the dripping rag still out of reach.

  ‘You’re an idiot!’ I said, making another snatch for it. ‘And your dirty tactics have backfired. We’ll both lose now. Tata will be unbearable.’ I couldn’t believe I was talking like this, that I was being so grumpy.

  ‘Wait, Jela,’ he said, lowering his arm to pull off my scarf. I grabbed it and made to swim off but he still had hold of my arm, his eyes pleading. ‘Jela, I need to ask you something. Don’t be angry. Please. I’m sorry I took my stupid plan too far. I wanted to get you alone and when you didn’t follow me the first time I got frustrated. This is what I resorted to.’

  I checked back to the trofej, hoping to put some reality into this strange conversation. Tata and Marin were reaching down to lift Nada onto the ledge. She was raising the yellow scarf in the air. ‘Šampions!’ they shouted.

  ‘I’d thought I’d have the chance to ask you,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t realised there’s so little privacy here. It’s worse than at the house.’

  ‘You’re not making sense. What do you mean?’ Over at the trofej Tata was pumping his fist.

  ‘I wanted to ask if you’ll accompany me to the Party ball. It’s in Dubrovnik. In six weeks’ time.’

  I nodded, blinking, wondering if I had heard him right. He was explaining how the organisers had forgotten about the officers posted to Korčula. That he heard only yesterday and needed to respond after the weekend. My mind was doing cartwheels.

  ‘I’ll need to ask Ante,’ he continued, ‘but I wanted to be sure of your answer.’ He smiled. ‘I know you feel hemmed in. This might be a way to help you out of Korčula. There will be people I can introduce you to. People with connections.’

  I wanted to hug him but I didn’t dare. Besides, we were still in the middle of the sea. It felt wonderful to know that somebody had taken me seriously. That he understood.

  ‘I’d love to go, of course. But Tata . . .’ My excitement drained as though emptying into the sea. ‘You know what he’ll be like.’

  ‘Perhaps my stupid plan wasn’t quite so stupid.’ He smiled again and pointed to the trofej. ‘At least he will be in good spirits. Could work to your advantage.’ He winked at me. ‘Come on. Let’s head back and congratulate them. I’ve got an apology to make, too.’

  It wasn’t until Monday, over breakfast, that Tata finally gave his consent. All day I’d been giddy with excitement. It had taken all my willpower not to spill my secret to Nada and Antica. After dinner I unlatched the rear gate, my stomach feeling set to burst, anticipation mixed in with a dose of nerves. It was important I tell Branko first. Life had become so dull between us — him so exhausted and me feeling so confined — that I wanted to share something positive, to have him share in my excitement. I hoped it might be a way for us to connect again, that he would view it as the opportunity it was, potentially for both of us.

  I tilted my head to peer up at the clear summer night sky. There wasn’t an oppressive brooding cloud in sight and the moon was a thin crescent rotated on its back like a smile. Surely Branko would understand? I shuffled my feet to help release my tension and focused on the warm ray of light cast by my oil lantern. I raised it high and picked my way up the pathway of hard-packed dirt. The hills behind Vela Luka were riddled with these narrow trails leading up from the houses. I imagined that if you looked from above, high in the sky, they would appear like tributaries, tiny veins linking with the main track, zigzagging to the top. So many times I’d tapped into this network, climbing higher and higher to escape Tata’s small-mindedness when everything got too much. Up high there was always relief. I would gaze at what was beyond, allowing myself the space to breathe.

  I reached the main track and strained my ears, lifting my lantern higher. It swung to and fro from its hooked handle, casting light in haphazard angles so the olive trees with their gnarly branches, and the spear-like leaves of the aloes, appeared sinister. Luka was sprawled out below, a collection of amorphous shapes stopping short at the harbour wall and hugging its curve. The lights from the oil lamps scattered among the windows gave some definition. Not that I needed it. Most of the buildings were landmarks for me, their features cemented in my memory. Soon I would have the opportunity to feast my eyes on Dubrovnik, a place that so far existed only in my imagination but which I’d heard so much about. No one else, Nada, Branko, Josip, even Antica, understood how I was able to view the two years spe
nt at El Shatt with any positivity. Granted, there had been terrible times in that place, but it was still an experience, a memory of something outside of my small life here.

  I hoped Branko would be there to meet me at the place we had met so many times before, ever since childhood. I moved forward, sticking close to where the path cut into the cliff, keeping clear of the edge, taking care not to stumble on the crush of loose stones. Branko had been opting out so often lately and I had to trust that Nada had stressed how important it was that he come. I rounded the corner and there he was, at the point where his own small pathway met the track. He was leaning back, his oil lamp at his feet, the flickering light playing his shadow like a caricature against the cliff wall. My relief felt like a rush of pride.

  ‘What’s taken you so long?’ he called, peeling himself away to stand tall.

  ‘Sorry,’ I called back, hurrying now. ‘Mama kept dishing out jobs.’ He held out his hand and I rushed forward, taking it in mine, leaning in to kiss him. When I pulled back I scanned his face. ‘I’m glad you came,’ I said, bending to set down my lantern. ‘I knew you’d be tired.’

  ‘At your service,’ he said, saluting. I scanned his face and he smiled. ‘You’re getting demanding and I’ll have to watch myself — can’t have people saying you’re wearing the pants.’

  I leant in and kissed him again, wanting to keep the moment light, to show him how important this was for me. I lingered and realised then how long it had been since we kissed like that, but I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer.

  ‘I’ve got some brilliant news. I wanted you to be the first to know.’ I rubbed his arm, hesitating now, my words feeling stuck in my throat.

  ‘So?’ he said. ‘Been promoted?’ He looked worried. ‘Or fired? Come on, Jela. What is it? You look set to burst.’

  My words scrambled out. ‘Uncle Ivan’s invited me to the Party ball in Dubrovnik next month.’

  His reaction was immediate. ‘You must be joking,’ he said, dropping my hand and stepping away, bristling. ‘Absolutely not!’ His voice had a harsh edge. ‘Out of the question. What are you thinking, Jela?’

  For a moment I was flummoxed. Who did he think he was? My jailer? I’d expected some pull back but not this blatant refusal. ‘You’re the one who can’t be serious,’ I said, my voice strong.

  ‘I couldn’t be more serious. Why would I allow it? My girl going off, alone, with that arsehole.’ He stamped his foot. ‘What do you take me for? A fool!’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Branko! Why are you worried?’ I threw my arms in the air. ‘That you can’t trust me? You don’t have the right to tell me what to do! I’m not your property, something you can pick up, and put down, and keep in a box until you’re ready to play. All you’ve done is ignore me lately. Too tired, too busy.’

  He stared at me, unmoving. I nearly stepped forward to shove him but the narrow pathway with its rubble of stones stopped me. I bent to retrieve my lantern, desperate to escape.

  ‘I won’t let you take my freedom as well!’ I shouted, glaring at him, determined to stay strong. The light caught his stony expression. ‘This is the chance I’ve been waiting for, to escape Korčula, even if it’s only one night. Why would you crush my fun? You’re the same as Tata and all the other men around here. Full of your own importance!’

  Branko called out as I stormed off, ‘Ah, Jela! You’re always looking for more. Never satisfied. If you go, that’ll be the end. I’m telling you now. That’ll be us. Finished!’

  I stopped and turned. ‘Is it any wonder I’m not satisfied?’ I yelled. ‘You’re right, Branko. We are finished. I’ve had enough. I don’t need you!’ I strode off, stopping just before the corner. ‘Good riddance!’ I shouted.

  ‘Granted!’ he yelled back but I was already around the bend.

  With each thump of my footsteps I cursed how men rule the roost and how girls are second best. I pictured myself crushing Branko’s small-minded retorts. I’d been a fool. He was too wrapped up in himself and his own tiny dreams to support me. Despite my anger I felt a wash of relief. Branko had been parcelled up and presented to me, back when we were teenagers, with the label ‘safe as houses’. I’d been pushing down my fears that he might ask to marry me. Now I was certain. Branko wasn’t the one I wanted to share the rest of my life with. He would never be my ticket off this island. I was better off without him.

  SEPTEMBER

  The shining face of the Luža Square clock tower guided us forward to the Party ball. Ivan and I were among a throng of well-dressed people, a cast of floating fabrics, streaming down Dubrovnik’s white stone Stradun towards the Rector’s Palace. I had the strangest feeling that I’d shrunk to become a miniature version of myself, and I looped my arm over Ivan’s, gripping his forearm, as though the bulk of his jacket might reinstate me to full size. Merry chatter bounced off the limestone walls to meld with the clip, clap, clip of heels on the cobblestones. I worried that the tall buildings might topple and entomb us, exotic butterflies frozen in flight. My fingers scrunched Ivan’s coat fabric again, a grasp on reality, while not wanting to escape this dream world or my sense of enthral.

  I stared at all the women with their made-up faces. How much could change in six weeks. Again my tongue worried my painted lips. Antica had pressed the cherry-red lipstick into my palm at the ferry that morning. ‘It’ll help you catch one of those Kapetanes,’ she’d whispered, her smile wicked. We’d talked of little else over the past weeks. Antica had been my buffer, keeping me sane. Nada hadn’t been there for me. Ever since my break-up with Branko we’d been wrenched apart. She’d been snippy, keeping her distance. Of course I’m fine, she’d say when I pressed her, do whatever you want. I hoped she would forgive me soon.

  ‘Still there,’ said Ivan, nudging me and grinning widely. ‘You look beautiful, but there’ll be no lipstick left soon. Just relax.’

  I clamped my lips tight. ‘Just checking,’ I said, and he patted my arm and winked, leaving me feeling embarrassed as though he was poking fun at me.

  I was desperate for him to view me as a young woman, not a child — a confident young woman, worthy of introduction to one of his Party associates. I reminded myself of all that I’d savoured during the day: my initial glimpse of the old town jutting out on the headland, enclosed by its fortified walls; stepping into the foyer of our hotel, never having anticipated I would stay somewhere so grand; the afternoon spent exploring with Ivan, my knowledgeable guide, and how Dubrovnik was just as glamorous as I’d imagined.

  Around the perimeter of the plaza the gas lamps cast warm shafts of light onto the buildings. The dome of St Blaise’s Cathedral illuminated the night sky like a green trophy on a shelf. I peered up at Orlando, standing erect on his column, his sword raised.

  ‘Remember his name?’ Ivan asked, testing me as he’d been insistent on doing all afternoon, checking that I was paying attention.

  I looked away, pretending to search for the answer, but really I was forcing those other thoughts down. Secret thoughts which I’d had when Ivan explained the significance of this city’s symbol of freedom. My face flushed and I was grateful for the dim light. There were dreams I’d shared openly with Antica — would the Party ball be my first step to escaping Luka? What special person might I meet? Where might they come from? But then there were the other thoughts, the ones I wouldn’t dare share: if only that person could be just like Ivan; if only Ivan was my boyfriend and we weren’t related.

  ‘Orlando’s column,’ I stammered, still glancing away.

  ‘Star student.’ He took my arm and guided me forward, pointing towards the Rector’s Palace at the side of the square. ‘There’s our building. Remember?’

  In the afternoon I’d marvelled at the assortment of curious animal-like creatures and cherubs carved into the tops of the columns. I’d said they were too small to be shouldering the weight of that vaulted ceiling and Ivan had laughed. The columns were decorated with vines now, and above the loggia the row of gothic arches gl
owed golden either side of the central bell-tower, yet more silhouettes in the night sky. A cacophony of chatter spilled from the main entrance and we joined the procession of people waiting outside.

  I gripped Ivan’s arm. ‘Look after me, won’t you?’ I whispered, my fears of being stranded in a corner while Ivan was off socialising suddenly terrifying.

  His hand was at my back, guiding me into that cauldron of chatter. ‘I won’t let you out of my sight. Promise.’

  A waiter stood like a mannequin inside the entrance holding a tray of wine glasses. Ivan plucked two, a simple gesture which for me felt so significant: I had escaped Tata’s clutches and was being invited to partake in a forbidden ritual. I held my glass and inched further inside, my mouth falling open at the grand architecture. The atrium was like a series of giant clam shells thrown open on their hinges. Oil lamps cast a warm glow over the stonework of the arches and columns. Our dances at home were held in a plain room attached to the local hotel and decorated by enthusiastic locals. Until then, I’d thought of them as grand affairs, but I knew they’d be forever tainted, that I would always see past the thin veneer to the small-town tawdriness lurking behind. There must have been hundreds of people jam-packed inside and I wondered how we would ever make our way forward. From the centre of the balcony opposite, an oversized flag bearing the Dubrovnik coat of arms jutted from a long pole and fluttered high above the central space. Music pierced the hubbub but it was nothing like the traditional tunes I was accustomed to.

  ‘The Dubrovnik Symphony Orchestra,’ Ivan whispered, pointing to a group of more than a dozen men dressed in dark suits with bow ties. They were mostly seated, some standing, all contained in a tight space at the bell-tower end of the atrium. A lone man, similarly dressed but with coat-tails, stood on a small raised platform with his back to the crowd and directed the musicians with a stick. I had been expecting to see a small group of men gathered in traditional dress like our musicians who played a mix of traditional tunes and more recent songs from America or England. This music was entirely different — complex and measured, serious even — as though it fancied itself as carrying more weight or importance. It made our musicians seem comical, and the music that I’d always found uplifting, childlike.