Under a Croatian Sun (14 page)

The first time we set out, the sky was brilliant blue as we scudded over the light sea and a wave of joy flooded over me. I felt like singing and dancing, but instead I put an arm round Ivana and, with a winning smile playing subtly about my thin but manly lips, I murmured into her ear: ‘With thou beside me singing in the wilderness.’

Ivana looked up blankly.

‘Omar Khayyam.’

‘You just concentrate on what you’re doing! You’re going much too fast. Now mind that boat over there. You always behave like a boy at school whenever you get anything new. I should never have married you. You frighten me enough with the car, and now you’ve got a boat to frighten me with!’

‘Hush now, my trusty crew. We’re off for romance and adventure on the main! With thou beside me, we’re bound for the Rio Grande!’

‘You just keep your eyes ahead and don’t run into anything.’

Undeterred, I took her up to warp speed (20mph). Sniffing the briny breeze, while my hair ruffled attractively in the breeze, I was Ragnar Hairybreeks, Captain Cook, Captain Ahab, Captain Kirk. Nothing compares with being out at sea on a bright, fine breezy day. Our bow cleaved through the clear water, splashing up spray that sparkled like jewels in the air and lightly sprinkled my face. The engine throbbed comfortingly underneath me as I took her past the headland and out into the open sea leaving a small but satisfying white trace in the cobalt blue behind us. Oh my beautiful boat!

Sometimes, we saw dolphins. Usually, they were in pairs, but one afternoon we came across a school of them. I slowed down and saw two of them break away and come plunging towards us like a pair of fighter planes. They first circled the boat, twirling up like ballet dancers on their tail-fins, and then swam alongside looking up sideways with their beady eyes before speeding back to report to the school. I thought they were going to disappear, but the report must have been favourable as they carried on playing. I turned off the engines and we watched as the smaller ones played about, making little jumps over each other, while the adults on the edge shot up out of the water in giant leaps. Solid compact grey muscle gleaming in the sunlight, they 
rocketed upwards, brushing against each other and sending thousands of sparking droplets into the air. Then in a manoeuvre I thought they only learned in dolphin circuses, two of them shot up towards each other and, suspended at the peak of the arch, they touched beaks as if kissing before spiralling back into the water.

And then they were gone. As if from a signal below, they suddenly vanished and the sea was once again a calm, smooth, undulating surface around us. We sat there stunned, feeling as if we had just witnessed a kind of marine epiphany. I started the engine, and we motored home dazed and in silence. If only the children had been with us. They’d never believe we’d seen the dolphins kissing. Why did I never have a camera with me when it was needed?

Bernard Shaw said that, when God had finished his creation, he looked down and the tears of joy he shed became the Dalmatian Archipelago. Created some zillion years ago by a gigantic volcanic eruption, the rocky shorelines of the islands plunged vertically into the sea like in a Norwegian fjord. So we could cruise right in to drop anchor, and then, after letting the chain rattle out until the boat was swinging free and the only sound the lap of water and crackling cicadas, it was clothes off and into the water.

The diving in Dalmatia is some of the best in the Mediterranean, and with the boat we discovered a whole new world. Because of the clearness of the water, the panorama of every cove gave you an undersea landscape of wonder, each one with its own sierras of rocks and jungles of ferns. The moment I was beneath the surface I would find myself in a miraculously coloured world of vivid fauna and surrounded by strange-shaped fish. Some darted about the rocks on their own and some
swum around in the open, quite unconcerned at my presence. Some groups swam right in front of me in a stately formation like a family on a Sunday outing, completely ignoring me. Sometimes there were octopuses and squid scurrying furtively between the rocks, and, if I swam in front of the rock face, the silly old sausages would pulse with nervous luminescence and give themselves away. I’d then dangle a hand in front of the rock and, when they shot out a tentacle to grab it, all I’d have to do was close my fist and I’d have one.

Being the farthest island from the mainland, for centuries the island had been the nearest haven for ships caught in a storm, and lying on the seabed around the coast were the wrecks of those who’d just failed to make it into safety. Most of them had rotted away, but many of the Greek and Roman cargos of amphora were still visible. In some bays, I could see them twenty feet below encrusted together, and I’d dive down to try to work one loose.

The most exciting exploration grounds were the wrecks of the ironclads. There was also a World War II US bomber off the south coast, but I needed to take the next level of diving qualification before I could go down that far.

After our swim, we’d climb back on to the boat and lie in the sun before having our picnic, or, if there was a fisherman’s shack serving food on the shore, we’d motor over to it. Sometimes we couldn’t see one but could smell the grilled fish and baking garlic, and in that case we’d just follow our noses.

H
alfway through June, one of our cousins was coming to stay with her three small children and asked if we could find her an au pair. Marko’s wife suggested a niece of hers in Split, so we rang her and, as Marin was going over there to renew the licence for his owner’s boat, I went over with him to collect her. It was a sparkling, blue morning as we skittered out across the bay and, once out in the open sea, Marin gave me the wheel. I opened her up and, with a growling roar, 640 horsepower of engine thundered into life and rocketed us across the water. The surge of acceleration never loses its thrill. We lifted up on to the plane with a satisfying whoosh and sped across the water like a low-flying seagull. Nothing can be more thrilling than speeding across the water with a glittering plume of spray flying up on either side. Skimming over the waves at breath-taking speed with the engines growling pleasingly under our feet, we hurtled through the straits, clutching the wheel and hanging on to the
grab-rail. With the wind in my face and Marin beside me, I was no longer a late-middle-aged has-been. I was Butch Cassidy with the Sundance Kid at my side, charging across the open space at the helm of a raffish piece of Italian machinery – my rapidly greying hair streaming behind me in the wind.

Marin first arranged the boat registration and we then took a taxi to the address Marko’s wife had given us. We arrived at a lurid purple door off the waterfront and we opened it to find ourselves in a bar whose designer had unsuccessfully tried to reference Hollywood B-movies. It might perhaps have worked in black and white, but the neon-lit crimson-flocked walls were hard on the eye and the colour of the bar would have dissuaded an alcoholic from drinking.

‘By my troth, this is a terrible place, Sir Lancelot!’ I said in a low voice to Marin. I don’t think he could quite place the quotation, but he grimaced back in acknowledgement.

Lolling against the flock were two girls with spiky hairdos talking in low voices, and, on a hideous purple sofa, two others with similarly aggressive hair were playing cards. This was no Norland Nanny agency. Back home, girls who looked like that would be tagged and reporting daily to their probation officer.

A barrel-chested man with biceps bulging out of the sleeves of his jacket appeared from behind a curtain. He had one of those faces that in the North of England would belong to someone good at blocking punts and stepping on people’s faces in scrums rather than someone working in Social Services or writing poetry. ‘You want Galina, yeah?’ he said in an American accent.

‘Oh, yes. We’ve come to fetch her.’

‘She’s not leavin’.’

‘Oh! But my wife was talking to her about it only yesterday.’

‘Yeah, that was yesterday. That was before she remembered she’d signed a contract to work here for the summer. That kinda slipped her mind when she was talkin’ to your woman.’

‘My wife.’

‘Whaddever.’

‘Is Galina here?’

‘Yeah, but she’s busy.’

There was a pause while we weighed each other up. The Gonzo was about twice my size, so I continued with my nice-as-pie manner.

‘I only need a quick word with her. Her auntie arranged it all and she’ll think something’s wrong if we don’t even say hello to her. You know how aunties worry.’

He hesitated for a moment (even Gonzos have aunties), but he then thought better of it. ‘Like I said, she’s busy.’

We could hear the voices of girls behind the curtain and Marin and I looked at each other. Marin moved quickly. In three strides, he was at the curtain and yanked it aside. ‘Galina!’ he called out. The voices stopped.

‘Hey! Get outta there!’ The man grabbed Marin’s arm.

‘Galina!’ Marin called out again.

Marin and the man arm-wrestled each other as a figure appeared from behind the curtain. A waif of a girl with doe-like eyes, short black hair and too much make-up stood looking uncertainly at us.

The bouncer let go of Marin’s arm and stood in front of the girl.

‘You’re not talkin’ to her and there’ll be trouble if you don’t get outta here right now!’

‘And just how do you think you’re going to get us out of here?’ asked Marin in a steely voice.

‘I’ll throw you outta that window. That’s how.’

Marin stepped up to him, his jaw clenched. Though not as bulky, he was taller.

‘We’re going to talk to Galina outside for a moment, whether you like it or not. And, if you want to get rough, I’d remind you that there are two of us, and by the time your mates turn up, my friend and I will have made your face look like a pizza.’

Poised to kick the man’s shins or give him a Chinese burn until he screamed for mercy, I stood behind Marin like I used to stand behind my elder brother. In my pocket was a standard ninja-issue biro, and I clutched it menacingly, ready to poke him black and blue if he made a move.

Clearly reckoning he wasn’t a match for me, he grunted and pushed the girl grudgingly forward.

Once outside, Galina told us breathlessly that she had signed something she thought was a wages agreement rather than something that tied her into working there the whole summer. The money was good, she said, but for most of the day she was just hanging about in the gloom waiting for the drinkers to come in, and it was getting her down.

As we were about to leave, she remembered that her handbag was still inside and wanted to get it, but not feeling like practising my biro-poking expertise that morning, I persuaded her that she didn’t really need anything that was in it. We dashed off to pick up her suitcase from the flat she was sharing and then high-tailed it back to the harbour in case the Gonzo had rung his mates and they were after us. We jumped aboard, the huge motors coughed into life and Marin wheeled the boat out of the harbour in a curl of spray. I felt as if we were trafficking illegal immigrants as we roared out to sea, and couldn’t resist looking behind every few seconds in case a speedboat with machine guns was coming after us. Marin noticed and caught my eye.

‘
From Russia with Love
!’ he shouted over the noise of the engines.

We grinned foolishly at each other.

‘Someday we’ll have to grow up!’ I shouted back at him.

Galina started to shiver and opened her suitcase, but there was nothing in it except jeans, T-shirts and skimpy dresses. I took the wheel and Marin went below to bring up one of the storm jackets. It was twice her size, but he pulled it over her and she sat with her head poking out of it like a puppy in a rug while he solicitously fastened the zips around her. She gazed up adoringly at him.

We’d have to keep an eye on her.

I asked them both not to mention our brush with the bouncer to Ivana, as I was worried she might want to go over and punch him. She does that sort of thing, and I’ve had to spend a lot of time refereeing altercations with other drivers and members of the public or talking our way out of police stations over the last thirty years. However, I have to admit that her ‘attitude’, as the children call it, did sometimes come in useful. When I had to stay on a nearby island to help a friend who had bought a house there, Ivana took the boat back on her own and got caught by a sudden storm. Unable to keep the boat on course, she was driven to the south side of the island – where she should have stayed until the storm had blown itself out. But, determined to show everyone (and me in particular) that she could bring the boat home in heavy weather if she wanted to, she set out to sea again and tried to make her way up the coast. Pounded by the waves, drenched by salt water and frozen by a force six gale, many times she thought of turning back, but she battled her way up and eventually reached the safety of the bay. Marko saw her coming in and went to help, and he said that she was in a terrible
state of bedragglement, but she had experienced what only true sailors can experience – that sense of achievement, when, after hours of struggling against all that the elements can throw at you, you finally make it into the harbour you’ve been trying to reach for so long.

For the next day, she was the talk of the town and her street-cred in the village rocketed. However, when I arrived back the following evening and she was helping me off the ferry with some boxes, I heard an old man on a bench say to the others: ‘She did well in that Tramontana, you know.’

‘True,’ said the one beside him, ‘but it had only just started to blow. If a full Tramontana had been blowing, she’d have never made it back without a man on board.’

The third nodded in agreement.

In Croatia, the sea is still a last bastion of the male.

We had, in fact, come across this attitude already. When we went to the harbourmaster’s office to register the boat and pay the taxes, I had asked for the boat to be registered in Ivana’s name and had been met with considerable surprise. The harbour-master knitted his heavy eyebrows together like a felted black sock and said, ‘But we cannot have a woman’s name down as the captain!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ said Ivana. ‘Of course you can.’

The eyebrows did a quick
pas de deux
and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

‘We have to put it in Ivana’s name for tax reasons,’ I offered as a palliative.

‘But a woman’s name is never on a boat register!’ he said, the eyebrows continuing their dance routine.

Ivana fixed him with the oxyacetylene blow-torch look usually reserved for me and he fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I know
what,’ he said brightening up. ‘We could put your husband’s name down as the captain and then write your name underneath it. That way we’ll have a man listed as the official captain, but your name will be there, too, if it’s ever needed.’

Ivana stood there fizzling like a test tube in a chemistry lab. ‘There are countries with a woman as their President these days, and you’re telling me you can’t put a woman’s name on some silly boat register?’

The eyebrows clenched again. ‘But it’s just that… well… out here… you know…’ He looked at me pleadingly. ‘Wouldn’t it be so much easier if we do what I suggest?’

I gave Ivana one of my ‘please don’t make such a fuss’ looks, and with bad grace she submitted.

After leaving the office, we saw Marin sitting with some other skippers who had decided to devote their morning to beer and conversation, and Ivana peeled off to give them a broadside about the nonsense women still had to put up with from men – and seafaring ones in particular. Marko, always the diplomat, went over to sympathise with her, but came back to say we had done the right thing in going along with what the harbourmaster had suggested. At our stage, he said, the most important thing to do was to comply with local preconceptions, no matter how daft they might seem.

I went to prise her away from the table before she started accusing them of still wearing animal skins and clubbing their women into subservience, and as we left I whispered to Marko that he might warn the harbourmaster not to go down any dark alleys for the next few days if he saw Ivana in the vicinity.

Another boating issue also reared its ugly head around that time. Zoran and the cabal had actually warned me about it some time ago, but, although I had dismissed it as small-town misogyny at
the time, I now realised they were right. Having one’s wife as one’s crew is definitely not a good idea. Whereas anyone else will do what they are told to by their captain, wives, being long accustomed to doubting the wisdom of their husbands, tend to answer back – and, by the time you’ve sorted that one out, you’ve missed your buoy, hit the sea wall, gone aground or run into a car ferry. An added problem with my crew was that, whenever it was told to do something, it would complain that its hair would get wet, its trousers dirty or its sunglasses would fall off.

Ragnar Hairybreeks wouldn’t have put up with it.

One month had gone by since my cricket discovery, but there was still no sign of Luka, and, desperate for someone to talk to about my idea, I misguidedly mentioned it to Zoran.

‘Cricket? You mean that dumb game where a lotta guys in white pants stand aroun’ not doin’ much. Right?’

‘Er… yes, I suppose I do, but that’s not exactly what…’

‘I saw it in some of those old English movies on Channel 11. Why the heck d’you wanna start that up here? If you wanna play your Harry Potter games, play ’em at home.’

‘Well, Marko thinks it’s a good idea.’

A crafty look came over his face. ‘Say, don’t some cricket guys in India make a lotta money fixin’ the odds an’ bettin’ on it?’

(The extent of Zoran’s knowledge never ceased to amaze me.)

‘Mebbe you an’ I can start an island bettin’ joint and I can make some decent money at last?’

‘But do you think there will be enough men interested in learning how to play it?’

‘I dunno. You know what our islanders think about anythin’ new.’

‘Oh.’

Being a P.G. Wodehouse reader, Filip knew something about it. ‘But tell me. Do all those people really have to stand around doing nothing? With twenty-two people, surely more of them ought to be doing something?’

‘Well, it’s not really like that…’ I began, but my words were drowned out by the hoot of the ferry and everyone moved outside.

It wasn’t exactly the enthusiastic response I’d hoped for, but it was my fault. I should have waited for Luka to return as Marko had advised. I certainly shouldn’t have opened my mouth about it to Zoran. Not that it was the kind of game that would appeal to him anyway – patience not being one of Zoran’s more obvious virtues. In fact, whenever you were near him, you had a rather unsettling feeling. The sort of feeling you get when you’re standing next to an overheating boiler that might be about to explode any minute.