Part 4
There's a bit of smut in this. A tiny bit of implicit hanky panky. Nothing graphic (I can't do graphic) and really hardly anything at all. No, really.
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It's dark when we get to Split and I fall asleep in the hire car we picked up at the airport so I have no idea what time we reach Vodice. Luka hauls me out of the car and carries me into the house, lying me down and shushing me, telling me not to wake myself up. I fall asleep thinking it's strange to hear the sea in the dark and not see it and that it won't be for him but having me here will.
You know how sometimes when you wake up you know you're alone? I mean, not just no-one in bed with you but no-one in the house? I knew it as soon as I opened my eyes. My shoes and jeans have been removed but my shirt and underwear are still in place, and I'm still wearing my watch. I squint at it and see that it's almost noon. What time is it in Chicago? The effort to work it out is short lived and unsuccessful. Who cares? I'm on my honeymoon.
The room is simple, whitewashed, although there are a couple of Ivica's paintings on the wall. And one above the bed; it's an abstract like the others but still manages to look vaguely indecent. A slatted shutter covers the window, diffusing the sunlight. The tiled floor is cool under my feet as I open the shutter to look for the sea. It's not there; wrong side of the house, evidently, and all I see is the car, a track which I assume leads to the road and beyond that hills and greenery and the bluest sky I've ever seen in my life. Looks like we're a way out of town here. But when I make my way through the kitchen, where the door stands open, and out onto a veranda, there's the sea and it dazzles my eyes. It's beautiful.
He's sitting in the shade, wearing only his jeans, barefoot, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. He sets it down as far from him as he can reach because the smell makes me queasy.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
"Sleep well?"
"Like a baby. You been up long?"
"Couple of hours. Went to get a newspaper, then for a swim. You hungry?"
"Uh-huh" I say as I settle myself on his lap.
"My father left us some - " He stops there because he can't talk while I'm kissing him. His mouth is cool and tastes of coffee and I don't care; God knows what mine must taste like. "Abby," he says as my mouth moves across his throat, which is a little salty from the sea.
"What?"
"You should eat something." But he's saying it without much conviction because I've slid from his lap and onto my knees, between his, and my hands are busy unfastening his jeans. I give him my wickedest grin.
"I intend to."
Evidently missing the point that we're newly weds and that there's nothing around for miles in any direction he protests sotto voce that this is his father's house; and can it be that he's even blushing a little? "I know, " I say, still smiling. "he'd be proud of us." There's not much talking for a while after that.
At week's end we pack some stuff and drive along the coast to Dubrovnik where Ivica is staying with Damir and Tatijana in their new house and where we'll spend the weekend. I'm in a state of low level anxiety and excitement all in one. They don't know we're married, they don't know about the baby because he wanted to be there when they found out. It's starting to dawn on me how little I've known this man at my side, he's a different person here. He's at home, happy, relaxed, and I remember what Ivica said about the place being softer. He's right, it is. There's a spring in his step when we stop to fill up the car with gas and he chats to the attendant who has drifted outside to pass the time of day, wipe the windshield and, I gather, offer the use of the rest room. Luka translates for me and I get out of the car, following gas guy's pointing finger. He says something as I pass and Luka shakes his head and replies. Gas guy, although I don't understand a word of what he says, is obviously back peddling like crazy.
As we drive away I ask him.
"He said you were . . . that I have a pretty girlfriend."
"Liar."
"Well . . . sort of. I told him you're not my girlfriend but my wife." He smiles at me and I can tell that he's still getting used to the word. After a few moments he shakes his head and laughs softly, looking out over the scenery, and I know as surely as if he'd told me himself in so many words that everything he wants is right there with him in that car on the coast road to Dubrovnik.
It's a pretty house but they're still living out of boxes and I'm glad because with all the chaos no-one's going to be taking too much notice of anything else, like me. Yeah, right.
The noise is painful as they converge on us, Tatijana first, then Damir, the children, Magdalena's greeting brusque before she heads outside, Josip clinging to Luka's legs, Anna blushing to the roots of her hair; I take care to smile into her eyes because she's in love with my husband. Ivica is last and after he's hugged me I hand over the carton of American cigarettes we've brought for him, push my hair back from my face with my left hand and smile.
"Tata". He grins, completely missing the point, but when Anna speaks to him quietly he looks from me to her and back again before reaching for my hand. He runs his index finger over the ring and nods and then walks away. I'd like to think he's gone to find a quiet spot to shed a few paternal tears; truth is he's probably lighting up and thinking of something profound to say. He doesn't know the half of it. Anna has moved over to where her mother is speaking to Luka, whispers something in her ear and Tatijana throws her arms around Luka who is compelled to let go of Josip who he has had suspended by his ankles over Damir's lap in an apparent quest for loose change. I don't know why they need loose change. Tatijana turns her attention to me, asking when and where, and God, Ivica will be pissed at being cheated out of a party and isn't it a bit sudden? I look at Luka who just looks right back and I realise that it's me who gets to tell them. So I smile and say "Shotgun wedding". They stare blankly back at me and I try again. "I'm pregnant."
The silence which follows this announcement is absolute. Eventually Damir speaks to Luka in Croatian, evidently asking a question and Luka nods.
"Da."
Damir tips Josip off his lap and comes to me, gathering me up into his arms. These Kovac men could hug for Croatia.
"Go and tell Tata."
I look at Luka who nods, smiling now, before he too disappears into Damir's embrace and Josip stands on the armchair and jumps up and down on it in an attempt to join in the ruffling of his uncle's hair. Anna smiles quietly and holds the door open for me.
Ivica is sitting on the back step, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers, watching Magdalena practising her handstands. She's not very good. He makes room for me and smiles.
"Too much for you, all of them?"
"Not at all." He offers me the pack of cigarettes and when I shake my head he raises his eyebrows.
"You quit?"
"Well, you know, it's not something you should do when you're pregnant." His amused smile fades and he turns from me, staring hard at I don't know what.
"You planned this?"
"We planned it." He nods slowly.
"Well, there's my brave girl."
"Aren't I?"
He drapes an arm round me and pulls me in close. "You feel OK?"
"I feel great. Not even been sick."
"Not what I mean."
"I know." I'm quiet for a while, considering my words. "It feels like . . . jumping without a parachute."
Ivica shrugs. "Eh, fall's OK, it's hitting ground will kill you."
"Thanks."
"Worst part is making yourself jump at all I think."
"Not so hard in the end. We deserve this." He rests his chin on the top of my head, his hand describing wide circles on my back.
"I have to teach Josip to smoke now. I need the company."
"You could quit." He gives a derisive little snort. "Guess not." We sit quietly for a few minutes and then he says, as though just remembering it,
"You like Vodice?"
"The town or your house?"
"Both."
"I love the house. The town's not what I was expecting."
"No?"
"Bigger, busier. I didn't expect the tourists. Nice to get back to your place."
"Yes. Good place for me. It's . . . secluded, yes?" I'm not looking at him but I can hear the smile in his voice, the old roué. "You will bring baby to visit?"
"I'm kinda relying on all of you for cheap European holidays. Promise you won't teach him to smoke."
"Him?"
"Or her, whatever."
"I promise. And you won't teach him to drink." I push out of his arms now, horrified, but then I realise I walked straight into it; he's laughing, looking very like Luka and then he puts his hands either side of my face and kisses me soundly before getting up and going to Magdalena, catching her ankles at the top of the handstand, holding her poised. I know how she feels.
We eat out that night, sitting outside the restaurant while Magdalena and Josip run in and out of the tables collecting the books of matches they find there and presenting them like trophies to their grandfather who promptly pockets them and has Josip - and me - transfixed as he cracks hazelnuts with his teeth. When the night gets cool Damir puts his coat round my shoulders, looking at Luka and raising a cocky eyebrow at him. Later the conversation gets a little heated as the clan Kovac fill up with wine and Ivica hits the local brandy, scented with herbs and hellish expensive. I chip in to make a point and Damir talks right over me determined to get in there first. I should be offended but I'm not because this is how they treat each other. Luka doesn't miss it and stirs his coffee, smiling to himself. Just as I'm thinking that I might actually like to be a Kovac after all he looks up at me, still smiling, and with a shrug he whispers "In laws."
There's a bit of smut in this. A tiny bit of implicit hanky panky. Nothing graphic (I can't do graphic) and really hardly anything at all. No, really.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------
It's dark when we get to Split and I fall asleep in the hire car we picked up at the airport so I have no idea what time we reach Vodice. Luka hauls me out of the car and carries me into the house, lying me down and shushing me, telling me not to wake myself up. I fall asleep thinking it's strange to hear the sea in the dark and not see it and that it won't be for him but having me here will.
You know how sometimes when you wake up you know you're alone? I mean, not just no-one in bed with you but no-one in the house? I knew it as soon as I opened my eyes. My shoes and jeans have been removed but my shirt and underwear are still in place, and I'm still wearing my watch. I squint at it and see that it's almost noon. What time is it in Chicago? The effort to work it out is short lived and unsuccessful. Who cares? I'm on my honeymoon.
The room is simple, whitewashed, although there are a couple of Ivica's paintings on the wall. And one above the bed; it's an abstract like the others but still manages to look vaguely indecent. A slatted shutter covers the window, diffusing the sunlight. The tiled floor is cool under my feet as I open the shutter to look for the sea. It's not there; wrong side of the house, evidently, and all I see is the car, a track which I assume leads to the road and beyond that hills and greenery and the bluest sky I've ever seen in my life. Looks like we're a way out of town here. But when I make my way through the kitchen, where the door stands open, and out onto a veranda, there's the sea and it dazzles my eyes. It's beautiful.
He's sitting in the shade, wearing only his jeans, barefoot, reading a newspaper and drinking coffee. He sets it down as far from him as he can reach because the smell makes me queasy.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself."
"Sleep well?"
"Like a baby. You been up long?"
"Couple of hours. Went to get a newspaper, then for a swim. You hungry?"
"Uh-huh" I say as I settle myself on his lap.
"My father left us some - " He stops there because he can't talk while I'm kissing him. His mouth is cool and tastes of coffee and I don't care; God knows what mine must taste like. "Abby," he says as my mouth moves across his throat, which is a little salty from the sea.
"What?"
"You should eat something." But he's saying it without much conviction because I've slid from his lap and onto my knees, between his, and my hands are busy unfastening his jeans. I give him my wickedest grin.
"I intend to."
Evidently missing the point that we're newly weds and that there's nothing around for miles in any direction he protests sotto voce that this is his father's house; and can it be that he's even blushing a little? "I know, " I say, still smiling. "he'd be proud of us." There's not much talking for a while after that.
At week's end we pack some stuff and drive along the coast to Dubrovnik where Ivica is staying with Damir and Tatijana in their new house and where we'll spend the weekend. I'm in a state of low level anxiety and excitement all in one. They don't know we're married, they don't know about the baby because he wanted to be there when they found out. It's starting to dawn on me how little I've known this man at my side, he's a different person here. He's at home, happy, relaxed, and I remember what Ivica said about the place being softer. He's right, it is. There's a spring in his step when we stop to fill up the car with gas and he chats to the attendant who has drifted outside to pass the time of day, wipe the windshield and, I gather, offer the use of the rest room. Luka translates for me and I get out of the car, following gas guy's pointing finger. He says something as I pass and Luka shakes his head and replies. Gas guy, although I don't understand a word of what he says, is obviously back peddling like crazy.
As we drive away I ask him.
"He said you were . . . that I have a pretty girlfriend."
"Liar."
"Well . . . sort of. I told him you're not my girlfriend but my wife." He smiles at me and I can tell that he's still getting used to the word. After a few moments he shakes his head and laughs softly, looking out over the scenery, and I know as surely as if he'd told me himself in so many words that everything he wants is right there with him in that car on the coast road to Dubrovnik.
It's a pretty house but they're still living out of boxes and I'm glad because with all the chaos no-one's going to be taking too much notice of anything else, like me. Yeah, right.
The noise is painful as they converge on us, Tatijana first, then Damir, the children, Magdalena's greeting brusque before she heads outside, Josip clinging to Luka's legs, Anna blushing to the roots of her hair; I take care to smile into her eyes because she's in love with my husband. Ivica is last and after he's hugged me I hand over the carton of American cigarettes we've brought for him, push my hair back from my face with my left hand and smile.
"Tata". He grins, completely missing the point, but when Anna speaks to him quietly he looks from me to her and back again before reaching for my hand. He runs his index finger over the ring and nods and then walks away. I'd like to think he's gone to find a quiet spot to shed a few paternal tears; truth is he's probably lighting up and thinking of something profound to say. He doesn't know the half of it. Anna has moved over to where her mother is speaking to Luka, whispers something in her ear and Tatijana throws her arms around Luka who is compelled to let go of Josip who he has had suspended by his ankles over Damir's lap in an apparent quest for loose change. I don't know why they need loose change. Tatijana turns her attention to me, asking when and where, and God, Ivica will be pissed at being cheated out of a party and isn't it a bit sudden? I look at Luka who just looks right back and I realise that it's me who gets to tell them. So I smile and say "Shotgun wedding". They stare blankly back at me and I try again. "I'm pregnant."
The silence which follows this announcement is absolute. Eventually Damir speaks to Luka in Croatian, evidently asking a question and Luka nods.
"Da."
Damir tips Josip off his lap and comes to me, gathering me up into his arms. These Kovac men could hug for Croatia.
"Go and tell Tata."
I look at Luka who nods, smiling now, before he too disappears into Damir's embrace and Josip stands on the armchair and jumps up and down on it in an attempt to join in the ruffling of his uncle's hair. Anna smiles quietly and holds the door open for me.
Ivica is sitting on the back step, the inevitable cigarette between his fingers, watching Magdalena practising her handstands. She's not very good. He makes room for me and smiles.
"Too much for you, all of them?"
"Not at all." He offers me the pack of cigarettes and when I shake my head he raises his eyebrows.
"You quit?"
"Well, you know, it's not something you should do when you're pregnant." His amused smile fades and he turns from me, staring hard at I don't know what.
"You planned this?"
"We planned it." He nods slowly.
"Well, there's my brave girl."
"Aren't I?"
He drapes an arm round me and pulls me in close. "You feel OK?"
"I feel great. Not even been sick."
"Not what I mean."
"I know." I'm quiet for a while, considering my words. "It feels like . . . jumping without a parachute."
Ivica shrugs. "Eh, fall's OK, it's hitting ground will kill you."
"Thanks."
"Worst part is making yourself jump at all I think."
"Not so hard in the end. We deserve this." He rests his chin on the top of my head, his hand describing wide circles on my back.
"I have to teach Josip to smoke now. I need the company."
"You could quit." He gives a derisive little snort. "Guess not." We sit quietly for a few minutes and then he says, as though just remembering it,
"You like Vodice?"
"The town or your house?"
"Both."
"I love the house. The town's not what I was expecting."
"No?"
"Bigger, busier. I didn't expect the tourists. Nice to get back to your place."
"Yes. Good place for me. It's . . . secluded, yes?" I'm not looking at him but I can hear the smile in his voice, the old roué. "You will bring baby to visit?"
"I'm kinda relying on all of you for cheap European holidays. Promise you won't teach him to smoke."
"Him?"
"Or her, whatever."
"I promise. And you won't teach him to drink." I push out of his arms now, horrified, but then I realise I walked straight into it; he's laughing, looking very like Luka and then he puts his hands either side of my face and kisses me soundly before getting up and going to Magdalena, catching her ankles at the top of the handstand, holding her poised. I know how she feels.
We eat out that night, sitting outside the restaurant while Magdalena and Josip run in and out of the tables collecting the books of matches they find there and presenting them like trophies to their grandfather who promptly pockets them and has Josip - and me - transfixed as he cracks hazelnuts with his teeth. When the night gets cool Damir puts his coat round my shoulders, looking at Luka and raising a cocky eyebrow at him. Later the conversation gets a little heated as the clan Kovac fill up with wine and Ivica hits the local brandy, scented with herbs and hellish expensive. I chip in to make a point and Damir talks right over me determined to get in there first. I should be offended but I'm not because this is how they treat each other. Luka doesn't miss it and stirs his coffee, smiling to himself. Just as I'm thinking that I might actually like to be a Kovac after all he looks up at me, still smiling, and with a shrug he whispers "In laws."