I got out of the Citroën and took off my shoes. Little waves slapped lazily onto a genuine sand-between-your-toes beach. I waded in up to my knees. I felt like I was six again, going to the beach for the first swim of the year. I would have done anything to dive in, but I didn’t have any bathers.
There was a cardboard box of food in the back of the Citroën that contained cartons of long-life chocolate milk, tins of the Dutch version of baked beans and a jar of something called appelstroop. We ate cold beans and drank warm chocolate milk ... or at least Dolf and I did. Ulla said she wasn’t hungry.
Behind us, low scrubby vegetation grew right down to the beach and hills rose up steep and rocky to the deep blue sky. There were no roads or buildings in sight, but we weren’t the only foreigners on the beach. Up ahead two young men were struggling to put up a tent. They looked familiar.
“Hey, Adelaide!”
Nine
Beaches and Peaches
“What are you doing here?”
It was Alun. He came over and hugged me like we were old friends. He had a peeling nose and a bad cold sore. I could see that hot weather didn’t agree with him.
“We wanted to sleep on the beach. At least I did.”
“Really? So did I! But weren’t you going to Verona and then back to London?”
“I’ve given up looking for Veronica and Vanessa, but I’m still going back to London, just not the way I’d planned.”
I was glad to see him. I couldn’t believe it. What were the chances of running into someone you knew in a place like that? Val was there as well. I glared at him.
“Thanks for leaving me by the roadside!” I said, arms folded like a four-year-old.
He shrugged.
“What about you?” I asked Alun. I wasn’t mad at him, I knew it was Val’s idea to abandon me. “I didn’t think Yugoslavia was on your list of destinations either.”
“It’s a long story.” And he was about to tell me, when Val interrupted.
“Apparently that derelict building barely standing up over there is the local tavern.” He pointed to what looked like a pile of rocks at the other end of the beach.
“How do you know?”
“A fisherman told me. He recommends it. Are you thirsty?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that he was the last person I wanted to spend an evening with, but before I could, Ulla introduced herself to him. Val had been to Sweden and soon they were chatting comfortably. Dolf had already hauled out a tangle of poles and canvas that hadn’t been packed away properly the last time they were used, and was frantically trying to transform them into a tent. I think he was imagining immediate sex with Ulla. He looked disappointed when she told Val she’d love to go for a walk along the beach.
Ulla changed into a long yellow caftan that she’d bought in Morocco. She stood facing the setting sun so you could see right through it.
Dolf got out his Frisbee. He was like a puppy that had been locked up all day and finally let out. No one wanted to play, but I took pity on him, though I wasn’t very good at it. It was good to stretch my legs. I felt like I’d been in the Citroën for a week. Eventually the others joined in, even Val. As we walked along the beach, Dolf leapt about, hurling the Frisbee and we lumbered after the spinning disc in the fading light.
“So how did you end up in Yugoslavia on this particular beach?” I asked Alun when we’d all run out of energy.
He glanced back at Val to make sure he was out of earshot. “The Vestal Virginians are stalking Val,” he said.
“Are they?”
“You see they both fancied him. In Vichy, he was waiting for them to sort out who was going to be the lucky one, but they had an argument and drove off,” he whispered. “We ran into them again in Torino. They gave us a lift. It seemed that Vanessa had won the argument and Val was the prize. In Verona, Val was happy to oblige her. Then the next day, Veronica was all over him. They’d decided to take it in turns, see.”
Alun didn’t seem to mind that he’d missed out.
“Val freaked. He didn’t like the idea of being shared, so we snuck away and headed here. No one in their right mind would choose to go to Yugoslavia.”
He looked at me.
“Or so we thought. We got to Zagreb in the evening and I don’t know what was happening, but it was scary. There was some sort of protest. Hundreds of people gathered in the square, shouting. I’ve never seen such angry people. Then fighting broke out. I wanted to go home immediately, but Val said we should throw the dice. He gave it a choice—beach, Provence, or back home—two numbers for each choice. The beach won. We got a lift with a German chick and here we are. I think Val was glad to get off the beaten track, just in case the Vestal Virginians turned up again. No places beginning with V along this coast as far as I can tell.”
“What about the Pink Floyd concert?”
“It wasn’t in Florence. Last we heard it’s going to be in Istanbul next week. We’re not going there though.”
Val was still chatting to Ulla. Dolf was trailing behind them, sulking.
“We walked miles to find the beach. I nearly got sunstroke,” Alun said. “Anyway at least it’s cool here.”
We arrived at the bar, which was a three-sided hut built out of rocks piled one on top of the other. The fourth side was open to the sea. The roof was a sort of thatch made of dried bushes; the floor was just beach sand. Inside, the walls were decorated with things that had been washed up on the beach—shells, fishing floats, old thongs.
“I’m going to find the loo,” Alun said.
Val went over to the piece of driftwood that served as a bar and ordered something. We sat at a rickety table and watched the sun sink into the orange sea as if we were watching a movie.
Alun came back from the toilet.
“What an uncivilised country this is. The toilet is just a hole in the ground with torn up newspaper instead of toilet paper. Lucky I’m constipated.”
“Lucky you aren’t going to Asia,” Val said.
“Why?”
“They don’t use toilet paper at all there. They wash their arses with water using their hands.”
“Pull the other one,” Alun said.
Val and Ulla shared a smile.
The service was slow. While we waited, Alun told us the story of Twrch Trwyth.
“A young man named Kilhwch wants to marry a lovely woman called Olwen who is the daughter of a giant. But he can’t marry her until he’s completed a list of forty tasks, including slaying the wild boar called Twrch Trwyth. But Kilhwch is a smart lad. He gets his cousin King Arthur to do most of the hard work for him.”
He told us how Arthur’s retainers all had special skills or magic powers. One had feet that were swifter than thought, another could stay underwater for nine days, a third could lay a dagger across a stream and it would turn into a bridge.
After about an hour the barman brought a jug of fruit juice and Val poured a glass for everyone. There were pieces of apple and apricot floating in it, but it tasted of peaches. It was delicious. The barman wanted to know where we came from. No one spoke whatever it was that he spoke, but he knew a little Italian and so did Val.
Val went around the table. “Inglese, olandese, gallese, svedese, australiana.”
The barman was so intrigued by this multinational group that had found its way to his bar, that he gave us all a glass of muscat for free.
“When I left Sweden I wanted to go to all the drug places in the world,” Ulla said, though no one had asked her. “I wanted to experience every drug. I went to Amsterdam first, of course.” She glanced at Dolf. “Then I went to Marrakesh for kif. I thought drugs would give me answers to everything. I planned to go to Istanbul for white hash, Kabul for black hash, Thailand for Buddha sticks. That was my plan, but I met Billy in Tunisia. He turned my head around.”
She turned her glass around and around as if to demonstrate.
“Now I search for enlightenment, not drugs. I will get to Nepal. I don’t nee
d a job, I don’t need money, I just need good karma.”
I emptied my glass and Val filled it again. It was dark by then. The moon had risen over the hills. It was a lopsided, not-quite-full moon that kept hiding behind clouds. Alun told us about his traumatic experience driving through the Alps.
“I was petrified,” he said. “When it got dark it was worse. I imagined us going over the edge at every curve.”
“He was white as a sheet and whimpered every time we went round a bend,” Val said, without any sympathy
“I thought I was going to die. I’m never going anywhere near a mountain again.”
I started raving on about the peaches that grew on the tree in our garden in Semaphore.
“Not the yellow clingstone sort that you guys get in tins.” I felt sorry for them because they didn’t know what a real peach was. “The type with the white flesh and furry pink skin. Every summer there are so many we can’t eat them all. Mum bottles some, the birds eat plenty, we stuff ourselves with peaches and they still lie rotting on the lawn.”
Everyone was listening to my story, even Val, just like they’d listened to Ulla’s and Alun’s stories. I was talking about our ordinary old backyard, but to them it was an exotic place in a far-flung part of the world.
That’s when I realised that it wasn’t fruit juice we’d been drinking. There was something strong in it, and I’d had four glasses. Maybe more. I was enjoying myself. I let Val refill my glass.
We walked slowly back to the Citroën. Dolf and Alun were up ahead singing “Jumpin’ Jack Flash”. Ulla was chanting some sort of Buddhist prayer, her caftan trailing in the water. The sea was glittering as if there were specks of silver floating in it. It wasn’t just the reflection of the moon, there was something shining in the sea. Val came up alongside me.
“What’s happened to the sea?” I asked.
“It’s phosphorescence. Caused by tiny organisms, I think.”
The silvery water fizzed up between my toes and surrounded my feet.
“It’s beautiful.”
It was the first time I’d seen Val smile. He had a sort of lopsided smile, like he wasn’t quite sure that smiling was safe. One of his bottom teeth sat behind the others, but somehow that made him even more good-looking.
“You do know that London’s the other way, don’t you?” he said.
I laughed. “I know. I’ll get there ... eventually.”
“So what brought you to this beach?”
I knew it was just the alcohol that was making him friendly, but I liked him smiling at me and being nice.
“I hadn’t seen a real beach since I left Adelaide. I wanted a swim.”
“But you didn’t go in.”
“I haven’t got any bathers.”
“You could skinny dip.”
He smiled a whole smile, which revealed a dimple on his left cheek. He unzipped his jeans and I didn’t look away.
“Anyone fancy a swim?” he called out as he stepped out of his jeans.
He took off his T-shirt and his underpants, ran into the surf and dived into the water.
Ulla slowly pulled her dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. She stood for a moment in the moonlight so everyone had a chance to admire her breasts, then she walked into the water.
“Come on, you lot,” Val shouted. “It’s beautiful.”
Alan and Dolf shook their heads.
“Jackie, you said you wanted a swim,” Val said. “Come on, you don’t have to be sensible all your life.”
I suppose it was the alcohol. I wouldn’t have done it normally. I took off my clothes—all of them—and waded into the sea.
It took my breath away, it was so cold, but it felt wonderful. As I dived into the silver water, I could feel all my anxieties wash away like dirt. It was the first time I’d really relaxed in ages.
I could suddenly picture our house back in Adelaide, two streets from the beach, and my own bed with the bookcase bed head and clean candy-striped sheets. I could hear the sound of the sprinkler lazily squirt-squirting over the buffalo grass and Dad listening to the cricket on a tinny transistor radio in the garage. I could smell the motor oil and the boronia bush. I felt just a tiny bit homesick for Australia, but it didn’t last for long. I was happy to be where I was.
I floated on my back, letting the surge of the water lift me and then drop me back down again. It was like being rocked in a cradle. Val swam up to me. He was a good swimmer.
“Are you ready to go back in?” he asked.
I tried to stand up, but the current had carried me out of my depth. I could just make out the small, dark shapes of the others waiting for us on the beach.
“Yes,” I said.
He’d come to check that I was all right. I liked that.
We swam back to the shore together, our arms slicing through the silvery sea. The shimmering water slid off my arms. “I feel like a mermaid.”
The breeze was very cool. We quickly put on our clothes and walked back along the beach.
Alun was talking to Ulla about Norse myths. Dolf was kicking a shell.
“What is de English for de shiny, coloured stuff inside dis shell?” he asked.
“Mother-of-pearl,” Val and I said together.
I was shivering. Val put his arm around me and rubbed his hands up and down my arms to warm them. I could smell the fruit on his breath; feel its warmth on my neck as he spoke in a low voice that no one else could hear.
“I’m sorry I left you behind.”
Ten
Red Sky
“Listen, I would like to take one of your books,” Alun said. “I’m desperate.”
Everyone had woken early when the rising tide lapped into the tents and around the Citroën’s wheels, but it was late morning before we were packed and ready to go.
The sea had lost its magic and was grey and ordinary.
I dug out my two Georgette Heyer books and held them out to Alun. “Which one do you want?”
“I dunno. You choose.”
I handed him These Old Shades.
He was searching through his rucksack.
“I had a Hemingway, but I can’t find it,” he said. “I must have left it in the last car we hitched in. The only other book I’ve got is my copy of Twrch Trwyth.” He took it from the side pocket of his rucksack. “And I can’t bear to part with it.”
“That’s okay, you can have These Old Shades. I’ve read it at least six times.”
“That’s very generous of you, Adelaide.”
Val didn’t say anything. The friendly Val of the night before had disappeared.
While the boys were busy packing up their tents, I changed into my brown corduroy hotpants. Ulla was watching me. She picked up the grubby grey ones.
“Nice fabric,” she said running her fingers over the velvet.
When we were packed, Val and Alun squeezed into the Citroën and the extra weight made it easier for the ugly duck to get up the sandy track.
“So where are you going now?” I asked
“We haven’t decided yet,” Alun said.
I noticed that he’d already read half a chapter of my book.
We dropped Alun and Val off when we reached the road. I said goodbye.
“If you go to Istanbul,” Ulla said, “I meet you at the Blue Mosque, day after tomorrow, midday.”
“We’re definitely not going to Istanbul.”
Val was about to throw his dice. He gave me a half-smile, but didn’t say anything. Now it was his turn to stand on the roadside and watch as I drove away.
Dolf and Ulla weren’t in the mood for non-stop driving. I had to pull over near a stream so that Ulla could wash the salt off her skin and then she needed to meditate for an hour. Dolf wanted to buy apricots from a farmer and to play with the Frisbee. I put my foot down and refused to stop in Dubrovnik.
Ulla slept and Dolf played his guitar.
Late in the afternoon, the road finally made up its mind and turned inland. Then it sta
rted to climb. Ulla and Dolf wanted to stop as soon as it got dark, but I ignored their whinging for an hour before giving in. They spread a sleeping bag alongside the car and slept on the ground. I borrowed Thomas’s sleeping bag and tried to make myself comfortable on the backseat.
The sky in the east was red when I woke. Bleak, treeless mountains stretched in every direction, but we were on the highest peak. The pale grey rock had turned pink in the early morning light. I thought of Alun. I was glad—for his sake—that they hadn’t come this way, though I did feel a bit sad that I would never see him again. Val too.
The sky was slowly turning salmon pink. There had been girls at my school who were Yugoslavs. They had names like Tamara and Tanija. When we’d talked about the latest hit record or maths test results over our lunchtime sandwiches, I’d never thought about what their homeland might look like. And now I knew. It was beautiful.
When Ulla got out of the car, she didn’t look at the sky, which was by then the colour of pink marshmallows. She didn’t look at the view either. She was looking down at the road that was narrow and unmade. She was yelling abuse at me in at least two languages. In the dark, I’d somehow turned off the main road.
“WE ARE LOST!” she shouted. “And you should have bought petrol at the last town!”
If she’d been keeping her eye on the petrol gauge, why hadn’t she mentioned it before? Like when we were passing a petrol pump.
I wasn’t concerned. Dad was great at getting lost, but he always said he hadn’t lost his way, just temporarily misplaced it. They were the bits of the holiday I had always liked best. Wherever we went, there was always someone who was willing and able to put us back on track. I didn’t see why Yugoslavia should be any different.
I was right. Down the road a bit there was a crumbling stone farmhouse with crooked windows and a roof of broken tiles that sagged in the middle. Women and girls in long black skirts and headscarves were already at work picking stunted sweet corn in a nearby field. A boy led a horse with a coloured bridle that was pulling a plough. A man wearing an embroidered skullcap was leaning on a cart smoking. Using nothing but sign language he told us how to get back on the road. We had just enough fuel to get us to the nearest town where I filled the tank from a hand-operated petrol pump. Ulla paid for it. She had money from selling all her possessions and she was in a hurry to get rid of it.