Reconcilible Differences
part 25
by Mrs. Eyre
The day soared hot and cloudless out of the
morning haze, which still hung over the water. The little
beach was empty but for Luka who stood as the waves sucked the
sand from beneath his feet, the familiar momentary threat to his
balance making him smile a little.
So, you’re up, are you? He was
looking well; better than the last time he’d visited
in Zagreb. Then his son’s eyes had rarely met his and
had been full of something unknowable, something Ivica had seen
there before. When Luka had come to him after his release
from the camp he felt he could have walked past him in the street
and not known him. Painfully thin, his chest rattling with
infection, unhealed wounds on his body. Not since her death
had Ivica wished so fervently that his wife were there, to hold
her boy and sooth him when he woke from sleep in an agony of
grief and rage. There had been no talking to him then.
He’d brought him here to his wife’s parents’ house
near Vodice, by the sea and watched helplessly as a kind of
inertia had settled on him. His body healed but his spirit
continued to languish in the grip of a terrible malaise.
Ivica began to think it would have been better if his boy had
died.
He’d been the love of his mother’s
life. A beautiful baby, pretty child and graceful, handsome
youth, Ivica would often find Elena gazing at their son
incredulously, as though not quite able to believe he was theirs.
And when she lay dying in hospital, caught by the stealth of the
disease they’d found too late, it was Luka’s eyes
she’d sought at the very last. For a long time Luka’s
older brother had given him a wide berth after that, but
Luka’s quiet persistence, astonishing in one so young, had
drawn Damir in again. And after Vukovar, when it seemed
that Luka wanted nothing more than to walk into the sea, it had
been Damir who had brought his wife and baby daughter here and
had kept him tied to this world, however strong a pull he had
felt toward the next.
He hadn’t been at all surprised when
Luka had walked into Vodice to call his father in Zagreb. He
would be leaving. He didn’t know where yet. No,
he didn’t think he’d be back.
And shortly after that he’d hugged
Damir and Tatjana and their baby, taken what few belongings he
had and, with money given to him by his father and brother,
had simply walked out of their lives.
Now, as he watched him looking out across
the Adriatic he wondered whether things were different this time.
He’d been too tired to talk when he’d arrived two days
ago, and he’d slept the sleep of the righteous almost all
the time since. No matter. They had time.
They had four weeks together. This time they would talk.
Luka had expected the memories to be
overwhelming here. They weren’t. There was
nothing except the familiar sight and scent of the sea. He
had missed the sea. The early morning water was cold about
his feet and ankles. He realised suddenly that he was
hungry and turned to look at the house overlooking the beach.
His father was looking back at him, and he made his way in
to breakfast.
“So, what do you say we take the boat
down the coast tonight; eat some dinner, get a little
drunk, you and me. Find ourselves a couple of girls.”
“You can have the girls, Tata. But
the dinner and the drinks sound good.” Luka watched as
his father rolled another cigarette, his fingers ingrained with
paint and nicotine. “They’ll kill you , you
know.”
”Do you know, there are people every
year who are killed by frozen toilet waste falling from planes?
They go to the gym, they run, they jog, they eat no fat and don’t
drink or – “ here he paused to run his tongue lightly
along the edge of the cigarette paper before rolling it neatly
around the tobacco “ – use these. And then one
day, as they’re, I don’t know, jogging, cycling back
from the gym, BLAM! They are hit by a block of shit
and piss dropped on them by total strangers who have been
drinking and smoking their whole lives. I’ll take my
chances.”
“And live forever I should think.”
Luka finished his coffee.
“Or at least die in my bed.”
”Someone else’s bed probably.”
“Not you?”
”What?”
”You keep to your own bed these days?”
“Tata ---”
”No, no, I don’t want to pry.
You mentioned your woman again over the telephone and –
“
”She’s not my woman.”
”No? Why not?”
”We broke up.”
”And?”
”And she was with someone else.”
”But not any more.”
”No. I - I think that maybe we could
--- make something of it if we tried again.”
”Then try again.”
”I don’t know. It’s not
quite that simple. She has --- problems.”
”Help her with them.”
Luka shook his head. “Not
something I can help with.” His father raised his
eyebrows expectantly. “She --- she drinks.”
”So do I.” observed Ivica,
quietly.
“No. She’s an alcoholic.”
“You didn’t tell me that when you
were with her before.”
”I didn’t know. She didn’t
tell me. And she wasn’t drinking then.”
”She is now?”
”No. I mean she did, for a while,
but she’s been in treatment.”
”Why does she drink?”
Luka shrugged. “Her family ---
well, her mother is bipolar.”
”I don’t know what that means.”
”You remember Emilia – I don’t
remember her other name – who was married to the piano
teacher?”
”God, yes. Is that what it is?”
”Yes. Her father left when she
was little. I don’t think she ever really was a little
kid, you know? And she needs ---”
”I hope you aren’t trying to be
her father, Luka.”
”No, no that’s just it; it’s
what I don’t want to do; what she doesn’t want
anyone to do, and yet -”
”And yet she does. I don’t
want to sound harsh, son, but she sounds like a lot to deal with.”
“Well so am I.”
His father leaned across the table
and laid his hand over Luka’s. “You’re a
Kovac. You’re supposed to be a lot to deal with.”
Luka laughed then.
“The thing is she’s supposed to
stay sober for a year – at least a year – before she
starts up anything --- romantic.”
”Or what?”
”What?”
”What happens if she gets laid before
the year’s up? She burst into flames or something?”
“Tata!”
“No, no, tell me. Can you kiss
her? Hold her hand? What’s romantic?”
“She needs to be clear about why she’s
doing things before she does them, alright?”
“Well, as long as you understand it.
You want to have her back?”
“I don’t know.”
”Yes you do. Listen. When
you met Danijella you knew didn’t you? You were how
old?”
”17.”
“17. And you knew. And there went
your grandmother’s plans for a priest in the family, thank
God. So, you know how that feels.”
”Yes.”
”Is it there now, that recognising
what you want?” Luka didn’t answer for a while.
“Son?”
“Yes.”
“So. Progress. And what
about her?”
”I think so.”
”But you don’t know for sure.”
After a heartbeat Luka almost laughed aloud, because he was able
to say with complete certainty “Yes.”
Ivica looked into his son’s eyes
and asked “So, when’s the year up?”