The Hired Man

21

Summer is nearly over, that time of year again. Here at the Zodijak it’s still warm enough to sit out and will be for some time. At this time of day the sun is low, it dazzles the drinkers who sit out front. I was in town running my errands earlier in the day, have stopped by as is my habit. The new girl has gone of course, decided life in Gost didn’t suit her after all. On the coast the restaurants will be closing up for the season: umbrellas stowed away, chairs turned upside down on tables for the last time. In the restaurant where I once worked with the Italian chef there was a tank in which hundreds of fish were kept alive. At the end of the season we had to catch all the fish so we could empty the tanks. I’ve been back to the coast. Sometimes I wonder what took me so long. I went to Pag, I drove across the newly renovated bridge, I even found my old hut, which has been done up and is rented to visitors. Wild bees had made their home in the old hives. Sage still grew everywhere. I understand why Krešimir had a dream of a life on the islands: I did once and it was a good life. But Krešimir won’t be going. Krešimir is staying in Gost; we are all staying in Gost: Fabjan, Krešimir and me. We three.

In the last days of their stay I tried to make sure that Laura and the family had a good time, to repair a little of the mood. I told Laura again that Fabjan had been drunk and there would be no repeat of his behaviour. I’m not sure how convinced she was, but later in the same day we shared a glass of wine outside the house and, in discussion about some fittings for the house, she said she’d look in England and bring them out next time — so that’s a good sign. The wine brought some colour back to her cheeks and we talked about the first time we’d met, when I found her looking for the water mains outside the house, and she blushed and laughed. I could still tease her, see.

I want them back.

The last thing I did was take Matthew hunting, as I’d promised. He didn’t do badly at all: more nerve than I’d given him credit for, though he flinched at the last moment and we ended up trailing his animal a short way. Zeka did well, considering it was the first time he’d worked alone; his confidence is building. I haven’t started another dog yet, but I will, perhaps in the spring so I can use next year’s hunt season to bring her on. For now Zeka and I, we manage on our own. We miss Kos still. Grace, once I had taught her how to tread more lightly and not to alert every beast for two kilometres around to her presence, turned out to have the eye and the steady hand of a marksman, the ability to concentrate, to go straight to the zone. I’d seen it in the way she worked to restore the mosaics, everything she did from examining a dragonfly’s wing to baking a cake, weaving friendship bands, so I fetched mine from the drawer and let her tie it round my wrist. In the woods, I watched her: the way she cradled the stock, you’d never believe it was the first time she’d held a gun. I thought about Anka and I felt the ember of hope that has burned inside me for years, that Anka is out there somewhere, that she took the boy’s rifle and used it to stay alive, that one day she’ll come back to Gost.

There are people like me all over, the ones who want to remember, like I told Grace, different from the ones who want to forget. Every time a DNA test comes up with a match, something is quieted, a hope is doused. I wonder if Krešimir and Vinka check with the authorities. Krešimir told Fabjan where to find Javor, I saw it in his eye that day at the Zodijak when he stopped to greet me. I knew it then. It was in his smile, in his voice and in his tread as he left. He’d found a way to avenge himself on all of us. Once, blind drunk, I banged on the door of their house. Krešimir was out but Vinka, equally drunk but better used to holding her liquor, flew into a rage in defence of her son. ‘He did his duty. It wasn’t his fault.’ And maybe Krešimir never imagined it would go so far. Probably he was moved by nothing more than a low spite. It was all the same to me: Vinka never cried for Anka and neither did Krešimir.

The family had been gone about three weeks when the graffiti appeared. It was painted on the bridge in an uneven hand, slashed strokes. It said:

We are all Krešimir Pavić.

It remained there for a whole day before the town authorities had it cleaned off. The paint must have been oil-based, black, hard to remove, the ghost of the words remained visible.

I didn’t see the graffiti when the paint was fresh, I hadn’t been into town for a few days. Still so much work to do. Up in the attic I cleared the wasps’ nest. Wasps are master builders, their intricate hexagonal homes, comprised of thousands of identical cells, are extraordinary. They are hunters too, though most people consider them nothing more than scavengers and nuisances. I have seen a wasp alight on a fly and sever its wings, carry the maimed creature away to feed its young. I removed the nest with care, handling it with respect, as one must. Next I need to finish splitting and stacking logs — the dead tree, hours of work there to be done before the bura begins to blow and the sea freezes over.

The next time the graffiti appeared it was on the wall of the railway station. We are all Krešimir Pavić. Talk in the bakery, in speech comprised of half-sentences, gestures and looks. The dark child is scratching on the walls, the scratching is becoming louder. In the Zodijak, a heavy silence. Fabjan sits surrounded by it. The words on the walls hold different meanings for different people, but nobody will say what those meanings are. People in Gost look at each other, mistrust seeps through every conversation. For days, it seems, we stand on the edge of something. We are all Krešimir Pavić. On the door of the empty Orthodox church. But who is responsible?

From the Town Hall the authorities have reacted furiously: with detergents and solvents, scrubbing brushes and high-pressure jets. It is laughable. They worry about the tourists, but the hunting season has started and tourists are even scarcer than the wild boar. Warnings are posted, of the penalties for defacing public buildings — the first time such a step has been taken, after all there is graffiti all over Gost. Krešimir, who is at the centre of it all, doesn’t know what to do. In the absence of the culprit being caught, he is taking the brunt of it. His swagger is all gone. Fabjan has had a word with him, advised him to keep a low profile, no sudden moves, that sort of thing. Too many people out there who might still be interested, journalists and the sort. Better not bring any more down on our heads. You can rely on Fabjan to get his point across. So Krešimir has decided to stay on in Gost.

Lucky for him the graffiti stopped. The authorities at least seemed to be on Krešimir’s side. As quickly as it went up, out they came with their hoses and rubber boots. So in the end whoever was responsible gave up. For two weeks nothing. The talk began to subside, the silence at the Zodijak to lift.

And then this afternoon, in town running my errands: a new blade for my saw, mousetraps for the blue house. I make sure I take a look in at least once a week, to check for leaks, that the window seals are sound, that no animals have gained entry. I like to walk through the rooms, you can imagine. Strange to be in there alone; in all the years I have known the house, there was always someone: first the Pavićs, then Javor and Anka, the family over this last summer. Today in town I passed by the Orthodox church and there, sprayed on its double, metal-studded wooden doors, massive: a rising red bird, with outspread wings of blue and a crown of gold, trailing a red and yellow tail. From its uplifted beak came curls of gold breath. It flew straight upwards into the sky.

Ah, but here is Fabjan now, parking his BMW. I am sitting at his table, so he has no choice but to come and join me. Probably you wonder how we all stand each other as I do sometimes, but the truth is we have no choice. In towns like this there is nothing to do but learn to live with each other. I must live with Fabjan, as he must live with me. I’ll ask him how his tooth is and if he intends to hire another girl next summer. He’ll have to sort something out in the long run. There are after all, and as Laura said, so many summers.