Velebit mountains, the southern wind
off the Strait of Otranto when our
hearts were sweating with fear, and a
couple of nice things too, like that ad
for Warsteiner or some other beer. But
mostly darkness.
Darkness binds us, that’s for sure.
Last autumn was somehow totally
nuts. First the sea bore in shoals of
jelly-fish with huge violet wings. Then
leeches emerged just off the Kornati
islands. At about the same time, storks
descended on Murter. And finally,
Damir brought Maia sailing. The deal
was we were going sailing all out,
that’s what we’d said, and that meant
there was only going to be the two of
us, Damir and I, but no: Damir had to
bring his ex-future girlfriend along.
"Oh give me a break," he said,
"Maia will be no more trouble than
your sleeping bag. She’s an okay girl."
And she was, but that is now beside
the point. The wind too was okay,
at least the first couple of days. We
sailed down to Elafite, then towards
Otranto, then for a night and a day
we chased the west wind to take us
back. At dawn we left Vis behind and
sunrise found us with empty sails, on
a still sea between Vis and Zirje. This
was dead time. We sat there blinking
in the sun, listening to the silence, each
one lost in his own thoughts. Then
Damir blew it.
"See that island over there?" he
asked Maia, pointing at a dark stain
between the sky and the sea. "On a
cape not far from the harbour inlet,
there’s a little chapel. In front of it is
a jetty nobody uses because the sea is
too shallow even for a punt. No one
on the island knows exactly when the
jetty was built, but everyone knows
why."
I knew what was coming. Damir
had told the story many times, adding
or skipping something each time, so
that even I, though a protagonist,
wasn’t sure anymore exactly what
had happened.
"So," Damir continued, "once upon
a time, that was the only settlement on
the island, a fishing port where little
fishing boats and merchant ships
took refuge from the storm. Besides
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straha, pa onda nekoliko lijepih stvari
kao iz one reklame za Warsteiner ili
neko slično pivo, ali nadasve mrak.
Mrak nas veže, to bez daljnjega.
Prošla jesen bila je nekako sva
odvaljena. Najprije su se u moru pojavila
jata meduza golemih ljubičastih
klobuka. Onda su se na pučini iza Kornata
pojavile pijavice. Nekako u isto
vrijeme na Murter su počele slijetati
rode. I konačno, Damir je na jedrenje
poveo Maju. Dogovor je bio da idemo
jedriti do dna, tako je bilo rečeno, a
to znači da na brodu ima mjesta samo
za dvojicu, Damira i mene, ali ne.
Davor je poveo svoju buduću bivšu
djevojku. "Daj ne pričaj", rekao mi je,
"Maja neće smetati ništa više od tvoje
vreće za spavanje, ona je stvarno OK
cura".
I bila je OK, ali to više nije važno.
Vjetar je također bio OK, barem prvih
dana. Spustili smo se dolje do Elafi ta,
pa prema Otrantu, onda smo dan i noć
lovili vjetar da nas vrati na zapad, u
zoru smo po krmi ostavili Vis, a sunce
smo dočekali praznih jedara, u bonaci
između Visa i Žirja. To je vrijeme
čekanja. Sjedili smo tamo, svatko sa
svojim mislima, žmirkali na suncu i
slušali tišinu, a onda je Damir uprskao
stvar.
"Na onom otoku tamo", obratio se
Maji i pokazao tamnu mrlju između
mora i neba, "na rtu nedaleko od ulaza
u luku ima jedna kapelica. Ispred nje
je mol uz koji nitko ne pristaje, jer
je more isuviše plitko i za običnu
pasaru. Nitko ok otočana ne zna pouzdano
kad je mol izgrađen, ali svi znaju
zašto je izgrađen".
Znao sam što slijedi. Damir je
mnogo puta pričao tu priču, svaki
put nešto dodajući i oduzimajući,
tako da ni ja, iako sam bio sudionik,
više nisam posve siguran što se tada
dogodilo.
"Dakle", nastavio je Damir, "jednom
davno, to je mjesto bilo jedino
naselje na otoku, ribarska luka u
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