Dominating the island with its vertical lines and sharp arches of clean white stone, the cathedral was a continuation upwards of the mountain. In front of the main doors there were tiny, exquisitely cultivated, terraced gardens, with steep runs of steps between the levels. Especially when viewed from the rear, the cathedral seemed to have been hewn straight from the rocky peak.It was not possible to walk all the way around - the back wall fell away to a precepice all the way down to the rock beach where they camped.

Inside it was light and dry and cool, with wall paintings in pastel colours reaching up to the high vaulted ceiling.

"This kind of place is far more interesting to me than Florence or Chartres. It must have been a very important place in its time. The architecture is amazing. I could look at it all day," Christoff spoke, a tall well-built Belgian with a fearsome-looking shaved head.

In Newcastle, where he'd been studying for the past five months, this had hardly attracted a second glance, but over here it was different. His savage haircut had attracted attention - either disapproving or apprehensive - from the moment the train had crossed the French border. He didn't seem to notice at all; he greeted the trembling old shopkeepers with the same geniality and openness as ever, leaning across the counter in all his innocence to point at what he wanted to buy. If he'd been completely bald it might have been more acceptable, but there was a wing of coarse shaven hair above the ear as far as the temple on each side - and then there were the heavy brass earrings.

The past week had been a month of experiences for the three of them, each day a rollercoaster ride through time. Living off loaves of bread, bananas, and cartons of milk, and snatching five or six hours of sleep sprawled across a train seat, each of them felt fitter, more dynamic and lucid than ever before. This was the first place where they'd stayed more than one night, but after half a dozen cities in eight days the feeling of time and movement had not left them. Though there wasn't much to do, the idea of being on a little world appealed to them.

They left the interior of the cathedral and walked along the narrow path with a low wall on one side. There was a view down to the harbour and the neighbouring islets. They too were grey barren bulks, except for the little white houses on a green strip next to the shore.

The paving stones were worn to a gloss. The three friends sat on a low ledge at the base of the wall, and it was there that they found, engraved into the stone, the simple pattern for the same game they'd played on the long overnight train journeys. Christoff insisted on playing a game on the engraved board, saying it put him in contact with the past and he could feel the influence of the workmen who had played there three or four centuries ago. A security man gave them a suspicious stare and kept returning to watch them, afraid they might try to do some carving of their own.

Then there was Colin, the stocky impulsive Novocastrian - that's a person from Newcastle, as he was quick to inform anyone whose eyes didn't light up with recognition. When it suited him he could be Scottish too, as he'd lived there until the age of seven. He'd lost the accent long since, or rather it had gotten buried under the new one and could be resurrected when necessary. That meant once a year, when he went to Scotland to visit the Highlands. It was a useful skill to have. Black-haired and torpedo-headed, Colin had a physical toughness and obliviousness to pain that amazed his two friends. He could sleep anywhere, in any position; even curled in a ball on the metal floor in the small noisy section between carriages. He'd wake up with the lozenge pattern of the floor imprinted on his arm and face, but refreshed and ready to go.

Lastly there was the Dane, Hans. He was more reticent than the other two, outwardly less enthusiastic, yet just as committed to making the most of the trip. Efficient and totally absorbed in his studies during the whole term, he seemed to be trying hard to make up for lost time. He had sophisticated manners and a more skilled way of dealing with people than Christoff's open-faced naiveté. His ironic asides were the perfect foil to the Belgian's sometimes literal-minded arguments.

These had already embroiled the three of them in trouble on the train journey through Britain. They had stood accused of littering the train because some pages of a book had fallen across the floor. The fine was minuscule, but Christoff refused to compromise on his devotion to reason, and this led to the farcical situation of the huge punk gently explaining to the hot-headed British inspector that he was 'over-reacting' while the latter ranted about lack of respect and the destruction of public values. Of course the inspector was over-reacting - he probably knew it himself - but coming from such a blond giant (still undeniably blond from the few unshaven un-dyed hairs) he felt obliged to teach him some manners. In the end they had to pay the fine each, or be thrown off the train.

And now they were on Prab island, somewhere along the Dalmation coast. They had been there three days already, saving the inflated price of the hostels by sleeping out under the open sky on a concrete beach. Early morning walkers looked disapprovingly at the sleepers and discussed quietly if it was illegal or criminal activity. Once a man with a dog stopped and gazed at them a long time, as though his stern glance might be strong enough to make them pack up and leave. Then in an intentionally loud voice he called the dog to heel and walked on. Hans and Christoff discussed this and came to the conclusion that, though it wasn't right to abuse the environment by camping on the beach, in this case they were morally justified as the prices on the official site were extortionate. Colin had no problem with his conscience.

---------------------------------------------------

"I never thought there'd be a place like this here. It's like an oasis in a desert," Christoff said. They looked around the dancefloor. A girl in a taut white sweater glanced over at them and leaned back against a pillar. She had black hair and blitzy eyes, glinting eyes that latched on to things and held them in their grasp. Her glances locked on to Christoff, the drinks bar, the door, Colin, the bar again.

"There are many interesting girls here," Christoff said.

"Yes, I've noticed that much," said Colin.

"Why didn't we find it before? It's a lot better than those boring cocktail bars," said Hans.

For the previous two evenings they'd wandered up and down the town and in and out of tiny little bars, hoping to overhear some people their own age speaking English. Among all the babble of languages they could only distinguish an American couple on holiday together and a group of British on an organised tour. After the bars had shut they'd prowled up and down the sea-front in a restless access of energy.

Then on the third evening, again down in the town where they thought they knew every cobblestone, they'd found an industrial-music club. Hans saw the cardboard cut-out coffin and the arrow pointing down a lane between some warehouses down near the docks. An old woman at the entrance took their money and their raincoats.

"I don't think the people here really appreciate this music," said Hans, "the DJ really knows his stuff. I think this is stuff from a Rotterdam band called 'Loave', but it's so new I didn't hear it yet at home. He's a brilliant DJ. We should talk to him afterwards."

Colin nudged the other two and pointed. "Look at the way those girls are dancing!" There was a girl wearing a pilot's cap and she danced staring at the ground. She had obviously never seen the way it was supposed to be danced. Christoff shrugged.

"She's just doing her own thing. She's just getting into the rhythm and doing it her own way."

"Do you see over there," said Hans, "there's another room next to this. Maybe it's the chilling-out room." He laughed. Christoff went over to take a look.

"Yes, they've got some 70's music in there, we can check it out later.

--------------------------------------------------------

She had been standing in front of him, almost leaning back against him, for over ten minutes. The dancefloor was crowded; lots of people were standing with their backs to the walls to take a rest from the pulsating throng for a few moments. She didn't move away from him, but remained just standing there, with the nape of her neck close enough to breathe on. She had dark red hair, too deep and burnished a colour to be natural, straight hair that curled in to an abrupt end high on the back of the pale narrow column of her neck, and she stood there quite still. He stood up straight, his chin almost resting on her shoulder, and felt that now, now surely she must feel his presence, must sense it, pressing so close, and it seemed to him she must, she did, and she accepted it and he accepted hers and their auras, which at first had resisted each other, were now mingling, creating tiny links of attachment. A few moments more and he no longer felt uncomfortable standing so close to her, and knew that he could speak to her at any moment. It was hardly possible to squeeze past her without saying 'excuse me', so he stayed still a little longer, letting their auras mingle and bond. Then he thought of a question which she couldn't dismiss coldly. He touched her lightly on the shoulder and she turned and looked up at him.

"Sorry, do you know who the DJ is by any chance?" She looked at him blankly, and he added;

"Sorry, do you speak English?" -

"Yes I do. What did you say about by chance?" Her accent was foreign, her English a little rushed and breathless, so he didn't understand her.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked. She smiled and said in a firmer voice;

"You asked me something."

"-Yes, I was wondering who the DJ is tonight."

"Who is?"

"The DJ - the guy up there who plays the records. He chooses the type of music to play." He suddenly felt that the question sounded pretentious, so he added;

"Because the stuff here is so weird; it's all the latest stuff from Amsterdam and Berlin and stuff."

She smiled brightly.

"It is all weird. It's very modern, isn't it?" She had turned towards him now, and stood just one step away.

"It's so new I don't recognise much of it," he said.

"It's interesting music," she said, reluctant to appear totally unknowledgeable. He could see her face more clearly. She had strong features and dark brooding eyebrows. Her hair was straight and shining a burnished red in the light. Her features were too strong and forceful for her to be acknowledged as a classic beauty - she looked too energetic and moody to be sexy, and there was a complete absence of coquetterie in her behaviour which made Colin feel more at ease. She remained standing beside him even though now there was plenty of room along the walls. The music had stepped up its pace and most people were out dancing. Someone wanted to squeeze past her, and she stepped to one side, then stepped back up close to him. He smiled at her and felt suffused by her presence, and neither of them spoke for a while.

"Are you on holidays here?" he asked.

'Yes. I am here two weeks now."

"Where do you come from?"

"I come from Croatia."

"Really? I've never met anybody from Croatia before. What's it like there?"

"It's pretty boring. My town is not very big and there isn't much to do."

"Why did you come here on your holidays?"

"My parents have a summer cottage here. We come here every year since I was small."

"Yeah, it's a beautiful place," said Colin.

"It can be very boring. There's nothing to do here. It's just a place for babies to go on holidays."

He laughed at this.

"It's true," she said, "It's just for mothers and their little babies. This place here is the only interesting place in the nights, and you never know what time it will open."

"It's a strange place, this night-club," said Colin, "It's like an oasis in the desert. I mean there are no interesting pubs, there's no other night life and everywhere shuts at eleven, and then suddenly we find this place." He shrugged and looked around. "There's no advertising or any sign that there's anything here, we just sort of discovered it after we'd been walking around the island for days and just being bored stiff at night."

"Who are you with?" she asked

. "Two friends of mine I got to know at college. I started last year. Christoff from Belgium and Hans from Denmark."

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"Scotland. Inverness."

"In what?"

"Inverness. It's a town in Scotland." She looked at him with admiration.

"Don't you wear a skirt or something?"

Colin laughed. "I have worn one yeah, but only once."

"I'd like to see you in a skirt," she teased.

He looked down at her light, yellow and orange skirt. She pushed one brown shapely knee forward. "No, I wouldn't wear your skirt though," he joked. She laughed giddily.

"It's called a kilt anyway; the skirt that Scotsmen wear," he said.

"Kilt? Like 'I kilt you'?" she asked.

"Yeah, kilt."

The music changed rhythm and then was blended into Lou Reed's 'Walk on the wild side'. She knew the music and rocked to it with her shoulders.

"Can you dance to this?" he asked.

"Ssshh, the next one," she said, and then a moment later, "What does 'Do de do de do' mean?"

He hesitated, examining her puzzled expression for a couple of seconds. She broke into a laugh.

"Fooled you!" He grinned sheepishly. They danced the next couple of numbers. They were fast energetic tracks with no lyrics. She wasn't used to this style of music, but danced gracefully enough. She kept her eyes mostly to the floor and danced with the minimum of leg movement.

The music changed again to a more complex mix. They stood a moment, but it seemed impossible to find a rhythm to the music.

"Let's stop," she shouted above the noise.

"That's my friend Christoff!" Colin laughed, pointing. Christoff was the centre of attention again, doing a squatting dance to the impossible music. People stood back to give him more room and watched him in awe. He was a strong and skilled dancer, able to perform many of the acrobatic movements usually only seen on television.

"He must be a very extrovert kind of person. He's like a rock star or something," she said. Colin laughed.

"Actually he's a fairly ordinary kind of guy when you get to know him. That hair-do and his clothes make him look a bit strange, but he's a straight-forward kind of guy. He'd never let you down. He's always concerned about being fair, and justice and all that. You'd have to see him helping old ladies with their bags."

"No, I can't imagine it," she said, shaking her head and laughing. "Aren't they afraid of him?"

"They are! They are!," said Colin, "they take one look at him and hold on tightly to their bags of groceries and scream for help!"

"Where's your other friend?"

Colin looked around him. "I don't know, I can't see him." They both stood against the wall again and talked about the people dancing on the floor, what they looked like, what kind of people they were.

"Do you want to dance again?" he asked.

"No, not yet. I want to go outside for a while," she said, "the doorman lets you come back in again."

------------------------------------------

She sat on a low wall and looked up at him. He had to say something. She didn't look as if she was going to say anything. He had to find something to say.

"I really needed to cool down. I'm all dried out," he said.

She closed her eyes and leaned backwards, swinging her legs to the beat coming from disco-hall. The more she looked relaxed, the more Colin felt uneasy. He wanted to sit beside her, to take her in his arms, to get back that feeling of being calm and soothed by the emanation of her presence. He was outside of it now, distant again.

"Will we go down to see the harbour?" he asked.

"Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Just to see it at night. It might be nice. Or we could go back in to the music too, if you like."

"It's nice here for a while," she said. He sat down beside her.

Colin was wondering if she was really beautiful. He was trying not to look too hard at her. The girls he knew in his class were all ordinary-looking, some better-looking than others. They all had faces he could look at, but with this girl he felt unsure of himself, as though such beauty demanded something special, and he must find out what was needed to attain it.

"Actually I have to ring my parents," she said.

"Oh?" he grinned. She was after all a year or two younger than him. He felt a measure of self-assurance returning. "You have to ask your parents if you can stay out late?"

"My parents stayed behind in Croatia. I promised I'd ring them."

She stood up and brushed the back of her skirt with her hands. "Will you wait for me here?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, and looked around, "right here?"

"No," she laughed, "Inside of course. You're not a bus-stop."

-----------------------------------------

"So where were you?" Hans asked him with a big grin, "making contact with the natives?

Colin grinned back. "She's not exactly a native, but close enough."

Hans shouted a triumphant laugh. "So you were with a girl! I was only guessing!"

"-You didn't see her?"

"No, I didn't see you all evening, but I guessed right! I saw you coming back in just now."

"And what have you two been up to?"

"Well I think Christoff has more going on than me. He seems to be talking to three girls at once - and in French too. I'm impressed. That's really quite a skill. He deserves a grade 1 in French for that."

Christoff was leaning over the first row of people at the bar, lifting with one hand the three beers they'd ordered. With the other he handed over the money and took the change.

"Christoff, how are your three girls?" Colin teased him.

Christoff grinned. "I don't know if they are just playing or if there will be something more. They are more talk than action, I think, but they are interesting to talk to." They clinked bottles together and drank down the cool weak beer.

"I asked someone and they said this place closes in another hour or so," said Hans, "so whoever goes back for the bags won't have enough time to get back here."

Colin said, "How will we decide who's going to go back for them?"

"Maybe I should go back, because I don't have much luck with the girls," said Hans.

"No, no, no, we'll all go," said Christoff, "or else we decide by chance who will go. Do you want to go yet, Colin?" Colin shook his head.

"Then we must choose someone by chance, maybe toss a coin or something," said Christoff.

"We can guess how many matches are left," said Hans, holding up a box and shaking it, "Whoever is most wrong is the loser."

"Yes, and you've counted them already you bastard," joked Colin. Hans put on a stage evil chuckle and rubbed his hands together. They each guessed a number, which Christoff wrote down, and then counted the matches. After taking an inordinate amount of time to make the few simple subtractions they finally discovered that Colin was the loser. They quickly settled where he should carry the bags to and pitch the tent, and Colin left to look for the girl again.

----------------------------------------

"It's just my hard luck," he said, "and just when the music was getting better too."

"But it's nearly over anyway," she said.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" he asked

. "I can't. I have to visit some friends of my parents. They live on the next island. I have to get the ferry in the morning."

"Oh!," he said, at a loss for words, "Well maybe we'll be staying a couple more nights here - I don't know, we've other places to see. Will you be back by then?"

"Yes, maybe," she said.

"-Then maybe I'll see you here again the day after tomorrow?"

"Maybe," she said, "But you know you'll probably meet me by accident if you're still here when I come back. The town is not very big."

"Yes, it's not very big. And we usually camp on the small stony beach on the other side of where the steps go up to the cathedral. You know, the place where the concrete walkway and the small strip of grass beside it are."

She nodded without saying anything. He needed to find courage and found it and took her hands.

"You can come and visit me in Scotland."

"That would be nice," she said, "but that would be too expensive to me."

"Then I could visit you in Croatia," he said.

"You would come to Croatia just to visit me?"

"Yes. You're . . I've never met anyone like you before. You're a special person to me," he said awkwardly.

"Oh really?" she said, and nervously took her hands away from his. "You see too much in me. You see too much in people," she said. Colin didn't know what to say to that. He waited for her to say something more.

"Well, do you want to give me your address in case I'm ever near Croatia again?" he asked. She went in to the cloakroom and borrowed a pen. She sat on the low wall and wrote the address with such an air of solemnity and hesitation that for one dark moment Colin had the horrible thought that she was writing a false address. Why should she give her address to a stranger she'd just met? Perhaps it had been too forward for him to ask for it, he thought. He could, after all, be any kind of weird, unpredictable person.

But then after handing him the slip of paper she gave him a disarming smile and leaned forward quickly and kissed him.

"It was really nice to meet you," she said, "enjoy the rest of your holiday."

He jogged to the ferry station feeling light-hearted and alert, his mind racing ahead with plans of visiting Croatia. He half regretted not offering to see her off from the ferry port in the morning. Still, he could check the times of the return trips from the next island and wait around the port for the evening arrival to see if he could meet her by chance the day after next . . .

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Christoff strode out from the seething breakers, his feet picking their way cautiously up the rocks. the water ran in rills from his naked body. He was well-built, tall and with strong-looking torso and thighs. He paused a moment, leaning forward with his hands on his thighs, to recover his breath, then turned back and looked out to sea. Hans was swimming towards the shore a little bit further down the beach. It was early morning, and the sky over the hills of stony fields behind them was strewn with pink-tinged clouds. Christoff walked up the rocks and picked up his towel and dried the water glistening on his shaven head, then peered down at his shrunken wrinkled genitals. He carefully dried his pubic hair and groin and briskly scrubbed his torso. Hans had come out of the water, and both now made their way on converging paths up to the patch of coarse grass where Colin lay sleeping. He hadn't bothered to pitch the tent the night before, but simply lain down on the isolation mat with the sleeping bag over him. His two friends pulled dry towels from the disordered heap of bags and scrubbed themselves vigorously in the cold morning air.

"I really needed that," said Christoff.

"Especially after last night," said Hans.

'I really needed that too," said Christoff with a laugh, "I haven't had sex for six months. I've been living like a monk. I needed to clear out all these . . . ," he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, " . . tubes. Now I feel my yin and yang energies are back in balance."

Hans laughed. "You know, I'm not sure how I feel about that - sleeping with the same girl as you. It kind of feels weird. I'm not sure if it's healthy."

Christoff acted offended. "Do you want my doctor's certificate? Anyway, maybe I should worry about what you might have."

"No," laughed Hans, "I'm sure it's all right. I was rather thinking about her. You don't think she was a bit weird or anything?"

Christoff grinned. "She just wanted to have sex, and more sex. What's so weird about that? I doubt if she can sleep with whoever she wants where she comes from. But over here she can be a free spirit. A bit like me, really. She was dynamite though, I've never met a girl like her. If I think about her I'll have to go cool down in the water again - don't make me think about her."

"She was really good-looking too," said Hans.

"Don't remind me, I said. Don't make me go back in the water," joked Christoff, "Those four times last night didn't exhaust me. I could do it again. I never met a girl like her. How many times did you do it?"

Hans laughed, reluctant to answer. Colin had woken up and lay with his eyes shut, listening to the conversation. He was wondering if it was an elaborate ruse to make him regret being the one who had to leave early, and at the same time accepting it: it would be just typical of Christoff to run into a girl like that, a free spirit like himself.

"So how many times was it?' asked Christoff.

"It depends on what you mean by 'sex'," said Hans.

Christoff gave a hoot of laughter. "How many different kinds of sex did you have? oral? anal?"

"Aw come on," said Hans, reluctant to speak any further now that he noticed Colin was awake.

"OK. Put it this way, how many times did you come?" asked Christoff.

"Four, maybe five," said Hans, "Now give it up."

"OK." said Christoff placatingly.

"Did you two meet some girls?" asked Colin, sitting up.

"Yes," said Hans smiling, "some wild thing from Croatia. She was like dynamite."

Colin felt a fungus taking root in his stomach, swelling and seeping pores into his bloodstream. He forced his voice to speak.

"And will you meet her again?"

"No. I'd love to," said Hans, glancing up at Christoff, "but she's gone on the ferry to visit her relations on the next island. We'll be gone by the time she gets back. Besides, it might not be good to meet her again. It was a once-off thing."

The fungus swelled and bloomed and burst, flooding his system with its insidious poison. Hans noticed the change.

"What's wrong with you, oh shit . . . was she the girl you met?"

Colin shoved his feet into his shoes. He could barely see out through his watery eyes, and he snatched several times at the laces before he succeeded in tying them. Then he sat there in a limbo, still unsure if it was the same girl. He seized on his memory of last night. It was impossible.

"Do you think it was the same girl?" asked Hans, "Jolita or something?"

Colin had never thought of her by name before - the name didn't sound like her. She had thought it quite funny that he'd only asked her her name after half an hour.

"Yes," he said dryly, pulling his bag from the pile and walking off.

"Oh shit! oh shit! We didn't know," said Hans.

"It's not our fault," said Christoff, walking after him.

"Leave him," said Hans, "he'll be pretty mad: he's a Scotsman remember."

"Where's he going to go? He's got his bag and stuff. Is he going to leave us? He's a strange kind of guy."

'Leave him for a while. Let him cool off. He's a Scotsman you know."

-----------------------------------------------

Colin slowed down so that Christoff could catch up with him.

"Honest, I swear we didn't even guess. We never saw you with her last night."

"I know. It's all right," said Colin.

"You must have liked her. She was a nice girl," said Christoff. Colin was silent.

"You know, I admire you . I really do," said Christoff.

"You do?" said Colin, surprised.

"Yes. You're so . . . passionate about things. You believe in things. I'm not like that. I kind of envy you. A girl might shoot herself in the head for you, but not for me."

"That's no use to me," Colin smiled grimly.

"Were you . . . in love with her - a bit?" asked Christoff shyly.

"Just go back to Hans," said Colin bluntly, and began walking away again.

"Look, I'm sorry," said Christoff walking behind him, "I said I didn't know. Be fair! Tell me straight out: will you bear me a grudge?"

Colin stopped in his tracks, and turned and looked him in the eye.

"No," he said, wishing him dead, disfigured, crippled, murdered, maimed, starved, retarded, destitute, disabled and paralysed and brain-damaged and crawling on his knees with idiot eyes and crushed and crushed and crushed.

July 1997 Poznan

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