Wednesday 26 June 2013

Drinking mineral water in the Narodni Trg 







Most evenings, we lounged under creamy white awnings in the Narodni Trg, just beyond the Zeljezna vrata, the Iron Gate - I peered at my map of Split, taken aback by the strangeness of the names given to palaces, squares and alleyways - how long would it take, I wondered, to learn the Croatian language? -

I eavesdropped conversations in the Green Market - I listened to the man selling cherries, with his lean wrinkled head - he was talking to the olive skinned beauty with her sunglasses and sleek pony tail - what, exactly, were they saying?

The courteous and infinitely gracious waiter spoke many languages - we heard him speak German, French and Italian - he was astonished when Anne suggested that natty black shorts should be a waiter's summer uniform -

We looked across the square - a scream of swifts swooped over the roofs of the elegant palaces - I could see a young moon in the sky - below the thin pale shape, the contrail of a jet spilled across the darkening blue -

 I looked at the clock face upon the tower - I thought it looked like a sinister flower - the waiter placed the bottle of mineral water upon our table - two young men put on a mime at the far end of the square -

I watched the bubbles of gas in my glass - I saw my thin brown wrist without a watch around it - I wondered what delights would follow this moment -




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