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Drago Jancar
The Jump off the Liburnia- Jump. He was standing about a meter from the edge. The dark surface below was moving rapidly. He was standing about a meter from the edge of the side of the ship, with one hand holding the rail at his back, looking at the water surface quickly moving past, his other hand swayed, and with it his slightly bent body. Jump, she said.
It was night, the shell of the sky closed by clouds above, the dark surface below. Perhaps it vibrated slightly, perhaps it moved along the sides of the ship like the back of a big animal. In the air there was the smell of smoke which trailed from the wide muzzle of the funnel above them. There was no wind, but the smoke was nevertheless being pushed downwards, so that from time to time he felt its sharp smell in his nostrils, mixed with the fragrance of water, possibly of salt.
Jump, she said, and her quiet, careless voice cut through the middle of his body, and settled on top of his stomach. He could feel that something was actually drawing him down, into the depths. The feeling had emerged a moment before, maybe a minute before, a minute before he jumped over the rail and took a step away from her, towards the dark, rapidly moving abyss.
A minute before he had been stretched on a deck chair, his feet by the edge of the rail; a minute before he had been smoking a cigarette. A minute before he had tossed the burning cigarette end over the rail, he had watched the flashing dot hang in the darkness for a moment, sway, and then draw a bright arc downwards. It seemed to him that he could hear a hiss on the surface. Of course, nothing hissed, nothing could be heard apart from the smooth hum of the ship's engine. It only disappeared; something, which a moment before had been in his hands had disappeared completely and finally, and after what had disappeared nothing was left, neither in the air, nor in the water, nor in the darkness in which the ship was sunken. Into which they were both sunken, stretched in canvas deck chairs at the side of the ship, after dinner, without speaking, with vacant eyes staring into the darkness towards where the shore was supposed to be, where the shore actually was, since twinkling lights emerged there and disappeared again, on the shore, perhaps deep inland.
- Say it again, he said.
He tore his gaze from the lights on the shore and felt rather than saw the dark surface of the sea, the deep plane, his heart started beating faster. The feeling which lay on top of his stomach rose towards his heart, towards the hollow inside, towards the hammering in the middle of the body's hollow space, and the dangerous, frightened thought whizzed through his brain that he might actually jump; if she said it just once more he would have no strength left to step back. She must feel it, this is not a game any more. If only a moment before, when he had followed the cigarette end with his eyes, when he had stood up and climbed over the metal rail, if it had all been a prank, then now, suddenly, everything was at stake. She must feel he is being drawn into the abyss, she must get up and hug him, she must at least be quiet. She was quiet.
But it was not enough any more. Let her feel the fear running through him, for God's sake, let her be humiliated only for a moment, let her beg him, ask him to move. Why is she lying behind his back motionless, wrapped in a blanket, why does she not with a single gesture put a stop to all the misunderstandings which have accumulated during the last few years in their lives? Let her utter just one word and the sudden madness will be cured, they will both be cured. He could feel that in this long moment she was probably thinking, judging his readiness for risk, it seemed to him that she had moved. She must get up, she must say a word, this will be a word of concern for him, a word of love and salvation. Let her at least say, you are behaving like a child; let her say, stop this nonsense; let her say, it's cold, let's go down into the cabin; let her say, the water is cold, let her make a joke, let her laugh, let her cough, let her yawn. He let go of the rail and his hands hung by his body, he bent his head. Where is the froth, is it behind the ship? Where are the waves, have they been swallowed up by the dark?
He could feel her breathing behind his back, her eyes fixed on his nape. They were alone, a few young people were asleep in their sleeping bags, sheltered from the wind at the bow of the ship, no body could be seen, no hand or head, stretched, withered corpses, wrapped in silky textile. Say a single word, he thought, and you will be forgiven everything, I will be forgiven everything, everything we have done to each other in recent years; I'm sorry for everything, I'm really sorry, just say a word, he thought. This is not humiliation, or, is it humiliation if you take a step towards me, a single step? After so many years of marriage, after so many wounds, just a word; say, this is a silly provocation; say, one shouldn't play with things like this, shouldn't stand at the edge of the ship, shouldn't look down. Down into the intoxicating, crazily intoxicating depth which wants to draw one to itself, flatten one on itself, pull, sink to the dark bottom.
- Jump, she said.
My God, he thought, my God, now I'll really jump. Actually,I'll just take a step forward, a step too many. Now I really feel dizzy, he thought. Now he can no longer think, what a horrible provocation, what has actually happened, why is he standing here being drawn over the edge, he cannot think of anything, everything has gone quiet the ship and the engine, the beating of his heart in his chest and head, only the echo of the silence is left. He stepped to the very edge and swayed dangerously, I'm a good swimmer, he thought nevertheless, at fifty I'm still a good swimmer; will the siren blow, will I be pulled under the ship?
It seemed to him that she had got up. He desperately turned round, she had not got up. In the corner of his eye he caught the dishevelled head of a stranger, she poked it from the sleeping bag, the startled eyes of a girl. A mouse out of flour, he thought and clung to the thought, a mouse out of flour; why do we say a mouse out of flour, how does a mouse look out of flour, what has a mouse looking out of flour to do with that dishevelled head, with the sleepy astonished unknown girl's eyes looking out of a sleeping bag? There's nothing I can say, I'll jump now, I'll step over the edge and a moment later it'll be all over. I can't do anything, I mustn't say anything, everything is hollow and quiet and crazily frightened, and yet decided. Say nothing.
- I'm saying it for the last time, he said, say it for the last time. Because of the gaze, transfixed by the dark running surface, the depth, because of the magnetism drawing him down, because of the something with no name, his body started trembling. What is it, he thought, am I drunk? They had drunk a bottle of wine with dinner. Will I swim out? I'm not drunk, I won't swim out. The thought was looking for an exit in fast, energetic thrusts. The sea is the Adriatic, the ship is the Liburnia, we are wife and husband, many years at the edge, now I'm standing at the edge, in the distance, on the shore, there is light, the depths are dark, the ship is wrapped in darkness.
Sometimes, when he stood on the tower by the pool, on a rock by the sea, when the tiny boy's shuddering body, the frightened trembling soul, wanted to show his friends that he dared, that he really dared, he used to count, count to three, and then he always jumped: when he started counting he knew he would jump, although he knew there would be terrible moments of absence during the fall, that it might hurt down below, the impact on the surface. Now it was different, everything was the same, but nevertheless different. The point now was to spring into the heart, not into the sea, his heart and hers, the heart in which everything began and acquired its sense. But to accomplish this she must utter a word, a single word, it must not be a humiliating word, it must not be the ironic: jump, it must not be: jump-because-of-me, it must not be his failure at this edge, this moment, can she not feel it in her chair, wrapped in a blanket, this moment life can start anew. This moment his body is trembling, can she not perceive it, this moment he is really irresistibly being drawn to the depths.
The brief laughter of young people drifted from the deck, a door slammed, a discarded bottle rushed past in the sea, the dome of the cloudy sky lowered. He felt his palms were sweaty, beads of cold sweat emerged on his forehead, cold wind started blowing and again he could feel the stinking smoke from the ship in his nostrils. Will this be the end, the last sensory perceptions he will take over the edge, into the emptiness, into the dark? Or will she now say a word, another word?
I'm saying it for the last time, he said, say it for the last time. He said it twice, it was like counting to three in his boyhood years, he said it twice, at short intervals he answered quickly, angrily, challengingly, humiliatingly, now is three, a moment later I say three, I'm saying it for the last time, he said, say it for the last time.
- Jump, she said quietly.
She said it quietly, she said it with a quieter voice, and this stopped him for a moment. But at the same instant the thought caught up with the brain that she had said it, said it despite everything, she had said what she should not have said for anything in the world, and he sprang over the edge. Actually, he did not spring, he had no strength left for that. He simply took a step forward, he simply moved his foot and collapsed into the dark empty space. To tell the truth, he did not step into the deep void, he slipped into it. He sat at the edge, clutched the metal frame with his hands and slid along the edge towards the rapidly approaching, larger and larger, more and more painful surface of the sea.
No ground under the feet, nothing to hold on to, he flew through space, through the dissolved and supple airy matter. The cloudy dome of the sky and the blue-black surface of the sea were turned upside-down and united, now the sky was below, then it was carried away and blurred, now something gradually rose in his chest, then his heart was captured by its own trembling which at the same time was the trembling of the air through which he flew.
Everything was visible and yet invisible, the direction of the fall was simultaneously up and down, the curve of the horizon was rounded, gravity was derailed, the unity of the world became denser and at the same time open, the water and the air, the sea and the sky. The bodily matter disintegrated on contact with the immobile surface of the sea. For a moment he could see the light on the shore towards which he was supposed to swim, for an instant he saw the immense shadow of the ship, its metal side, its dark body rushing past, dragging him towards it.
He heard a scream, shrill, when he heard the roaring of the ship engines, their coughing and stopping, the grumbling signal siren; when he heard it all he was far behind, in the middle of the spuming waves the monster was leaving behind, far below without vision or hearing, without breathing or pain, enclosed in the watery matter, the disappearance, the prenumbness.
She was still lying wrapped in a blanket, now, by the white metal wall, in the dark. She lifted her head only slightly. The girl with the dishevelled hair and mousey, tiny, sleepy eyes lit a cigarette. She raised her head only slightly to see him more clearly clutching the metal rail, murmuring something into his chin. He did not swing himself over the edge, he did not move his foot and with a single step fall into the void, he did not slide along the side of the ship towards the rapidly approaching, larger and larger, more and more painful surface of the sea.
He did not jump. He did not spring into the centre, the heart, the place where everything began and acquired its sense. He did not throw himself anywhere. He stood by the rail and felt that his trembling body was calming down, that the hollow void in his head and chest was filling with noises, senses, looks. The ship alone was shuddering with the jolts of the engine, the sharp, stinking smoke was filling his nostrils, he looked towards the shore and watched the approaching lights of a town. I'll hit you, he thought, I'll kill you. Down in the cabin, if not here, then down in the cabin.
- How could you, he said, how could you?
A warm wind started blowing from the shore. The lights of the town were approaching. If he had turned he would have seen that, despite the warm wind from the shore, she had pulled the blanket up to her chin. If he had turned he would have seen there was nevertheless a hint of surprise and uncertainty in her eyes. Not fear, simply uncertainty and surprise. This would have sufficed. But he did not turn.
- What does Liburnia actually mean? she said quietly.
He was silent. How could you, how could you?
- You don't know? he said. It was an ancient Illyrian kingdom, you don't know.
- It's cold, she said after a while, let's go down.
It was not cold, it was warm, warm wind blew from above the stony hills, with piles of stones on top, ancient Illyrian graves.There it probably roared and howled around the peaks, from there it blew clouds above the water, here it dissolved into a soft mass of air above the sea surface which was suddenly no longer an oily quiet surface but a slightly wrinkled one, with frothy crests in places. The girl in the sleeping bag drew a few more puffs from the cigarette, then she threw the burning end over the rail, into the dark. The wind held it for a while, then forcibly carried it along the side of the ship, back and down. The dishevelled hair disappeared, she zipped up the sleeping bag over her head.
- Let's go down, he said. Let's go this time.
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