âI shouldnât have given away all my papers and magazines last night.â
At the back of the town they found what seemed to be the main street, if street it could be called, for it was more like a sunbaked winding path. There were a large number of gift shops, each with its obligatory portrait of Tito, the great man dressed in military uniform, sometimes staring sternly ahead of him, sometimes writing at a desk, his head bowed. In the shops there were many leather goods, and animals made of wood, elephants, horses, dogs. In others there was cheap jewellery. In a chemistâs shop they saw an old Yugoslavian woman arguing with a shop assistant who listened smilingly. Ralph would have loved to understand what they were talking about but could only listen and try to interpret the gestures and expressions. He felt uncomfortable and frustrated behind the alien wall of words.
They found a small shop which sold paintings, many of them of the women of the country, others of landscapes brightly and garishly coloured. He was interested to find that the country seemed to be both Catholic and Communist at the same time.
An Italian shouted from an ice-cream shop, in English, âBest ice cream. Best ice cream.â He leaned through the window of his shop towards a girl who had stopped to listen. Suddenly he began to throw lumps of ice cream high into the air, catching them again in the scoop with the greatest of ease. His skill was amazingly deft as all the time he was shouting, âBest ice cream, best ice cream.â They bought some of the ice cream but didnât like it. It had a greyish appearance and melted rapidly in the intense sunshine, which was now hammering at them with blinding force.
âDonât you think we should go back to the hotel,â said Ralph who was sweating profusely. But Linda didnât want to. She could stand the heat much better than he could. They wandered into a museum and strolled from floor to floor. There were ancient Yugoslav artefacts, stone coffins, inscriptions in Latin, some of the words of which had been eroded. There were paintings of Yugoslavs in national costumes. There were seats and chairs covered in velvet, and a room devoted to the Second World War, with maps and charts, an arrow pointing to where the Headquarters had been, and others to where the major battles had been fought.
When they left the museum they went round to the back â Linda in search of a toilet â and found themselves in a garden of roses, fragrant and opulent, while set in the wall were stone heads of Romans, with empty staring eyes.
Linda didnât know any Latin but Ralph knew some and he could decipher some fragments of the inscriptions. It seemed to be a fragmented country, historically broken. There were few Yugoslavs to be seen; he felt like an invader of the country, as if he had no right to be there. And furthermore he missed his reading, for though he had inquired at all the kiosks he could find no books or magazines or newspapers in English.
Linda spent a lot of time trying on a ring but decided in the end against buying it.
In this land Ralph felt more dependent on her than ever before. With terror he imagined her disappearing and himself searching in alien police stations, among alleys, in formal offices, and not being able to find her. He was disappointed in the town, all these slums, cracked and broken, the vases with roses on the balconies. So meagre everything was, so dull and poverty stricken. They couldnât find a restaurant with proper English food anywhere. He wandered about as in a dream, a tired hot automation.
He began to invent stories. In one there were two schoolmistresses who had come to Yugoslavia and who hated each other. One was weak, one was strong. The strong one disappeared and the weak one eventually found her hiding among the roses and the heads of Roman emperors. She slapped her face in anguish and dislike. In another a little boy swam
At the back of the town they found what seemed to be the main street, if street it could be called, for it was more like a sunbaked winding path. There were a large number of gift shops, each with its obligatory portrait of Tito, the great man dressed in military uniform, sometimes staring sternly ahead of him, sometimes writing at a desk, his head bowed. In the shops there were many leather goods, and animals made of wood, elephants, horses, dogs. In others there was cheap jewellery. In a chemistâs shop they saw an old Yugoslavian woman arguing with a shop assistant who listened smilingly. Ralph would have loved to understand what they were talking about but could only listen and try to interpret the gestures and expressions. He felt uncomfortable and frustrated behind the alien wall of words.
They found a small shop which sold paintings, many of them of the women of the country, others of landscapes brightly and garishly coloured. He was interested to find that the country seemed to be both Catholic and Communist at the same time.
An Italian shouted from an ice-cream shop, in English, âBest ice cream. Best ice cream.â He leaned through the window of his shop towards a girl who had stopped to listen. Suddenly he began to throw lumps of ice cream high into the air, catching them again in the scoop with the greatest of ease. His skill was amazingly deft as all the time he was shouting, âBest ice cream, best ice cream.â They bought some of the ice cream but didnât like it. It had a greyish appearance and melted rapidly in the intense sunshine, which was now hammering at them with blinding force.
âDonât you think we should go back to the hotel,â said Ralph who was sweating profusely. But Linda didnât want to. She could stand the heat much better than he could. They wandered into a museum and strolled from floor to floor. There were ancient Yugoslav artefacts, stone coffins, inscriptions in Latin, some of the words of which had been eroded. There were paintings of Yugoslavs in national costumes. There were seats and chairs covered in velvet, and a room devoted to the Second World War, with maps and charts, an arrow pointing to where the Headquarters had been, and others to where the major battles had been fought.
When they left the museum they went round to the back â Linda in search of a toilet â and found themselves in a garden of roses, fragrant and opulent, while set in the wall were stone heads of Romans, with empty staring eyes.
Linda didnât know any Latin but Ralph knew some and he could decipher some fragments of the inscriptions. It seemed to be a fragmented country, historically broken. There were few Yugoslavs to be seen; he felt like an invader of the country, as if he had no right to be there. And furthermore he missed his reading, for though he had inquired at all the kiosks he could find no books or magazines or newspapers in English.
Linda spent a lot of time trying on a ring but decided in the end against buying it.
In this land Ralph felt more dependent on her than ever before. With terror he imagined her disappearing and himself searching in alien police stations, among alleys, in formal offices, and not being able to find her. He was disappointed in the town, all these slums, cracked and broken, the vases with roses on the balconies. So meagre everything was, so dull and poverty stricken. They couldnât find a restaurant with proper English food anywhere. He wandered about as in a dream, a tired hot automation.
He began to invent stories. In one there were two schoolmistresses who had come to Yugoslavia and who hated each other. One was weak, one was strong. The strong one disappeared and the weak one eventually found her hiding among the roses and the heads of Roman emperors. She slapped her face in anguish and dislike. In another a little boy swam
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