Many thanks to Lonely Planet for permission to publish this short story here. It was first published in Unpacked Again, an anthology of travel writing.
Scene One:
Zagreb. Hot day. Our Man stands with backpack and unknown purpose on central square. Market. Crowds mill, loud cries. Trams rattle busily down thoroughfare. Disgorge passengers. Middle-aged women carry shopping bags. Fresh produce, bread. Board trams. Rambunctious atmosphere. Our Man looks somewhat baffled. Wears thongs, old jeans. Close up of face. Our Man is rather bedraggled. Mostly slept rough for past months.
Flashback. Spain. In car with three petty thieves who are driving to Benidorm to ‘hallucinate’ at topless women bathers. Our Man thinks, Topless women are not the only substance these men are on, and opens knife cautiously inside pocket. ‘You got money?’ driver asks. Our Man thinks, At least they ask; but says, “50 pesetas. ‘Looked for work back in …’ and mentions the name of last town he passed before getting into car. ‘Ah, camping ground!’ Get out here before things get out of hand. Get out slowly, no aggravation. How to surprise a thief: ‘Oh, nice camping ground. I’ll stay’. Either they stop or they don’t stop. They stop. Close, but not dangerous. Exhilaration. Man is born free but everywhere in cars full of thieves…
Things to Remember No. 1: Never get so thirsty while waiting for a ride that it clouds your good judgement.
Flashback to Barcelona, a staircase. Small, wiry guy pursues Our Man monkey-like up stairs on pretence of showing him a room. Half-way up, Monkey Man pats Our Man’s arse and shrieks with delight. Our Man turns and beats a retreat. Things to Remember No. 2: Never let wily monkeys pat you on the arse on the promise of a cheap room. They bite.
Flashback. Entrance to hotel off Barcelona’s La Rambla. Smile at two women as they exit hotel. One purrs delight in rasping male voice. Things to Remember No. 3: Eighteen is probably a decent age to learn to tell the difference between a woman and a transvestite.
Back on market square. But what was Things to Remember No. 4 again?
Voice behind Our Man.
Franjo (Heavy accent, educated appearance. Holds large roll of paper that looks like poster): You want something?
Our Man (surprised, turning): Uh?
Franjo: Where you from?
Tram rattles past. Reply lost in din. Distant grotesque market cry.
Cut to leafy side street. Our Man walks along road with Franjo. Birdsong. Loud snack! nearby like gunshot. Football lands and bounces into frame. Child’s shout. Child runs into frame. Retrieves ball.
Our Man (off camera): … so after waiting at the roadside in this heat and without water, I decided to walk back into town …
Franjo: (casual, but penetrating) You can rest at my flat. But why do you hitchhike? Croatia has very good bus services.
Our Man: Nice way to meet people, and I don’t like buses… hate buses… and I like not knowing what will happen next.
Staircase. Lots of wood. Our Man and Franjo ascend. Small metal nameplates on doors of flats. Residence for military brass. Our Man’s familiar thonged feet patter up stairs. Taking ‘Things to Remember No. 2’ to heart, Our Man is behind Franjo.
View through window in staircase. Crow consumes songbird on street, watched by several curious children. One child holds football.
Franjo opens door of flat and both enter. Living room.
Franjo: Put your pack down here. You want to shower?
Our Man (indecisively): Alright.
Franjo opens sliding French window leading onto balcony. Outside, Franjo has unrolled ‘poster’. Close up of large map of U.S. It is a computer printout, and the map is created out of hundreds of numbers from zero to 10.
Things to Remember No. 3.1: Never trust a man who prints such ridiculous maps.
Franjo: But first I want to show you this. I printed it at work. I work for the government.
Our Man: Army?
Franjo: Yes, the army.
Bathroom. Our Man stands naked at wash basin and shaves. Showers. Later, Our Clean Man stands with Franjo again in living room.
Franjo: I want you to meet my girlfriend.
Our Man (incredulous): Now?
Franjo: It’s not far. She’s in hospital.
Our Man (lacking empathy): I … um …
Two tattooed heavies (strapping thighs, rippling nose muscles) enter room. Franjo, now also lacking empathy, barks something at Heavy Number One. Heavies One and Two alter course and silently steer out of flat. Close up of Our Man’s face. Perplexed. Our Man is looking a shade uncomfortable by now. He smells a rat.
Scrub-tufted landscape in outlying suburb. Our Man and Franjo walk purposefully across wasteland and cross railway line. They stop at the gates of a hospital. Franjo fumbles for cigarette nervously.
Franjo (gives ID-like document to Our Man – insistent tone): Hold this, please!
Our Man holds the document. When Franjo doesn’t ask for it back, Our Clever Man puts it in his shirt pocket. Triumphant expression on Our Man’s face, for Our Man thinks he holds the trump card: backpack back in flat, no key, no clear idea about location of flat. Absolutely ridiculous (He should have at least noted that.) But the ID! Our Man is thinking, Ha! I’ve got that!
Franjo: My girlfriend is very beautiful. You’re going to be surprised.
Our Man (subdued, but pleased with himself): Oh, really? (Thinks, I like surprises.)
Franjo: The most beautiful woman in the world!
Our Man: Now you’ve really got my curiosity up.
They enter a hospital yard. Our Man is suddenly desolate. Sign indicates it’s a psychiatric hospital.
Our Man: I’d rather not stay too long, you know. I’m still, um, stuffed from the morning.
Franjo: (unreassuringly) Just a little while!
Our Man: I’d rather not, really. Not at all.
Franjo (Close up of Franjo’s face. Determined, angry expression): But we’re here now!
Our Man: Look, this really isn’t a good day for me. We should return to the flat.
Franjo: I met my girlfriend here, in hospital. You’ll see – The Most Beautiful Woman in the World!
Our Man thinks, This better be good.
They approach main portal of a ward. All wards are free standing in pleasantly landscaped gardens. Our Man thinks, Nice start, but this tranquillity is a tad menacing.
Our Man: I’ll stay out here in the fresh air.
Franjo: But you must meet her.
Our Man: You go, I stay here.
Franjo approaches main portal. Potemkin-like matron bars door. She recognises Franjo. Refuses him entry. Franjo begins to argue. Screaming crescendo. Franjo shouts something, matron falls silent, stunned. She stomps inside. Franjo, still determined, walks around side of ward to window. Shortly, woman appears at window. Most Beautiful Woman in World. Dumpy. Dark rings around swollen eyes. Bags big enough to fill two left luggage lockers. Depressed. Groggy. Tranquillised to from top to toe. Looks forty something.
Free standing ward nearby. Our Disappointed Man has attracted the attention of disturbed children, who congregate on beds and peer out window. Most are four, five or six years old. Wretched gurgling sounds. Grotesque expressions. Our Clever Man (thinking there must be a rule against this sort of thing) extracts ID and examines it thoroughly, for first time. Picture of Franjo. Name of hospital. Word “Schizophrenia” decipherable in Croatian language. Hospital admission ID. Pulled the Joker.
Franjo tenderly snogs craning neck of Most Beautiful Woman in World at window, says something apparently flattering, takes her hand. Most Beautiful Woman in World melts like snow-princess, loses herself in his eyes. Most Beautiful Woman in World, suddenly finding herself again, looks over. Slow motion. Our Man waves quick motion to Franjo, indicating that they should leave. Both look over in loving unison. Swan Lake in a duck pond. She thinks Our Man is waving to her. She waves back. Disturbed children nearby coo and gurgle more loudly. Tangle of heads and limbs at window.
Meanwhile, alarmed by gurgles, Our Matron smells altogether different psychotic rat and heaves herself around side of building. All take fright. Most Beautiful Woman in World withdraws head. Franjo retreats in besotted daze. Our Man freezes. Matron gesticulates wildly, sweeps the entire scene with one angry glance, and stumbles backwards into ward in disbelief.
Franjo joins Our Man.
Franjo: Very beautiful!
Our Man nods.
Franjo (angrily): You see the fat woman who wouldn’t let me in?
Our Man: The matron?
Franjo: The matron!
Our Man: Yes.
Franjo: (angrier) Bitch!
Our Man frowns.
Franjo: You see how she suddenly said nothing, went inside?
Our Man: Yes.
Franjo: I told her I would kill her!
Our Man: Really? Thinks, “I noticed she barely took the news standing up”.
Franjo (menacingly): I’ve got friends…
Our Man: Friends are good. I think I need to get back to your flat.
Cut to Franjo and Our Man walking across wasteland.
Franjo: Have you ever heard of the mafia?
Our Man: Yes.
Franjo: I am mafia. We steal cars, and we break into shops and we sell what we steal.
Our Man: I thought you worked for the army.
Franjo: During the day.
Our Man: Oh.
Cut to Franjo and Our Man entering Franjo’s flat. Familiar sound of thongs pattering up wooden stairs. Franjo ahead of Our Man.
Our Man (unconvincingly): You know how I was trying to hitch to Belgrade? I’ve actually arranged to meet friends there … they’re waiting for me, and I’m already late.
Franjo (disappointed): But I thought you wanted to stay here for a few days. I can show you around, take you to discos. We can have fun together.
Our Man (gathering backpack and belongings): I promised my friends…
Franjo: Do you need a shirt?
Our Man (perplexed): A shirt?
Franjo (Opening door of cabinet. New shirts in original packing spill onto floor): Here, choose any shirt you like.
Our Man (hesitantly): Are you sure you want to give me a shirt?
Franjo (holding up least tasteful shirt): This one? (Holding up another) Or this?
Our Man (choosing unremarkable white shirt – doesn’t want to be seen in Zagreb wearing a rare shirt): This one is quite nice.
Franjo: You can have it. (He reaches into cabinet again and this time key rings tumble in unseemly fashion onto floor) Would you like one of these, too?
Our Man selects a key ring with a plastic bear attached that wears a pullover. No keys though. Might be a car key ring.
Our Man: Well, Franjo, my friends will be waiting…
Franjo: But why do you want to go to Belgrade?
Our Man, who can think of several good reasons, heads towards door. Franjo follows and embraces him.
Franjo: You see, I am too intelligent. Sometimes this causes me a problem.
Our Man thinks, I’m all ears.
Franjo: She’s very beautiful, isn’t she.
Our Man (nodding): Yes, very.
Franjo: Goodbye! And good luck in Belgrade.
Door closes.
Things to Remember No. 4: Don’t follow a certified psychopath into a lunatic asylum and hold his ID for him while he snogs beautiful women. Invest in a good water bottle instead.