Srce na mjestu
O Mediteranu bi bilo najpoštenije napisati esej. Riječ esej dolazi od francuske riječi essai, što znači pokušaj, a o Mediteranu se može jedino pokušati pisati, onako krajnje bezuspješno. Jer taj bi se tekst morao moći kušati i njušiti, morao bi se moći prisloniti na nepce i gledati na način razglednice; morao bi sadržavati sve one nijanse plavoga i zelenoga za koje u rječniku nema dovoljno riječi, a okom su vidljive. Moralo bi se u taj tekst moći zagaziti makar kao u morski plićak, moralo bi ga se moći čitati sa slušalicama u kojima zviždi maestral ili cvrči cvrčak ili se čuje neka druga onomatopeja koja nikad nije formulirana jer nije imala takve sreće s glasovima i riječima kakvu je imao onaj cvrčak iz pjesme. Takav je Mediteran – neopisiv u svakom pokušaju.
Ali ja na Mediteranu sad opet živim, i dugujem mu taj slabašni pokušaj. Dugujem mu makar kratku proznu posvetu o vlastitom povratku i priznanje da sam više od tri desetljeća iz njega izbivala ne shvaćajući da se živ čovjek može presaditi u drugo podneblje, ali da mu spokoj uspijeva samo u svom.
Ovo prosvjetljenje mogu zahvaliti pandemiji. Kako je lockdown bilo besmisleno provoditi u gradska četiri zida, uputila sam se u svoj kutak Mediterana, na brdo u zaleđu Trogira, a što je vrijeme dalje odmicalo, bilo mi je sve jasnije da se u ona gradska četiri zida više ne želim vratiti. Ponekad čovjek jednostavno ne shvaća što mu je nedostajalo dok to ponovno ne nađe. U mom slučaju bilo je to… pa – sve. More. Nebo s nijansom plave koja postoji samo na Mediteranu. Riba i školjke na tanjuru. Smokve. Masline, kojih i sama imam pedesetak. Mirisi. Priroda koja je prisutna čim ujutro pogledam kroz prozor. Škrta zemlja za koju mi je teško reći zašto se tako zove jer plodovima uzvraća bogato. Mentalitet Mediteranaca. Humor koji razumiješ samo ako su te šibali njime u vrijeme odrastanja. Pravo na fjaku. Ružmarin i lavanda. Sir i vino koje nastaje u krugu od nekoliko kilometara. Moćno stablo kostele koje sam ujutro nakon buđenja morala prvo ugledati da bih shvatila koliko mi je nedostajalo na kontinentu.
I evo me sad, sa sidrom bačenim u Mediteran. Uzgajam svoje pome, tikvice, krastavce, paprike, svoju blitvu i bob. Kruh umačem u ulje od svojih maslina. Nebo i more mi se spajaju na horizontu, a djetinjstvo i ova dob u životnom iskustvu. Napravila sam puni krug i sad sam pokajnica koja Mediteran idealizira do mjere da ne želi vidjeti ni jednu njegovu lošu stranu. Boli me briga za oštru buru od koje mi zimi kuća u brdima zviždi i trese se kao da će joj prozori popucati. Boli me briga za nesnosnu turističku najezdu ljeti. Boli me briga za to što u mome selu nema vodovoda ni kanalizacije. Boli me briga za prljavo obalno more. Boli me briga za onaj kontejner do kojeg smeće moram voziti autom. Boli me briga za loše ceste i nestanke struje za svakog manjeg nevremena. Sve ono što dobivam zauzvrat mi je veće i važnije.
Presadila sam se natrag u svoje stanište i stekla puno pravo na pravilnu i točnu upotrebu fraze „srce mi je na mjestu“.
Jer mi je srce, zajedno s cijelom mnome, stvarno na mjestu. Na Mediteranu.
Heart at Ease
Translated by Tatjana Radmilo
Writing an essay on the Mediterranean would be the fairest thing to do. The term essay comes from a French word essai, meaning an attempt, and one can only attempt to write about the Mediterranean ad completely fail. Because people should be able to taste and smell such text, to rest it against their palates and observe it like a postcard. Such a text should contain all hues of blue and green, leaving even dictionaries at a lack for words. We should be able to walk into that text, at least as if stepping into shallow sea, we should be able to read it with mistral whistling and crickets’ chirping, coming to our ears through headphones. Or any other, never formulated onomatopoeia, because it was not so lucky with sounds and words, as the cricket from a well-known poem. That is what the Mediterranean is like — indescribable at any attempt of description.
But, since I’ve been living in the Mediterranean again, I owe it at least a weak attempt at it. I owe to the Mediterranean at least a short dedication in prose about my own comeback and admission that I’ve been away for more than three decades without realizing that humans can be replanted into another region, but can find peace only in their own.
The pandemic deserves all the credits for this enlightenment. Since it made no sense to spend time during lockdown within city walls, I left the city for my Mediterranean corner, a hill in the hinterland of Trogir, and as time passed, it was clearer to me that I didn’t want to go back to those four city apartment walls. Sometimes people don’t understand what they were missing until they find it again. In my case, it was… well — everything. Sea. Sky in the shade of blue that exists only in the Mediterranean. Fish and shells on a plate. Figs. My fifty olive trees. Aromas. Nature that is here from the moment I look out through my window. Poor soil that gives back such rich fruits, making it difficult for me to understand why they call it poor. Mentality of the Mediterranean people. Sense of humour which makes sense only if you were whipped with it during growing up. Entitlement to fjaka or slowdown. Rosemary and lavender. Cheese and wine produced a couple of kilometres from here. Mighty nettle tree that I had to see first after waking up in order to realize how much I missed it while I was living on the continent.
Here I am, anchored in the Mediterranean. I grow my own tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, peppers, chard and broad beans. I dip bread into olive oil I myself produce. Sky and sea come together at my horizon, just as my childhood and my current age with life experience. I’ve come full circle and am now a repentant one, idealizing Mediterranean to the point that I don’t want to see any of its downsides. I don’t give a damn for sharp bora that makes my house whistle and shake in winter, as if all windows are going to burst. I don’t give a damn for unbearable invasion of tourists in summer. I don’t give a damn that my village has neither water supply nor sewage system. I don’t give a damn for dirty sea along the coast. I don’t give a damn for garbage container so far that I have to drive to reach it. I don’t give a damn for bad roads and power blackouts during any minor storm. Everything I receive in return is so much bigger and more important to me.
I replanted myself into my habitat and earned the right to a proper and correct use of phrase “my heart is at ease”.
Because my heart, together with the entire me, is really at ease and in the right place. In the Mediterranean.