Hammock Summer in Split – Part 1: The Last Ferry Ticket

The ferry had been meant to take Ana to Hvar for two days. Instead she was standing on the waterfront in Split at six in the morning, with a backpack, a sunburn and a job offer from a yacht charter company whose office was closed.

"You're the one who's been asking about the boat," said a voice from above her.

She looked up. Between two pine trees on the promenade, a hammock swayed gently, and in it lay a tall, lean man in a faded blue shirt, one arm behind his head, a cup of coffee balanced on his stomach.

"I'm Luka," he said. "I skipper the Mirna. The company manager is in Zagreb, drinking, and I'm in charge until Monday."

"That's not very reassuring."

"You're not here to be reassured," said Luka. "You're here because you want to sail. Come and see the boat."

The Mirna was a white sloop with varnished wood and a deck worn smooth by years of salt. Ana climbed aboard and felt the swell lift it gently under her feet, and something in her chest loosened for the first time in months.

They sailed out of the harbour that afternoon, the islands of the Adriatic rising blue and green on the horizon. Luka taught her to trim the sails, to read the wind on the water, to tie the knots that held the boat steady in a gust. He talked about the coves and the taverns, the old men on Vis who made wine in barrels, the fishermen who sold octopus on the quay at dawn.

"You love this," said Ana, leaning on the tiller as the wind filled the sail.

"I love the moment before the wind changes," said Luka. "When you don't know yet what the sea is going to do."

"That's a very philosophical thing for a man in a hammock."

"I'm a very philosophical man in a hammock," said Luka, grinning. "Ask me anything."

At sunset they anchored in a small bay on Brač, the water so clear they could see the sand on the bottom. Luka cooked fish on a tiny stove, and they ate on the deck with a bottle of cold white wine, watching the sky turn rose and gold above the pine-covered hills.

"Can I ask you something?" said Ana, as the first stars came out.

"Yes."

"Why do you sleep in a hammock? You have a perfectly good bunk on this boat."

Luka looked out at the dark water, his face softened by the lamplight.

"Because I was married once, to a woman who wanted a house with a garden and a view of the harbour," he said. "I built her one. She left me for a man who owned a restaurant. I couldn't stand to sleep in a bed inside a house that didn't feel like home any more. So I sleep outside, between two trees, where the wind can tell me when to wake up."

Ana was quiet. She reached across the deck and took his hand, warm and rough from the ropes.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be," said Luka. "It's just the truth. Can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Would you stay on the Mirna until the end of the season, and sail with me in the mornings, and let me teach you to tie the knots properly? Not because I need crew. Because I'd like you to be the one who asks me what the sea is going to do next."

Ana laughed, quietly, with a sudden warmth in her throat. "Yes," she said. "But only if you let me sleep in the hammock once, to see what the wind sounds like from up there."

"Deal," said Luka, and his grin was slow and warm. "Green?"

"Green," said Ana. "Very green. Now pour the wine, Luka, and tell me what the sea does next."