The Sailing Lesson – Part 1: First Wind

Ana had never sailed before, which she mentioned three times at the harbour in Split, and the third time the instructor finally looked up from his clipboard.

"I know," said Luka. He was thirty-two, with sun-streaked hair, a faded blue shirt and the unhurried air of a man who had spent most of his life near water. "You told me twice already. Do not worry. The sea does not mind beginners."

"What if I am sick?"

"Then we are very close to the side."

The boat was small and white, with a patched mainsail and a name painted on the bow in peeling letters: Vesna. Luka showed her the lines, the cleats, the boom she was to duck under on every tack. She tied her first knot with great ceremony.

He regarded it. "It is a very creative knot."

"Is it wrong?"

"It is not a knot. But it is creative."

She laughed so hard she nearly fell in the harbour.

By noon they were out beyond the islands, the sail full and cracking, the whole Adriatic spread glittering around them. Ana held the tiller with white knuckles and her heart in her throat.

"Easy," said Luka. He sat close beside her, his hand light over hers on the wood. "Feel it? She wants to go. You only need to let her."

She breathed out. The boat leaned and surged forward, and spray rose silver off the bow.

"Oh," said Ana. "Oh, that is wonderful."

"Yes," said Luka. He was not looking at the sea.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes."

"Do you always look at your students like that?"

He went a deep shade of red beneath his tan. "Only the ones with creative knots."

"Green?" she said, grinning.

"Green," said Luka. "Very green. Now, tack. Duck."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Anchored.