Gentle Giant
- an extract from 'Adriatic Blue.'
The procession is led out of the church by a giant. On top of his beefy six feet plus body, his head is a small ball. His red face and curly blonde hair make him look like a flushed cherub. He carries the tomato red embroidered banner solemnly with pride. His shirt is the same red as the banner and he is so strong he makes the huge banner look weightless.
Walking behind him are the village men, four of whom carry the statue of the saint, next comes the priest, together with the altar boys followed by the women who sing solemnly. Last but not least are the reluctant children big and small all mixed up. The naughty ones linger at the back, dawdling, talking and misbehaving if they dare.
Along the paved waterfront, up the steep cobbled street, past the big stone cross and back along the road high above the village of Račišće through the pines trees before descending the narrow street back to the church. It's always the same route for every procession.
The longer I look at the giant, the more familiar he seems. I know I have seen him somewhere before. It will come to me; probably in the middle of the night as his face is so clear in my mind's eye.
It is springtime now in the town of Korčula. Gardeners are hard at work very visible in their new lime green overalls. Wheelbarrows and implements sit ready and waiting on the pavement, along with red rose bushes and white petunia plants. The garden in the center of town next to the bank building is being dug over and an oversize gardener is building up quite a sweat turning over the soil. As he moves towards me, his blonde curls fighting their way out from beneath his cap, I realize it is the giant from the church parade. Rafo is his name. Although I have never met him, I have seen him often enough working on the town gardens between May and November.
They say there's a cheese maker in the village. He lives in the fourth house from the end of the only street, the house with the old red car outside. I can walk there and it's not at all hard to find.
When the door opens much to my surprise Rafo towers above me. I didn't know that he was also a cheese maker. When I ask if I can buy some cheese what comes out of his mouth isn't at all what I am expecting. He has a tiny little squeaky voice. It sounds absurd coming from such a huge person; however, the gentle giant is very obliging and also offers me some eggs.
Meandering along the road on my afternoon walk, I happen upon the local still where Rakija, the local firewater is made. Here the soil is rich and fertile and there are well tended olive trees and grape vines separated by ancient stone walls. Nestled in amongst the trees, close to the road, a group of rundown rusty old sheds can be seen. Two wizened old crones sit on some battered once white chairs offering advice to the man who is tending the fire under the still. I recognize the green overalls. It's Rafo! The big old copper still which burns fiercely is charred black,including the lid and Rafo's face is bright red as he feeds wood onto the fire and steam curls out from under the lid. Beyond the still hanging in the cool of the first shed are eight enormous dried smoked hams. (Prosciutto) Apparently they are for sale, if you can afford them!
As I continue, leaving the still behind me, a cow bellows from the paddock nearby. It's a fearsome looking black and white beast with its big curved horns. Six red hens with their brood of fluffy chickens run towards me but suddenly veer away at the last minute. Goats and pigs snort and snuffle in the enclosure beyond the grape vines. This is Rafo's little farm which also includes the village still.
They say that Rafo is one of the most eligible men in the village. He has a good income from many sources; he goes to church every Sunday and doesn't drink. He lives with his mother in a big spacious stone house, his father having drowned several years ago when he fell into the sea while fishing. However, there's only one drawback, if you are thinking about marrying Rafo you must marry his mother too!
Contact Barbara at barbaraunkovic@gmail.com