OCR Text |
Show "Yes, maybe, but this is not Los Angeles. This is Yugoslavia. Maybe at the beach you woald see this." "At the beach you see much more," Delilah replied. "But not away from the beach," her aunt countered, "I think you will be very shocking if you wear that to Sveti Stefan tonight." Delilah deferred and sounds of approval came from several women and then the discussions careened on. She gave up wearing it at all after venturing out during the day. Women stared at her, men stared at her, young men followed her and sales ladies talked among themselves and wouldn't wait on her. Tonight she wore a summer dress and sandles, her evening uniform for Sveti Stefan. She lingered awhile nibbling at the ever-present, unchanging smorgasbord and listened. Everyone knew how little she understood and it became a habit, at Mrs. Jovanovic's suggestion, for Delilah to bring up a topic every evening. Mrs. Jovanovic would translate and those who could would answer in English. Everyone enjoyed the ritual and Delilah's topics received their fair share of heated debate. Tonight Delilah asked, in her best comparative world governments voice, how it was to live in a communist country. "You're living in one," replied a man at another table, "how is it?" "But I'm here some summers for a month or two. I hardly ever leave this area and lying on the beach or working on the island I only see young men and foreigners." "Many young men," added Milan. |