Becky
Postojna caves, Slovenia
26 June 2018
Becky sits alone on the bus, peering out of the window as she takes in the beautiful Slovenian scenery: the rows of lush green trees lining the hills around her, the pretty rivers sauntering through those hills, clear water sparkling beneath the afternoon sun. She catches sight of a couple walking by with their dog, a puppy giddy with excitement as it dances around its owners’ legs. Becky thinks of her own dogs at home. She’d spent a couple of days with them, booking more time off work. It coincided with her thirty-fifth birthday. She hadn’t really celebrated it. It didn’t seem right, with her mother’s death still so raw. Instead, she’d had lunch in the garden with David, who had handed her a small birthday card with three lurchers running through fields on the front. He was more quiet than usual, watching her with hooded eyes. Sometimes he would open his mouth and then close it, without uttering a word. She could see he didn’t know how to deal with her grief, but she didn’t mind. She preferred silence to stifling condolences like she’d received at work.
She gets out her phone, scrolling through photos of the dogs. Then she catches sight of a photo of Kai with Hannah and Ed, one of the selfies he’d emailed from their remaining weeks in the Spanish caves. They’d swapped emails when they’d parted ways, Kai insisting she keep him posted with ‘The Sister Quest’ as he called it. She smiles to herself as she takes in his wide, all-encompassing smile.
The bus slows down, approaching a long white building overlooking the river. ‘Right, Mum,’ she whispers to herself. ‘Let’s see what information this visit brings us.’
It’s very possible that nothing could come of this, she knows that. But Berenice seemed so sure her friend had told her Idris had gone to Slovenia … and that he was led there by a woman who worked as a guide for these very caves. Becky had emailed the caves when she’d got home a few days ago, but she hadn’t received an answer. When she’d called them, the woman there had spoken in broken English. In the end, Becky ran out of patience and booked a flight out. Her inheritance would be coming through soon and she knew her mum would approve of her spending it on something like this. She had to give it her best shot, didn’t she?
She follows the other tourists to the white building, breathing in the fresh clean air as she peers up at the pine trees. There’s a different feel here in Slovenia. Spain was hot and dusty and loud. It’s more peaceful here, more green and serene.
She heads towards the information desk, finding a man and woman behind it.
‘This is a long shot, but there used to be a lady who worked here about twenty years ago, someone called Darja?’ she says, using the information Berenice gave her in Spain.
The man shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t know, it’s too long ago for me.’
The woman with him leans forward, looking at Becky over trendy black-rimmed glasses. ‘You mean Darja Krajnc?’
‘I don’t know her surname,’ Becky confesses.
‘Maybe it’s my friend’s mother,’ the woman says. ‘She still works here sometimes.’
‘Do you have her contact details? I think she knew my sister and I’m trying to track her down. I’d love to talk to her if possible.’
‘I’ll call her,’ the woman says.
‘Mention Idris. If it’s the right Darja, she’ll know him,’ Becky quickly adds.
The woman nods then makes the call, tapping her fingers on the counter as she waits while it rings. Someone answers and the woman says something in Slovenian then puts the phone down, smiling.
‘She will be here in twenty minutes. She sounded very excited.’
Becky smiles back. ‘Great.’ But she can’t help but feel some trepidation. She hadn’t found her sister in Spain, who was to say she would find her here?
While she waits, she wanders over to the entrance of the cave, peering in. She was expecting it to be dark inside so is surprised when she finds an ultra-modern interior, a long train lining a tunnel. Did Idris and Solar really live in that cave? She sits on a nearby bench, looking into the tunnel and trying to wrap her head around the possibility.
Close to twenty minutes later, a tall woman in her fifties approaches with a long quick stride and striking features. The guides point Becky out and the woman strides towards her.
‘I’m Darja,’ she says, putting her hand out.
Becky shakes it. ‘Becky. Thank you so much for coming out so quickly.’
‘No problem, I don’t live far.’ Darja sits beside her, eyes sparkling. ‘You know Idris? Have you seen him?’
Becky shakes her head. ‘No, sorry.’
Darja’s shoulders slump.
‘I should explain,’ Becky says. ‘My mum knew him.’ She tells Darja her mum’s name.
‘I see,’ Darja says. ‘Idris talked of her often. How is she?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘She passed away recently.’ It still hurts so much to say it, it doesn’t feel real.
Darja puts her hand on her arm. ‘I’m so sorry. Come, let’s get some tea. That’s what you British people like, no?’ she asks, gesturing to a small café nearby.
‘I’d like that.’ They find a table in the corner of the café, and Darja goes to get them drinks. A few moments later, she brings back tea and two slabs of cake which look like brown and yellow versions of arctic roll.
‘Potica,’ Darja explains. ‘Absolutely delicious.’
Becky takes a bite, enjoying the nutty honey taste. ‘Thank you, it is delicious.’
But Darja doesn’t take a bite of her potica, just leans forward and looks into Becky’s eyes. ‘So did your mother say she’s seen Idris in the past twenty years or so?’
Becky shakes her head. ‘No, she didn’t.’
Darja leans back against her chair, raking her fingers through her short dark hair.
‘What’s wrong?’ Becky asks her.
‘He disappeared a few months after we came here. Just … disappeared. I woke one day to find him and Solar gone. He was always looking over his shoulder, scared of someone. I think in the end he realised they’d be better off going somewhere alone.’
Becky’s heart starts thumping loudly in her ears. ‘So he definitely left here too with Solar?’
‘Yes.’
Becky sighs. She just couldn’t get a grasp on the two of them.
‘Are you okay?’ Darja asks.
‘I think Solar’s my sister, that’s why I’m here. I’m trying to find her.’
‘Ah, that confirms who her mother was then. I guessed as much but Idris didn’t like to talk about it. The past must be left behind us, that’s what the Children of the Current always say.’
‘Children of the Current?’
‘That’s what we all call ourselves.’
Becky raises an eyebrow. It sounds so weird to her. She always knew them as the ‘cave dwellers’, as the local paper had christened the group.
‘Looks like my path has run cold then,’ she says.
‘Fear not! Caden might be able to shed some light on their whereabouts tomorrow.’
‘Caden. That name rings a bell.’
‘He lived at the cave with us. He liked playing on the guitar.’
Becky gets a fleeting memory of a skinny man with sunburnt cheeks and scruffy hair. ‘Why might he know more?’
‘He’s a genealogist now, can trace family trees. He told me he would try to track Idris down. He’ll be here tomorrow for my daughter’s wedding.’
Becky smiles. ‘How lovely. Congratulations.’ Becky takes a sip of tea, weighing up her options. ‘Do you think he could fit in a quick chat with me before the wedding?’
‘Why not come to the wedding?’
Becky shakes her head. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t impose.’
Darja leans forward and grabs Becky’s hand. ‘Please, my daughter would be delighted, especially if you are Solar’s sister. They used to play with each other, right in the cave here,’ she says, peering through into the cave.
Becky hesitates. To be able to meet someone who knew Solar so well, to properly chat to them. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘I wouldn’t have invited you if I wasn’t.’
Becky looks into the caves, the reality of it all suddenly hitting her. Usually right now, she’d be grabbing a quick sandwich before her next appointment, doing a quick check of her emails. But here she was, in a country she’d never visited before, having just accepted an invite to a random wedding to find out more about her sister!
She takes a deep breath and turns back to Darja. ‘So you really did stay here with Idris then. How did you manage that?’
‘There are secret caves. If you know them well enough, like me, it’s easy to hide away in them, just like Idris and I did.’ Her brow wrinkles slightly.
‘You were in love with him,’ Becky says softly.
Darja nods. ‘When he disappeared without saying a word, I was heartbroken.’ She seems to gather herself and shrugs. ‘Just a middle-aged woman reminiscing about old loves. Do you want to see where we all lived?’
‘I’d love to.’
She looks at her watch. ‘It’ll be lunch soon. Tours stop so the guides can have a break. We’ll go then so we’re not distracted by tourists.’
When the guides leave for lunch, Darja leads Becky through to the ultra-modern train, sitting at the front as Darja takes the controls.
‘Hold tight!’ Darja calls over her shoulder.
The train judders then zooms through a narrow dark tunnel as Becky grabs even harder onto the railings in front of her. They pass walls made from yellow limestone, stunning rock stalagmites and stalactites hanging from the vast ceilings like art suspended in time, and Becky regards it all open-mouthed.
After a while, the train slows down as they reach a vast cavern.
‘This is where we get off,’ Darja says. She helps Becky down and leads her through a series of caverns as Becky looks around her, smiling. It’s vast and beautiful, the smell of damp clogging her nostrils, the cold air making her pull on her hoodie. Eventually, they come to a cavern with an aquarium in the middle.
‘What’s here?’ Becky asks.
‘Our lovely little olm fish,’ Darja says, smiling affectionately.
‘Oh yes, I’ve read about those.’
‘Want to have a quick look?’
‘Yes please!’
They walk towards the glass chambers and Becky peers inside, fascinated, at the tiny tubular fish with their clawed legs which glide inside the chambers.
‘They live for two hundred years, you know?’ Darja says. ‘And they can survive up to twenty without food. As you can see, they’ve adapted to cave life. And even though they’re blind – who needs sight in the dark? – their hearing and sense of smell are heightened. The same would happen to us if we lived in caves for centuries. We adapt to our surroundings, no?’
Becky peers closer, taking in the olms’ beautiful translucent skin and pinpoint eyes. ‘I can see why they’re nicknamed human fish, their skin is just like human skin,’ she murmurs. ‘How do they live so long for such tiny animals? Usually, there’s a correlation between body size and longevity, so larger forms last longer, not little things like this.’
‘It’s a mystery,’ Darja says. ‘But it helps they don’t have any predators here. Apart from each other, of course. They’re known to turn on each other and feed.’
‘I guess it happens all over the animal world.’
Darja nods. ‘And sometimes the human world.’ Her brow furrows slightly.
Becky places her fingers gently against the glass, smiling as a tiny olm fish glides elegantly by.
‘I see you’re a fan,’ Darja says.
Becky smiles. ‘I’m a vet so animals hold a particular fascination for me.’
Darja grimaces. ‘Ah! Then I should probably tell you I was exaggerating with my numbers. Olms don’t live to two hundred years, they live for a hundred. And as for the time they can last without food, that is more like ten.’
Becky laughs. ‘Why lie? The numbers are impressive as they are.’
‘Oh, it’s not a lie really, just small exaggerations. It can get a bit dull telling the same story over and over for us guides.’
Becky thinks of her mum and the lies she weaved around herself. Was that down to boredom? Her dad used to say it was her manipulative streak, but then she remembers the way her mum would sit there with her sunglasses on, yawning as she sipped her drink. Ordinary life was simply too mundane for her.
‘Okay, this is where we go off the beaten track,’ Darja says, getting her phone out and shining a light into the distance. Becky follows her down a narrow stony corridor until she feels a gush of air. Then suddenly she finds herself in a huge cavern with several limestone columns stretching from floor to ceiling. It looks like a vast Stone Age ballroom, stalactites like chandeliers above.
‘Amazing,’ Becky says with a gasp, her torch picking parts of the craggy walls out. She breathes in the smell: dust and stone. It’s so different from the cave back in Kent. That was salty and enclosed. This cave feels huge, eerily strange and wonderful.
‘This place was undiscovered back then … apart from by me, of course,’ Darja adds with a wink. ‘Now they use it for private functions.’
‘I can’t believe you all lived here.’
‘We had lots of battery lights. Dragged mattresses in on the train. Even a little kitchen. And there was a way to get out easily enough into the mountains,’ she adds, gesturing to the back of the cave. ‘We spent dry days outside. It was the perfect life, really.’
‘Really?’ Becky says. ‘Even for the children?’
‘Of course! Little Solar particularly loved it. She insisted on sleeping right next to the cave wall there,’ Darja says, pointing to an area to Becky’s left. ‘She used to press her little face right up against it, like a comfort blanket.’
Becky walks over and crouches down. The ground dips slightly here, the moonlight above casting silver shadows over it. Becky imagines a five-year-old girl sleeping here.
Her sister.
She places her cheek against the cool wall and closes her eyes. ‘Where are you?’ she whispers.
When she opens her eyes, she gasps.
A face is staring at her, one side white, the other black.