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golden　surf。　What　the　hell　there　was　nobody　to　see；　nobody　to　know。　Just　the　hills；　liquid　in　the　heat…haze；　their　forested　backs　bent　to　the　business　of　the　earth；　and　a　lost　dog；　sitting　at　the　edge　of　the　road；　waiting　for　some　lost　master。
　　Judd　followed　Mick's　path　through　the　wheat；　unbuttoning　his　shirt　as　he　walked。　Field…mice　ran　ahead　of　him；　scurrying　through　the　stalks　as　the　giant　came　their　way；　his　feet　like　thunder。　Judd　saw　their　panic；　and　smiled。　He　meant　no　harm　to　them；　but　then　how　were　they　to　know　that？　Maybe　he'd　put　out　a　hundred　lives；　mice；　beetles；　worms；　before　he　reached　the　spot　where　Mick　was　lying；　stark　bollock　naked；　on　a　bed　of　trampled　grain；　still　grinning。
　　It　was　good　love　they　made；　good；　strong　love；　equal　in　pleasure　for　both；　there　was　a　precision　to　their　passion；　sensing　the　moment　when　effortless　delight　became　urgent；　when　desire　became　necessity。　They　locked　together；　limb　around　limb；　tongue　around　tongue；　in　a　knot　only　orgasm　could　untie；　their　backs　alternately　scorched　and　scratched　as　they　rolled　around　exchanging　blows　and　kisses。　In　the　thick　of　it；　creaming　together；　they　heard　the　phut…phut…phut　of　a　tractor　passing　by；　but　they　were　past　caring。
　　They　made　their　way　back　to　the　Volkswagen　with　body…threshed　wheat　in　their　hair　and　their　ears；　in　their　socks　and　between　their　toes。　Their　grins　had　been　replaced　with　easy　smiles：　the　truce；　if　not　permanent；　would　last　a　few　hours　at　least。
　　The　car　was　baking　hot；　and　they　had　to　open　all　the　windows　and　doors　to　let　the　breeze　cool　it　before　they　started　towards　Novi　Pazar。　It　was　four　o'clock；　and　there　was　still　an　hour's　driving　ahead。
　　As　they　got　into　the　car　Mick　said；　〃We'll　forget　the　monastery；　eh？〃　Judd　gaped。　〃I　thought…；　〃I　couldn't　bear　another　fucking　Virgin…〃　They　laughed　lightly　together；　then　kissed；　tasting　each　other　and　themselves；　a　mingling　of　saliva；　and　the　aftertaste　of　salt　semen。
　　
　　The　following　day　was　bright；　but　not　particularly　warm。　No　blue　skies：　just　an　even　layer　of　white　cloud。　The　morning　air　was　sharp　in　the　lining　of　the　nostrils；　like　ether；　or　peppermint。
　　Vaslav　Jelovsek　watched　the　pigeons　in　the　main　square　of　Popolac　courting　death　as　they　skipped　and　fluttered　ahead　of　the　vehicles　that　were　buzzing　around。　Some　about　military　business；　some　civilian。　An　air　of　sober　intention　barely　suppressed　the　excitement　he　felt　on　this　day；　an　excitement　he　knew　was　shared　by　every　man；　woman　and　child　in　Popolac。　Shared　by　the　pigeons　too　for　all　he　knew。　Maybe　that　was　why　they　played　under　the　wheels　with　such　dexterity；　knowing　that　on　this　day　of　days　no　harm　could　e　to　them。
　　He　scanned　the　sky　again；　that　same　white　sky　he'd　been　peering　at　since　dawn。　The　cloud…layer　was　low；　not　ideal　for　the　celebrations。　A　phrase　passed　through　his　mind；　an　English　phrase　he'd　heard　from　a　friend；　〃to　have　your　head　in　the　clouds〃。　It　meant；　he　gathered；　to　be　lost　in　a　reverie；　in　a　white；　sightless　dream。　That；　he　thought　wryly；　was　all　the　West　knew　about　clouds；　that　they　stood　for　dreams。　It　took　a　vision　they　lacked　to　make　a　truth　out　of　that　casual　turn　of　phrase。　Here；　in　these　secret　hills；　wouldn't　they　create　a　spectacular　reality　from　those　idle　words？　A　living　proverb。
　　A　head　in　the　clouds。
　　Already　the　first　contingent　was　assembling　in　the　square。　There　were　one　or　two　absentees　owing　to　illness；　but　the　auxiliaries　were　ready　and　waiting　to　take　their　places。　Such　eagerness！　Such　wide　smiles　when　an　auxiliary　heard　his　or　her　name　and　number　called　and　was　taken　out　of　line　to　join　the　limb　that　was　already　taking　shape。　On　every　side；　miracles　of　organization。　Everyone　with　a　job　to　do　and　a　place　to　go。　There　was　no　shouting　or　pushing：　indeed；　voices　were　scarcely　raised　above　an　eager　whisper。　He　watched　in　admiration　as　the　work　of　positioning　and　buckling　and　roping　went　on。
　　It　was　going　to　be　a　long　and　arduous　day。　Vaslav　had　been　in　the　square　since　an　hour　before　dawn；　drinking　coffee　from　imported　plastic　cups；　discussing　the　half…hourly　meteorological　reports　ing　in　from　Pristina　and　Mitrovica；　and　watching　the　starless　sky　as　the　grey　light　of　morning　crept　across　it。　Now　he　was　drinking　his　sixth　coffee　of　the　day；　and　it　was　still　barely　seven　o'clock。　Across　the　square　Metzinger　looked　as　tired　and　as　anxious　as　Vaslav　felt。
　　They'd　watched　the　dawn　seep　out　of　the　east　together；　Metzinger　and　he。　But　now　they　had　separated；　forgetting　previous　panionship；　and　would　not　speak　until　the　contest　was　over。　After　all　Metzinger　was　from　Podujevo。　He　had　his　own　city　to　support　in　the　ing　battle。　Tomorrow　they'd　exchange　tales　of　their　adventures；　but　for　today　they　must　behave　as　if　they　didn't　know　each　other；　not　even　to　exchange　a　smile。　For　today　they　had　to　be　utterly　partisan；　caring　only　for　the　victory　of　their　own　city　over　the　opposition。
　　Now　the　first　leg　of　Popolac　was　erected；　to　the　mutual　satisfaction　of　Metzinger　and　Vaslav。　All　the　safety　checks　had　been　meticulously　made；　and　the　leg　left　the　square；　its　shadow　falling　hugely　across　the　face　of　the　Town　Hall。
　　Vaslav　sipped　his　sweet；　sweet　coffee　and　allowed　himself　a　little　grunt　of　satisfaction。　Such　days；　such　days。　Days　filled　with　glory；　with　snapping　flags　and　high；　stomach…turning　sights；　enough　to　last　a　man　a　lifetime。　It　was　a　golden　foretaste　of　Heaven。
　　Let　America　have　its　simple　pleasures；　its　cartoon　mice；　its　candy…coated　castles；　its　cults　and　its　technologies；　he　wanted　none　of　it。　The　greatest　wonder　of　the　world　was　here；　hidden　in　the　hills。
　　Ah；　such　days。
　　In　the　main　square　of　Podujevo　the　scene　was　no　less　animated；　and　no　less　inspiring。　Perhaps　there　was　a　muted　sense　of　sadness　underlying　this　year's　celebration；　but　that　was　understandable。　Nita　Obrenovic；　Podujevo's　loved　and　respected　organizer；　was　no　longer　living。　The　previous　winter　had　claimed　her　at　the　age　of　ninety…four；　leaving　the　city　bereft　of　her　fierce　opinions　and　her　fiercer　proportions。　For　sixty　years　Nita　had　worked　with　the　citizens　of　Podujevo；　always　planning　for　the　next　contest　and　improving　on　the　designs；　her　energies　spent　on　making　the　next　creation　more　ambitious　and　more　life…like　than　the　last。
　　Now　she　was　dead；　and　sorely　missed。　There　was　no　disorganization　in　the　streets　without　her；　the　people　were　far　too　disciplined　for　that；　but　they　were　already　falling　behind　schedule；　and　it　was　almost　seven…twenty…five。　Nita's　daughter　had　taken　over　in　her　mother's　stead；　but　she　lacked　Nita's　power　to　galvanize　the　people　into　action。　She　was；　in　a　word；　too　gentle　for　the　job　in　hand。　It　required　a　leader　who　was　part　prophet　and　part　ringmaster；　to　coax　and　bully　and　inspire　the　citizens　into　their　places。　Maybe；　after　two　or　three　decades；　and　with　a　few　more　contests　under　her　belt；　Nita　Obrenovic's　daughter　would　make　the　grade。　But　for　today　Podujevo　was　behindhand；　safety…checks　were　being　overlooked；　nervous　looks　replaced　the　confidence　of　earlier　years。
　　Nevertheless；　at　six　minutes　before　eight　the　first　limb　of　Podujevo　made　its　way　out　of　the　city　to　the　assembly　point；　to　wait　for　its　fellow。
　　By　that　time　the　flanks　were　already　lashed　together　in　Popolac；　and　armed　contingents　were　awaiting　orders　in　the　Town　Square。
　　
　　Mick　woke　promptly　at　seven；　though　there　was　no　alarm　clock　in　their　simply　furnished　room　at　the　Hotel　Beograd。　He　lay　in　his　bed　and　listened　to　Judd's　regular　breathing　from　the　twin　bed　across　the　room。　A　dull　morning　light　whimpered　through　the　thin　curtains；　not　encouraging　an　early　departure。　After　a　few　minutes〃　staring　at　the　cracked　paintwork　on　the　ceiling；　and　a　while　longer　at　the　crudely　carved　crucifix　on　the　opposite　wall；　Mick　got　up　and　went　to　the　window。　It　was　a　dull　day；　as　he　had　guessed。　The　sky　was　overcast；　and　the　roofs　of　Novi　Pazar　were　grey　and　featureless　in　the　flat　morning　light。　But　beyond　the　roofs；　to　the　east；　he　could　see　the　hills。　There　was　sun　there。　He　could　see　shafts　of　light　catching　the　blue…green　of　the　forest；　inviting　a　visit　to　their　slopes。
　　Today　maybe　they　would　go　south　to　Kosovska　Mitrovica。　There　was　a　market　there；　wasn't　there；　and　a　museum？　And　they　could　drive　down　the　valley　of　the　Ibar；　following　the　road　beside　the　river；　where　the　hills　rose　wild　and　shining　on　either　side。　The　hills；　yes；　today　he　decided　they　would　see　the　hills。
　　It　was　eight…fifteen。
　　
　　By　nine　the　main　bodies　of　Popolac　and　Podujevo　were　substantially　assembled。　In　their　allotted　districts　the　limbs　of　both　cities　were　ready　and　waiting　to　join　their　expectant　torsos。
　　Vaslav　Jelovsek　capped　his　gloved　hands　over　his　eyes　and　surveyed　the　sky。　The　cloud…base　had　risen　in　the　last　hour；　no　doubt　of　it；　and　there　were　breaks　in　the　clouds　to　the　west；　even；　on　occasion；　a　few　glimpses　of　the　sun。　It　wouldn't　be　a　perfect　day　for　the　contest　perhaps；　but　certainly　adequate。
　　
　　Mick　and　Judd　breakfasted　late　on　hemendeks…roughly　translated　as　ham　and　eggs…and　several　cups　of　good　black　coffee。　It　was　brightening　up；　even　in　Novi　Pazar；　and　their　ambitions　were　set　high。　Kosovska　Mitrovica　by　lunchtime；　and　maybe　a　visit　to　the　hill…castle　of　Zvecan　in　the　afternoon。
　　About　nine…thirty　they　motored　out　of　Novi　Pazar　and　took　the　Srbovac　road　south　to　the　Ibar　valley。　Not　a　good　road；　but　the　bumps　and　pot…holes　couldn't　spoil　the　new　day。
　　The　road　was　empty；　except　for　the　occasional　pedestrian；　and　in　place　of　the　maize　and　corn　fields　they'd　passed　on　the　previous　day　the　road　was　flanked　by　undulating　hills；　whose　sides　were　thickly　and　darkly　forested。　Apart　from　a　few　birds；　they　saw　no　wildlife。　Even　their　infrequent　travelling　panions　petered　out　altogether　after　a　few　miles；　and　the　occasional　farmhouse　they　drove　by　appeared　locked　and　shuttered　up。　Black　pigs　ran　unattended　in　the　yard；　with　no　child　to　feed　them。　Washing　snapped　and　billowed　on　a　sagging　line；　with　no　washerwoman　in　sight。
　　At　first　this　solitary　journey　through　the　hills　was　refreshing　in　its　lack　of　human　contact；　but　as　the　morning　drew　on；　an　uneasiness　grew　on　them。
　　〃Shouldn't　we　have　seen　a　signpost　to　Mitrovica；　Mi