Miro Kopčalić came to visit. We went to Benjamin’s for lunch. After a good meal, we went to the bar and sat near the fireplace. It was warm and cozy. I decided it was time for a fine cigar. When I told Miro I was going to the hotel to buy one, he asked me to get two packs of cigarettes for him, too. I rushed up the archway and the steep ramp between the hotel terrace and the upper square. On my way back, still rushing for some reason, I was holding the cigarettes in one hand and the cigar in the other. Half way down the ramp, my foot got caught between the broken cobblestones, and I fell. Holding my hands up to protect my treasure, I fell on the left side of my chest. Ouch. I could not breathe for a while. A group of Italian tourists who saw me fall were pretty concerned. They rushed over. Judging by their faces, my headlong dive was on the spectacular side. It took me a minute or two after I got up to tell them I was fine. I collected my right shoe, as well as one of the cigarette packs, both of which had landed some way away. My left hand, knee, and chest hurt quite a bit, but it was clear nothing was broken. I was lucky this time. This was but a gentle warning. Next time I will be that much more careful on Motovun’s cobblestones. This is how old age creeps in, I guess. Little by little, a tiny step by tiny step.

Addendum I (December 19, 2005)

The warning turned out to be a bit less gentle than I had thought. I must have broken a rib. This became obvious only after the bruises got cold. If I am not mistaken, the break is right above my heart. The spot hurts too much to poke at it for long. The pain is the same as I remember it four years ago, when I broke four ribs in the Alps. Besides, there is a funny sound when I twist my chest. It is a click or snap of sorts, suggesting this is the sound of the broken bits of the rib falling in or out of place. But I will not see a doctor, it goes without saying. They cannot do anything about broken ribs, anyhow. This I know perfectly well. The best they can do is to confirm my own diagnosis. But in a couple of weeks I will be like new. This much I know from past experience, as well. In the meanwhile, I must learn again how to sleep on my back. And not to cough, sneeze, hiccup, or make sudden moves. Well, I must learn again how not to laugh, either.

Addendum II (December 20, 2005)

Amazingly, there is not a scratch on my clothing in spite of wounds on my left knee and elbow, as well as so many bruises all over my body. I inspected everything with great care, but there is not a single mark of the fall. At the time, I was wearing my standard winter gear: a pair of climbing pants and a fleece of medium thickness. The pants I bought in 1998 and the fleece in 2002. Made by North Face, an American company of renown, they are top of the line in climbing apparel. My North Face shorts, which I wore when I fell in the Alps, show no signs of the accident, either. None whatsoever. I bought them in 1998, as well, but they are still as good as new. It seems my climbing gear is forever. Come to think of it, I will have to put it into my will.