Ferry Dream: from 2006 that I Just Found

I guess I thought I was K., or something, but here it is:

Ferry Dream - 2006

He was to meet her on the ferry The ferry was going somewhere . . . It
doesn't matter now.

He had hoped to catch her boarding, on the quay , but the thick crowds,
automobile fumes, the bother and hurry had made that impossible. He was
certain, however, that she was on the ferry.

He waited at the small bar for an espresso and took it with him outside,
climbing the narrow steel stairs to the top deck. Here there were two or
three couples in the yellow seats in the sun sheltered from the strong
wind by steel bulkheads under years of high-gloss white paint.

One woman read. For a moment he thought it she. Then he was certain it
was not. Those were not her features, he thought, nor would she dress
like that, although he could not think what she might be wearing. He
could not see the title of the book.

He lit a Cubanito and then sat down in the open wind. A man with a small
goatee who looked like an art professor or painter, dressed in a worn
brown sportsjacket with cravat, sat down next to him and lit a cigarette.

The man said something in Serbian or Croatian. He did not
understand...ne razumijem...he was handed a torn scrap of paper with a
hand-written message but he could not tell what language it was in,
although it could have been addressed to him, it bore no signature. He
put it in his jacket pocket.

A few hundred meters away bobbed a small fishing boat with two bulky
figures in it. They pulled at a net which came in slowly, darkly, wetly.
Something glistened in the net. The boat twisted in the wind. The man at
the bow seemed to lose his balance for just a moment, putting his hand
out for the gunwale.

He looked at his watch. If he did not find her soon, he would have to
look for her as they docked. He went down to the smoking compartment.
The ferry was full of people occupying every seat. They talked together
of everyday matters in loud voices, urgent, persuasive. The smoke was
thick, blue and everywhere. A TV set was loud, blue and unintelligible
in the corner.

She was not here either, although for a moment once again he thought he
sensed her sybillance.

Then the ferry was docking. People leapt from their seats and crowded in
a great mass at the doors and stairs and at the auto gate as if a matter
of survival. He could see the passengers on the docks also massed for
its mooring.

What had she said she would be wearing? Perhaps that was what the note
had been about, or perhaps a rendevous point?

He held back and waited until he might be able to descend the stairs and
walk the end gate without being pressed.

Perhaps she might do the same.

The stone houses on the riva shone white and blinding in the sun. A
green cafe umbrella emblazoned with the name of a domestic beer tottered
then blew over in the wind.

He reached into his pocket for her note, but could not find it.