The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com Page 14

  smiling, visiting churches and monasteries, religious meetings and festivals; he

  prayed, did penance and fasted. Earlier the Turkish authorities had paid no

  attentiontohimandregardedhimasafeeble-mindedandreligiousman,letting

  himgowherehewouldandsaywhatheliked.Butnow,duetotheinsurrection

  in Serbia, new times had come and harsher measures prevailed. A few Turkish

  families had arrived in the town whose property had been destroyed by the

  insurgents; they spread hatred and called for vengeance. Guards were

  everywhere. Supervision was intensified, the local Turks were anxious, filled

  with rancour and ill-will and looked on everyone bloodthirstily and with

  suspicion.

  TheoldmanhadbeentravellingalongtheroadfromRogaticaandbybadluck

  wasthefirsttravelleronthedaywhentheblockhousehadbeencompletedand

  the first guards had taken up their posts there. In fact he had chosen the very

  worst time, for the day had not fully dawned. He bore before him, as a man

  carries a lighted candle, a sort of thick stick decorated with strange signs and

  letters. The blockhouse swallowed him up like a spider does a fly. They

  interrogated him curtly. They demanded who he was, what he was doing and

  whencehecame,andcommandedhimtoexplainthedecorationsandwritingon

  hisstaff.Herepliedfreelyandopenly,eventoquestionsthathadnotbeenasked

  him,asifspeakingbeforetheLastJudgmentofGodandnotbeforeagroupof

  evil Turks. He said that he was no one and nothing, a traveller on this earth, a transientinatransientworld,ashadowinthesun,butthathepassedhisfewand

  short days in prayer and in going from monastery to monastery, until he had

  visitedalltheholyplaces,allthebequestsandthetombsoftheSerbiantsarsand

  nobles. As to the signs and letters on his staff they represented the times of

  Serbian freedom and greatness, past and future. For, said the old man, smiling

  gentlyandtimidly,thedayofresurrectionwascomingsoonand,judgingfrom

  whathehadreadinbooksandfromwhatmightbeseenontheearthandinthe

  skies, it was now quite near. The kingdom was reborn, redeemed by trials and

  foundedontruth.

  'Iknowthatitisnotpleasant,gentlemen,foryoutohavetolistentothesethings

  andthatIshouldnotevenspeakofthembeforeyou,butyouhavestoppedme

  andtoldmethatIshouldtellyouthewholetruth,whereveritmaylead.Godis

  truthandGodisOne!Andnow,Ibegyou,letmegoonmywayforIamdue

  todayatBanja,attheMonasteryoftheHolyTrinity.'

  The interpreter Shefko translated, struggling in vain to find in his poor

  knowledgeoftheTurkishlanguageequivalentsforabstractideas.TheCaptainof

  theGuard,asicklyAnatolian,stillonlyhalfawake,listenedtotheconfusedand

  disconnectedwordsofthetranslatorandfromtimetotimethrewaglanceatthe

  old man who, without fear or evil thoughts, looked back at him and confirmed

  withhiseyesthateverythingwasjustastheinterpreterhadsaid,thoughheknew

  not a word of Turkish. Somewhere in the back of his mind it was clear to the

  Captain that this man was some sort of half-witted infidel dervish, a good-

  natured and harmless madman. And in the old man's staff, which they had

  already cut through in several places thinking that it was hollow and that

  messages were concealed in it, they found nothing. But in Shefko's translation

  theoldman'swordsseemedsuspicious,smelledofpoliticsandseditiousintent.

  The Captain, for his part, would have let this poor dim-witted creature go his

  way,buttherestofthesoldiersandcivilguardshadgatheredtogetherthereand

  were listening to the interrogation. There was his sergeant Tahir, an evil man,

  sullen and rheumy-eyed, who had already several times slandered him to his

  chief and accused him of lack of care and severity. Then too there was that

  Shefko, who in his translation was obviously putting the worst possible

  construction on the old man's exalted phrases and who loved to stick his nose

  into everything and carry tales even when there was nothing in them, and was

  everreadytogiveortoconfirmanevilreport.ThentootherewerethoseTurks

  fromthetown,volunteers,whowenttheirroundssullenlyandself-importantly,

  arrested suspicious characters and interfered needlessly in his official duties.

  They were all there. And all of them, these days, were as if drunk with

  bitterness, from desire for vengeance and longed to punish and to kill

  whomsoever they could, since they could not punish or kill those whom they

  wished.Hedidnotunderstandthem,nordidheapproveofthem,buthesawthat

  theywereallagreedthattheblockhousemusthaveitsvictimthisfirstmorning.

  Hesuspectedthatbecauseoftheirintoxicationofbitternesshemightbetheone to suffer if he opposed their wishes. The thought that he might have

  unpleasantnessbecauseofthismadoldfoolseemedtohimintolerable.Andthe

  oldmanwithhistalesoftheSerbianEmpirewouldnotinanycasegetveryfar

  among the Turks of the district who, these days, were like a swarm of angry

  bees. Let the troubled waters carry him away, even as they had brought him

  here....

  AssoonastheoldmanhadbeenboundandtheCaptainwaspreparingtogointo

  thetownsoasnottohavetowatchtheexecution,someTurkishpolicemenanda

  fewciviliansappeared,leadingapoorlydressedSerbianyouth.Hisclothingwas

  tornandhisfaceandhandsscratched.ThiswasacertainMile,apoordevilfrom

  Lijesko,wholivedquitealoneinawater-millatOsojnica.Hemighthavebeen

  nineteenatmost,strongandburstingwithhealth.

  That morning before sunrise Mile placed some barley in the mill to be ground

  and then opened the big millrace and went into the forest to cut wood. He

  brandished his axe and cut the soft alder branches like straws. He enjoyed the

  morningfreshnessandtheeasewithwhichthewoodfellbeforehisaxe.Hisown

  movementswereapleasuretohim.Buthisaxewassharpandthethinwoodtoo

  frailfortheforcethatwasinhim.Somethingwithinhimswelledhisbreastand

  drove him to shout aloud at each movement. His cries became more and more

  frequent and connected. Mile who, like all men of Lijesko, had no ear and no

  idea of how to sing, sang and shouted in the thick and shady forest. Without

  thinkingofanythingandforgettingwherehewas,hebegantosingwhathehad

  heardotherssinging.

  At that time, when Serbia had risen in revolt, the people had made of the old

  song:

  'WhenAlibegwasayoungbeg

  Amaidenborehisstandard..."anewsong:

  'WhenKarageorgewasayoungbeg

  Amaidenborehisstandard...'
<
br />   Inthatgreatandstrangestruggle,whichhadbeenwagedinBosniaforcenturies

  between two faiths, for land and power and their own conception of life and

  order, the adversaries had taken from each other not only women, horses and

  armsbutalsosongs.

  Manyaversepassedfromonetotheotherasthemostpreciousofbooty.

  This song, then, was one recently sung among the Serbs, but stealthily and in

  secret, in closed houses, at family feasts or in distant pastures where a Turk

  mightnotsetfootforyearsatatimeandwhereaman,atthepriceofloneliness

  andpovertyinthewilds,mightliveashewishedandsingwhatheliked.Andit

  was just this song that Mile, the mill attendant, had thought fit to sing in the forestjustbelowtheroadalongwhichtheTurksofOlujacandOrahovacpassed

  ontheirwaytothemarketinthetown.

  Dawnhadjusttouchedthecrestsofthemountainsandthere,inthatshadyplace,

  it was still quite dark. Mile was all wet with the dew but warm from a good

  night'ssleep,hotbreadandwork.Hebrandishedhisaxeandstrucktheslender

  aldernearitsrootbutthetreeonlybentandbowedlikeayoungbridewhokisses

  the hand of the 'kum' who leads her to marriage. The alder was sprinkled with

  colddewlikeafinerainandremainedbent,foritcouldnotfallbecauseofthe

  thicknessofthegreeneryaround.Thenhecutoffthegreenbrancheswithhisaxe

  inonehandasifplaying.Whilehewasdoingthishesangatthetopofhisvoice

  pronouncing certain of the words with enjoyment. 'Karageorge' was something

  vaguebutstronganddaring;'maiden'and'standard'werealsothingsunknownto

  him, but things which in some way answered to his most intimate dreams; to

  haveagirlofhisownandtobearastandard.Inanycasetherewasasweetness

  in pronouncing such words. And all the strength within him drove him on to

  pronouncethemclearlyandcountlesstimesover.Hisutteranceofthemseemed

  torenewhisstrengthmakinghimrepeatthemstillmoreloudly.

  SosangMileatthebreakofdayuntilhehadcutandtrimmedthebranchesfor

  whichhehadcome.Thenhewentdownthewetslopedragginghisfreshburden

  behindhim.ThereweresomeTurksinfrontofthemill.Theyhadtetheredtheir

  horses and were waiting for someone. There were ten of them. He felt himself

  again,ashehadbeenbeforehehadsetouttogetthewood,clumsy,raggedand

  embarrassed, without Karageorge before his eyes, without a girl or a standard

  nearhim.TheTurkswaiteduntilhehadputdownhisaxe,thenfellonhimfrom

  allsidesandafterashortstruggleboundhimwithahalterandtookhimtothe

  town.Ontheirwaytheybeathimandkickedhiminthegroin,askinghimwhere

  washisKarageorgenowandsayingevilwordsabouthisgirlandhisstandard.

  Undertheblockhouseonthe kapia wheretheyhadjustboundthehalf-wittedold

  mansomeofthetownne'er-do-wellshadjoinedthesoldierseventhoughithad

  onlyjustdawned.Amongstthemwere

  anumberofrefugeesfromSerbiawhosehomestherehadbeenburntdown.All

  werearmedandworeasolemnexpressionasthoughagreateventoradecisive

  battle were in question. Their emotion rose with the rising sun. The sun rose

  rapidly, amid shining mists down there on the skyline above Goleš. The Turks

  waitedfortheterrifiedyouthasifhehadbeenarevolutionaryleader,thoughhe

  wasraggedandmiserableandhadbeenbroughtfromtheleftbankoftheDrina

  wheretherewasnoinsurrection.

  TheTurksfromOlujacandOrahovac,exasperatedbythearrogancewhichthey

  wereunabletobelievewasnotintentional,borewitnessthattheyoungmanhad

  been singing in a provocative manner beside the road songs about Karageorge

  and the infidel fighters. He, frightened, in wet rags, scratched and beaten, his

  eyesfilledwithemotionthatmadehimseemtosquint,watchedtheCaptainasif

  hewerehopingforsalvationfromhim.Ashecamerarelytothetownhehadnot

  knownthatablockhousewasbeingerectedonthebridge;thereforeeverything

  seemed to him strange and unreal as if he had wandered in his sleep into a

  strangetownfilledwithevilanddangerousmen.Stutteringandkeepinghiseyes

  ontheground,hesworethathehadneversunganythingandthathehadnever

  struckaTurk,thathewasapoorman,wholookedafterthewater-mill,thathe

  wascuttingwoodanddidnotknowwhyhehadbeenbroughthere.Heshivered

  fromfearandwasreallyunabletounderstandwhathadhappenedandhow,after

  that exalted mood down there by the freshness of the stream, he had suddenly

  found himself bound and beaten here on the kapia, the centre of all interest, before so many people to whom he had to answer. He had himself quite

  forgottenthathehadeversungeventhemostinnocentofsongs.

  But the Turks stood by their words; that he had been singing insurrectionist

  songsatthemomenttheyhadbeenpassingandthathehadresistedthemwhen

  they wanted to bind him. Each of them confirmed this on oath to the Captain

  whointerrogatedthem:

  'DoyouswearbyAllah?'

  'IswearbyAllah.'

  'Isthatthetruth?'

  'Thatisthetruth.'

  So thrice repeated. Then they put the young man beside Jelisije and went to

  wakentheheadsmanwho,itseemed,sleptverysoundly.Theoldmanlookedat

  the youth who, confused and ashamed, blinked since he was not used to being

  the centre of attention in broad daylight on the bridge surrounded by so many people.

  'Whatisyourname?'theoldmanasked.

  'Mile,' said the youth humbly, as if he were still replying to the Turkish

  questions.

  'Mile, my son, let us kiss,' and the old man leant his grey head on Mile's

  shoulder.'LetuskissandmakethesignoftheCross.IntheNameoftheFather

  andoftheSonandoftheHolyGhost.IntheNameoftheFatherandoftheSon

  andoftheHolyGhost.Amen.'

  Sohecrossedhimselfandtheyouthinwordsonly,fortheirhandswerebound,

  quickly,fortheexecutionerhadalreadyarrived.

  The headsman, who was one of the soldiers, rapidly finished his task and the

  firstcomers,whodescendedthehillsbecauseofmarketdayandwentacrossthe

  bridge,couldseethetwoheadsplacedonfreshstakesontheblockhouseanda

  bloodstained place, sprinkled with gravel and smoothed down, on the bridge

  wheretheyhadbeenbeheaded.

  Thustheblockhousebeganitswork.

  Fromthatdayonwardsallwhoweresuspectedorguiltyofinsurrection,whether

  caught on the bridge itself or somewhere on the frontier, were brought to

  the kapia. Oncetheretheyrarelygotawayalive.Theheadsofthoseconnected

  with the revolt, or simply those who were unlucky, were exposed on stakes

  placed around the blockhouse and their bodies thrown from the bridge into the

  Drinaifnooneappearedtoran
somtheheadlesscorpse.

  The revolt, with shorter or longer periods of truce, lasted for years and in the

  courseofthoseyearsthenumberofthosethrownintotherivertodriftdownto

  'look for another, better and more reasonable land' was very great. Chance had

  decreed, that chance that overwhelms the weak and unmindful, that these two

  simplemen,thispairfromthemassofunlearned,poverty-strickenandinnocent,

  shouldheadtheprocession,sinceitisoftensuchmenwhoarefirstcaughtupin

  the whirlpool of great events and whom this whirlpool irresistibly attracts and

  sucksdown.ThustheyouthMileandtheoldmanJelisije,beheadedatthesame

  moment and in the same place, united as brothers, first decorated with their

  headsthemilitaryblockhouseonthe kapia, whichfromthenonwards,aslongas

  the revolt lasted, was practically never without such decoration. So these two,

  whom no one before then had ever seen or heard of, remained together in memory, a memory clearer and most lasting than that of so many other, more

  important,victims.

  So the kapia disappeared under this bloodstained blockhouse of ill repute and withitvanishedalsoallmeetings,conversations,songsandenjoyment.Eventhe

  Turks passed that way unwillingly while only those Serbs who were forced to

  crossedthebridgehastilyandwithloweredheads.

  Aroundthewoodenblockhouse,whoseplankswithtimebecamefirstgreyand

  thenblack,wasquicklycreatedthatatmospherethatalwayssurroundsbuildings

  inpermanentusebythearmy.Thesoldiers'washinghungfromthebeamsand

  rubbish was tipped from the windows into the Drina, dirty water and all the

  refuseandfilthofbarracklife.Onthewhitecentralpierofthebridgeremained

  longdirtystreakswhichcouldbeseenfromafar.

  The job of headsman was for long always carried out by the same soldier. He

  wasafatanddark-skinnedAnatolianwithdullyellowisheyesandnegroidlips

  in a greasy and earthen-coloured face, who seemed always to be smiling, with

  thesmileofawell-nourishedandgood-humouredman.HewascalledHairuddin

  andwassoonknowntothewholetownandevenbeyondthefrontier.Hecarried