The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com Page 30

orceasingtosmile,alsoblinkedquicklyandimperceptibly,whichmeant:

  'Allright,thankyou;keepaneyeonit!'

  There remained only the question of what the expelled guest had drunk or

  broken. That sum Lotte wrote off in Gustav's accounts when they made up the

  accountsfortheday,whichtheydidlateatnightbehindaredscreen.

  XV

  Thereweremanywaysbywhichtheturbulentandskilfullyexpelledguest,ifhe

  were not immediately taken to prison from outside the hotel, could recover his

  spiritsandhisstrengthaftertheunpleasantnessthathadbefallenhim.Hecould

  tottertothe kapia and refresh himself there in the cool breeze from the waters andthesurroundinghills;orhecouldgotoZarije'sinnwhichwasonlyalittle

  fartheron,inthemainsquare,andtherefreelyandwithouthindrancegrindhis

  teeth, threaten and curse the invisible hand that had so painfully and definitely

  thrownhimoutofthehotel.There,afterthesolidcitizensandartisanswhohad

  only come to drink their 'evening nip' or chat with their fellows had dispersed,

  therewasnoscandal,norcouldtherebe,foreveryonedrankasmuchasheliked

  orasmuchashecouldpayfor,andeveryonedidandsaidwhatheliked.There

  wasnoquestionofaskingaguesttospendmoneyanddrinkupandatthesame

  timebehaveasifwassober.Thoughifanyonewentbeyondduemeasurethere

  was always the solid and taciturn Zarije himself whose scowling and bad-

  tempered face discouraged even the most rabid drunkards and brawlers. He

  quietenedthemwithaslowmovementofhisheavyhandandafewwordsinhis

  gruffvoice:

  'Heyyouthere!Dropit!Enoughofyourfunandgames!'Buteveninthatold-

  fashioned inn where there were no separate rooms or waiters, for there was

  always some fellow or other from the Sanjak to serve the drinks, new habits

  mingledwondrouslywiththeold.

  Withdrawn into the farthest corners the notorious addicts of plum brandy sat

  silent.Theywereloversofshadowandsilence,sittingovertheirplumbrandyas

  if it were something sacred, hating movement and commotion. With burnt-out

  stomachs, inflamed livers and disordered nerves, unshaven and uncared for,

  indifferenttoeverythingelseintheworldandaburdeneventothemselves,they

  sat there and drank and, while drinking, waited until that magical light which

  shinesforthosecompletelygivenovertodrinkshouldat last burst upon them,

  that joy for which it is sweet to suffer, to decay and finally to die, but which unfortunatelyappearsmoreandmorerarelyandshinesmoreandmoreweakly.

  Themostnoisyandtalkativewerethebeginners,forthemostpartsonsoflocal

  worthies,youngmeninthosedangerousyearswhichmarkthefirststepsonthe

  road to ruin, paying that tribute which all must pay to the vices of drink and

  idleness, some for shorter, others for longer periods. Most of them did not remainlongonthisroadbutturnedawayfromit,foundedfamiliesanddevoted

  themselvestothriftandlabour,tothedailylifeofacitizenwithvicessuppressed

  and passions moderated. Only an insignificant minority, accursed and

  preordained,continuedonthatroadforever,choosingalcoholinsteadoflife,that

  shortest and most deceptive illusion in this short and deceptive life; they lived

  for alcohol and were consumed by it, until they became sullen, dull and puffy

  likethosewhosatinthecornersintheshadows.

  Sincethenewwaysoflifebegan,withoutdisciplineorconsideration,withmore

  livelytradeandbetterwages,aswellasSumbotheGipsywhohadaccompanied

  all the townsmen's orgies for the past thirteen years with his zurla, or peasant clarinet, there now came often to the inn Franz Furlan with his accordion. He

  was a thin reddish man with a gold earring in his right ear, a woodcarver by

  profession, but too great a lover of wine and music. The soldiers and foreign

  workmenlovedtolistentohim.

  Itoftenhappenedthata guslar(aplayerontheone-stringedfiddle)couldalsobe

  found there, usually some Montenegrin, thin as a hermit, poorly dressed but

  proud in bearing, famished but ashamed, proud but forced to accept alms. He

  wouldsitforsometimeinacorner,noticeablywithdrawn,orderingnothingand

  looking straight in front of him, pretending to notice nothing and to be

  indifferent to everything. None the less it could be seen that he had other

  thoughts and intentions than his appearance revealed. Within him wrestled

  invisibly many contrary and irreconcilable feelings, especially the contrast

  between the greatness that he felt in his soul and the misery and weakness of

  whathewasabletoexpressandrevealbeforeothers.Thereforehewasalwaysa

  littleconfusedandembarrassed.Proudlyandpatientlyhewaitedforsomeoneto

  ask for a song from him and then hesitantly took his gusle out of his bag, breathedonit,lookedtoseeifhisbowhadbeenslackenedbydamp,andtuned

  up,allthewhilequiteclearlywantingtoattractaslittleattentionaspossibleto

  these technical preliminaries. When he first passed the bow across the string it

  was still a wavering sound, uneven as a rutted road. But just as somehow or

  other one passes such a road, so he too through his nose with closed mouth

  began softly to accompany the sound and complete and harmonize it with his

  voice. When at last the two sounds merged into a single melancholy even note

  whichwoveanaccompanimentforhissong,themiserablesingerchangedasif

  by magic and all his troubled hesitation disappeared, his inner contradictions

  calmed and all his outer cares forgotten. The guslar suddenly raised his head,

  like a man who throws off the mask of humility, no longer having need to conceal who and what he was, and began unexpectedly in a strong voice his

  introductoryverses:

  'Thesprigofbasilbegantoweep,

  Ogentledew,whyfallyounotuponme?'

  The guests, who until then had pretended not to notice and had been chatting

  together, all fell silent. At these first verses all of them, Turks and Christians alike,feltthesameshiverofundefineddesire,ofthirstforthatdewwhichlived

  in themselves as in the song, without distinction or difference. But when

  immediatelyafterwardsthe guslar continuedsoftly:

  'Butitwasnotthesprigofbasil...'

  and lifting the veil from his metaphor began to enumerate the real desires of

  Turks and Serbs concealed behind these words of dew and basil, there arose

  divided feelings among the listeners which led them along opposing paths

  according to what each felt within himself and what each desired or believed.

  Butnonetheless,bysomeunwrittenrule,theyallquietlylistenedtotheendof

  the song and, patient and enduring, did not reveal their mood, but only looked

/>   into the glasses before them where, on the shining surface of the plum brandy,

  theyseemedtoseethevictoriessodesired,thefights,theheroes,thegloryand

  theglitter,suchasexistednowhereintheworld.

  Itwasliveliestintheinnwhentheyoungermen,sonsofrichlocalworthies,sat

  downtodrink.ThentherewasworkforSumboandFranzFurlanandĆorkanthe

  One-EyedandSahatheGipsy.

  Sahawasasquintinggipsywoman,aboldviragowhodrankwithanyonewho

  couldpay,butnevergotdrunk.NoorgycouldbeimaginedwithoutSahaandher

  meatyjokes.

  The men who made merry with them changed, but Ćorkan, Sumbo and Saha

  werealwaysthesame.Theylivedonmusic,jokesandplumbrandy.Theirwork

  layinthetime-wastingofothersandtheirrewardinothers'spendings.Theirtrue

  lifewasatnight,especiallyinthoseunusualhourswhenhealthyandhappymen

  areasleep,whenplumbrandyandhithertorestrainedinstinctscreateanoisyand

  glittering mood and unexpected enthusiasms which are always the same yet

  seem always new and unimaginably beautiful. They were close-mouthed paid

  witnessesbeforewhomeveryonedaredtoshowhimselfashereallywas,orin

  the local expression 'to show the blood beneath the skin', without having

  afterwards either to repent or be ashamed; with them and in their presence everythingwaspermittedwhichwouldbeconsideredscandalousbytherestof

  theworldandathomewouldbesinfulandimpossible.Alltheserich,respected

  fathers and sons of good families could, in their name and to their account, be

  foramomentwhattheydidnotdareshowthemselves,atleastatcertaintimes

  andatleastinapartoftheirbeing.Thecruelcouldmockatthemorbeatthem,

  the cowards could shout insults at them, the prodigal could reward them

  generously;thevainboughttheirflattery,themelancholicandmoodytheirjokes

  and pleasantries, the debauched their boldness or their services. They were an

  eternal but unrecognized need of the townsmen whose spiritual lives were

  stunted and deformed. They were rather in the position of artists in a milieu

  whereartisunknown.Therearealwayssuchpeopleinatown,singers,jesters,

  buffoons, eccentrics. When one of them grew threadbare or died, another

  replaced him, for besides the notorious and well known there developed fresh

  onestoshortenthehoursandmakegaythelivesofnewgenerations.Butmuch

  timewouldhavetopassbeforesuchanotherappearedasSalkoĆorkantheOne-

  Eyed.

  When, after the Austrian occupation, the first circus had come to the town

  Ćorkan had fallen in love with the tight-rope walker and because of her had

  behavedsomadlyandeccentricallythathehadbeenbeatenandsenttoprison,

  andthelocalworthieswhohadheedlesslyledhimastrayandencouragedhimto

  losehisheadhadhadtopayheavyfines.

  Some years had passed since then, the people had grown accustomed to many

  thingsandthearrivalofstrangeplayers,clownsandconjurersnolongerexcited

  suchuniversalandcontagioussensationashadthefirstcircus,butĆorkan'slove

  forthedancerwasstillremembered.

  Foralongtimehehadwastedhisstrengthindoingoddjobsbydayandbynight

  helping the local begs and rich men to forget their cares in drinking and

  brawling. So it went from generation to generation. As some sowed their wild

  oats and withdrew, got married and settled down, other and younger ones who

  wanted to sow theirs took their places. Now Ćorkan was washed out and old

  beforehistime;hewasfarmoreoftenintheinnthanatworkandlivednotso

  much from what he earned as from free drinks and snacks given him by the

  customers.

  On rainy autumn nights the guests in Zarije's inn were overcome by boredom.

  Their thoughts came slowly and were all concerned with melancholy and

  unpleasant matters; speech came with difficulty and sounded empty and irritating, faces were cold, absent or mistrustful. Not even plum brandy could

  enliven and improve their mood. On a bench in a corner of the inn Ćorkan

  drowsed overcome by fatigue, the moist heat and the first glasses of plum

  brandy;itwasrainingcatsanddogs.

  Thenoneofthesullenguestsatthemaintablementioned,asifbychance,the

  dancerfromthecircusandCorkan'sunhappylove.Theyallglancedatthecorner

  butĆorkandidnotbudgeandpretendedtogoondozing.Letthemsaywhatthey

  liked; he had firmly decided that very morning, after a heavy night's drinking,

  nottoreplytotheirjeeringandmockingandnottoletthemplaycrudejokeson

  himassomeofthemhaddonethenightbeforeinthatveryinn.

  'Ibelievethattheystillwritetoeachother,'saidone.

  'Soyousee,thebastardwriteslove-letterstoonewhileanotherisonherkneesto

  himhere!'retortedanother.

  Ćorkan forced himself to remain indifferent but the conversation irritated and

  excited him as if the sun were burning his face; his only eye seemed as if it

  forceditselftoopenandallthemusclesofhisfacestre'tchedintoahappylaugh.

  Hewasnolongerabletomaintainhismotionlesssilence.Atfirsthewavedhis

  handinacasualandindifferentgestureandthensaid:

  'Allthatisover,overlongago.'

  'Allover,isit?WhatawretchthisfellowĆorkanis!Onegirlispiningawayfor

  him somewhere far away while another is going mad for him here. One is all

  over,thisoneherewillsoonbethesameandthenitwillbetheturnofathird.

  What sort of a fellow are you, you wretch, to turn their heads one after the

  other?'

  Ćorkan leapt to his feet and approached the table. He had forgotten his

  drowsinessandfatigueandhisdecisionnottobedrawnintoconversation.With

  handonheartheassuredthegueststhatithadnotbeenhisfaultandthathewas

  not so great a lover and seducer as they made out. His clothes were still damp

  andhisfacestreakedanddirty,forthecolourofhischeapredfezran,butitwas

  lightedupwithasmileofalcoholicbliss.Hesatdownnearthetable.

  'RumforĆorkan!'shoutedSantoPapo,afatandgreasyJew,sonofMenteand

  grandson of Morde Papo, leading hardware merchants. Corkan had recently

  beguntodrinkruminsteadofplumbrandywheneverhecouldgetholdofit.The

  newdrinkwasasifmadeforsuchashe;itwasstronger,quickerineffectand pleasantlydifferentfromplumbrandy.Itcameinsmallflasksoftwo decis each,

  withalabelshowingayoungmulattogirlwithlusciouslipsandfieryeyeswith

  awidestrawhatonherhead,greatgoldenearringsandtheinscriptionbeneath:

  Jamaica. (That was something exotic for a Bosnian in the last stages of

  alcoholismborderingondelirium.ItwasmadeinSlavonskiBrodbythefirmof

  Eisler,SirowatkaandCo.)Whenhelookedatthepictureoftheyoungmulatto

  girl, �
�orkan also felt the fire and aroma of the new drink and at once thought

  that he would never have been able to know this earthly treasure had he died

  even a year before. 'And how many such wonderful things there are in this

  world!' He felt deeply moved at this thought and therefore always waited for a

  few pensive moments before he opened a bottle of rum. And after the

  satisfactionofthatthoughtcamethedelightofthedrinkitself.

  Thistimetooheheldthebottlebeforehisfaceasifconversingwithitunheard.

  Buthewhohadfirstmanagedtodrawhimintoconversationaskedhimsharply:

  'Whyareyoudreamingaboutthatgirl,youwretch;areyougoingtotakeheras

  yourwifeorplayaboutwithherasyoudidwithalltheothers?'

  ThegirlinquestionwasacertainPašafromDušče.Shewastheprettiestgirlin

  thetown,poorandfatherless,aseamstressaswasalsohermother.

  During the countless picnics and drinking bouts of the past year the young

  bachelors had talked and sung much about Paša and her inaccessible beauty.

  ListeningtothemĆorkanhadgraduallyandimperceptiblybecomeenthusiastic

  too,hehimselfdidnotknowhoworwhy.Sotheybegantoteasehimabouther.

  One Friday they took Ćorkan with them for asikovanje (to flirt with the town girls in the Turkish manner) when from behind the courtyard gates or the

  windowlatticesmuffledgigglescouldbeheardandthewhisperingoftheunseen

  girls within. From one courtyard where Paša and her friends lived a sprig of

  tansy was thrown over the wall and fell at Ćorkan's feet. He hesitated in

  confusion,notwantingtotreadontheflowerandundecidedwhethertopickit

  up.Theyouthswhohadbroughthimclappedhimonthebackandcongratulated

  him that Paša had chosen him from so many and had shown him greater

  attentionthananyoneelsehadeverobtainedfromher.

  That night they had gone drinking beside the river under the walnut trees at

  Mezalin and continued until dawn. Corkan sat beside the fire, solemn and

  withdrawn, now joyous, now pensive. That night they would not let him serve

  thedrinksorbusyhimselfpreparingcoffeeandsnacks.