The Bridge on the Drina - PDFDrive.com Page 41

  rememberforever.Andwheneverythingiswithered,broken,soiled,humiliated,

  disintegrated and destroyed about you, then you will remain alone in the

  wildernessyouhaveyourselfcreated,facetofacewithyourvanityandyouwill

  have nothing to offer it. Then you will devour yourself, but that will not help

  you,foryourvanityaccustomedtoricherfoodwilldespiseandrejectyou.That is what you are, though you may seem different in the eyes of most men and

  thoughyouthinkdifferentlyofyourself.ButIknow.'

  Glasičaninceasedsuddenly.

  The freshness of the night could already be felt on the kapia and the silence spread,accompaniedbytheeternalroarofthewaters.Theyhadnotevennoticed

  whenthemusicfromthebankhadceased.Bothyouthshadcompletelyforgotten

  wheretheywereandwhattheyweredoing.Eachhadbeencarriedawaybyhis

  own thoughts as only youth can be. The jealous and unhappy 'cube-measurer'

  hadspokenonlyofwhathehadsomanytimesthoughtoverpassionately,deeply

  andintensely,butforwhichhehadneverbeforebeenabletofindsuitablewords

  and expressions and which that night had come easily and eloquently, bitterly

  and exaltedly. Stiković had listened, motionlessly looking at the white plaque

  withtheinscriptionasifithadbeenacinemascreen.Everywordhadhithome.

  He felt every harsh comment but he no longer found in all that this scarcely

  visiblefriendbesidehimhadsaidanyinsultoranydanger.

  Ontheotherhand,itseemedtohimthatwitheverywordofGlasičaninhegrew,

  andthatheflewoninvisiblewings,swiftandunheard,exultinganddaring,high

  above all men on this earth and their ties, laws and feelings, alone, proud and

  great, and happy or with some feeling akin to happiness. He flew above

  everything. That voice, those words of his rival, were only the sound of the

  watersandtheroarofaninvisible,lesserworldfarbelowhim:itmatteredlittle

  to him what it was, what it thought and what it said, for he flew above it as a bird.

  ThemomentarysilenceofGlasičaninseemedtobringthembothtotheirsenses.

  They did not dare to look at one another. God alone knows in what form the

  quarrel would have continued had there not appeared on the bridge a crowd of

  drunkardscomingfromthemarketplace,shoutingloudlyandsingingsnatchesof

  songs.Loudestamongthemwasatenorwhosanginfalsettoanancientsong:

  'Thouartwiseasthouartlovely.LovelyFataAvdagina!...'

  They recognized the voices of a number of young merchants' and landowners'

  sons. Some were walking slowly and sedately, others wavered and tottered.

  Fromtheirnoisyjestsitcouldbeconcludedthattheyhadcomefrom'Underthe

  Poplars'.

  More than fifteen years earlier, even before the building of the railway had

  begun,acertainHungarianandhiswifehadsettledinthetown.Hewascalled TerdikandhiswifeJulka.ShespokeSerbianforshehadbeenborninNoviSad.

  It soon became known that they had come with the intention of opening a

  businessinthetownforwhichthelocalpeoplehadnoname.Theyopenediton

  the outskirts of the town, under the tall poplars which grew on the Stražište

  slopes,inanoldTurkishhousewhichtheycompletelyrebuilt.

  This was the town's house of shame. All day long the windows remained

  shuttered. As dusk fell a white acetylene lamp was lit in the doorway which

  burnedthereallnight.Songsandthetinkleofanautomaticpianoechoedfrom

  the ground floor. Young men and dissolute idlers bandied about among

  themselvesthenamesofthegirlswhomTerdikhadbroughtandkeptthere.At

  firsttherewerefourofthem:Irma,Ilona,FriedaandAranka.

  EveryFriday'Julka'sgirls'couldbeseengoingintwocabsuptothehospitalfor

  theirweeklyinspection.Theywereheavilyrougedandpowdered,withflowers

  in their hats and with long-handled sunshades with streamers of floating lace.

  Whenthesecabswentby,thewomenofthetownhustledtheirdaughtersoutof

  sightandavertedtheireyeswithmixedfeelingsofshame,disgustandpity.

  Whenworkbeganontherailwayandtherewasaninfluxofmoneyandworkers,

  thenumberofgirlswasincreased.BesidestheoldTurkishhouse,Terdikbuilta

  new 'planned' one with a red-tiled roof which could be seen from afar. There

  werethreerooms;thegeneralroom,the extrazimmer andtheofficers'salon.In

  eachofthemweredifferentpricesanddifferentguests.At'UnderthePoplars',as

  itwasknowninthetown,thesonsandgrandsonsofthosewhohadoncedrunk

  atZarije'sinn,orlateratLotte's,couldleavetheirinheritedorhard-wonmoney.

  The grossest practical jokes, the most notorious quarrels, wild drinking parties

  andsentimentaldramastookplacethere.Manypersonalandfamilymisfortunes

  hadtheiroriginsinthathouse.

  The centre of that group of drunkards who had spent the first part of the night

  'Under the Poplars' and had now come to cool off on the kapia was a certain Nikola Pecikoza, a silly good-natured youth whom they made drunk and on

  whomtheyplayedtheirjokes.

  Beforethedrunkardsreachedthe kapia they halted by the parapet. A loud and

  drunkenargumentcouldbeheard.NikolaPecikozabettwolitresofwinethathe

  wouldwalkalongthestoneparapettotheendofthebridge.Thebetwastaken

  andtheyoungmanclimbedontotheparapetandsetoutwitharmsoutspread,

  placingonefootcarefullybeforetheotherlikeasleepwalker.Whenhereached

  the kapia henoticedthetwolatevisitors;hesaidnothingtothembuthumming some song and wavering in his drunkenness continued on his dangerous way,

  while the merry party accompanied him. His great shadow in the weak

  moonlight danced on the bridge and broke into fragments on the opposite

  parapet.

  The drunkards passed by in a frenzy of disconnected shouts and stupid

  comments.Thetwo youngmenrose and,withoutsaying goodnight,eachwent

  hisownwaytohisownhouse.

  Glasičanin disappeared into the darkness towards the left bank where was the

  path which led to his house up at Okolište. Stiković made his way with slow

  steps in the opposite direction towards the marketplace. He walked slowly and

  irresolutely. He did not want to leave that place which was lighter and fresher

  than in the town. He halted by the parapet. He felt the need to catch hold of

  something,toleanonsomething.

  ThemoonhadsetbehindtheVidovaGora.Leaningonthestoneparapetatthe

  endofthebridgetheyoungmanlookedlongatthehugeshadowsandfewlights

  ofhisnativetownasifhenowsawitforthefirsttime.Onlytwowindowswere

  stilllightedintheofficers'mess.Themusiccouldnolongerbeheard.Probably

  the unhappy lovers were there, the doctor and the colonel's lady, holding their

  discussionsonmusic
andonloveorabouttheirpersonalfateswhichwouldnot

  permitthemtobeatpeacewiththemselvesorwithoneanother.

  FromthespotwhereStikovićwasnowstandinghecouldseethatonewindow

  wasstilllightedinLotte'shotel.Theyoungmanlookedatthoselightedwindows

  oneachsideofthebridgeasifheexpectedsomethingfromthem.Hewastired

  out and melancholy. The vertiginous walk of that idiot Pecikoza suddenly

  remindedhimofhisearliestchildhood,whenonhiswaytoschoolhehadseen

  inthemistofawinter'smorningthesquatfigureofČorkandancingonthatsame

  parapet.Everymemoryofhischildhoodarousedsorrowanduneasinessinhim.

  That sentiment of fateful and exalted greatness and universal flight above

  everyoneandeverythingwhichGlasičanin'sbitterandfierywordshadexcitedin

  himwasnowlost.Itseemedtohimthathehadsuddenlyfallenfromtheheights

  andthathewascrawlingonthedarkenedearthwitheveryoneelse.Thememory

  of what had happened with the schoolmistress, and should not have happened,

  tormentedhimasifsomeoneelsehaddoneitinhisname;sotoodidthearticle

  whichnowseemedtohimweakandfulloffaults,asifanotherhadwrittenitand

  had published it in his name and against his will. He thought of the long

  conversation with Glasičanin which now all of a sudden seemed to him full of maliceandhate,ofbitterinsultsandrealperils.

  He shivered inwardly and from the chill which arose from the river. As if

  suddenlyawakenedhenoticedthatthetwowindowsintheofficers'messwere

  no longer lighted. The last guests were leaving the building. He could hear the

  clinkoftheirswordsastheycrossedthedarkenedsquareandthesoundofloud,

  artificialchatter.Theyoungmanregretfullylefttheparapetand,lookingatthe

  solitarywindowstillalightinthehotel,thelastlightinthesleepingtown,made

  hiswayslowlytowardshissimplehouseupthereatMejdan.

  XX

  Theonlylightedwindowinthehotel,whichremainedasthelastsignoflifethat

  nightinthetown,wasthatsmallwindowonthefirstfloorwhereLotte'sroom

  was. Even at night Lotte sat there at her overladen table. It was just as it had been earlier, more than twenty years before, when she had come to this little

  roomtosnatchamomentofrespitefromthebustleandnoiseofthehotel.Only

  noweverythingdownstairswasdarkandquiet.

  At ten o'clock that night Lotte had withdrawn to her room to sleep. But before

  shelaydownshewentovertothewindowtobreatheinthefreshnessfromthe

  riverandtotakealastglanceatthatarchofthebridgewhichwastheonlyand

  eternally the same view from her window. Then she remembered some old

  account and sat down to look for it. Once she began looking through her

  accounts she became absorbed and remained for more than two hours at her

  table.

  Midnight had long passed while Lotte, wakeful and absorbed, entered figure

  afterfigureandturnedpaperafterpaper.

  Lotte was tired. In the daytime, in conversation and at work, she was still

  animatedandtalkative,butatnightwhenshewasaloneshefeltalltheweightof

  heryearsandherfatigue.Shehadgrownold.Ofheronetimebeautyonlytraces

  remained. She had grown thinner and yellow in the face; her hair was without

  lustreandwasgrowingthinonherscalp,andherteeth,onceshiningandstrong,

  wereyellowandshowedgaps.Theglanceofherblackandstillshiningeyeswas

  hardandattimessad.

  Lotte was tired, but not with that blessed and sweet tiredness which follows

  heavyworkandgreatgains,suchasatonetimehaddrivenhertosearchforrest

  and respite in that room. Old age had come upon her and the times were no

  longergood.

  She would not have been able to express in words, nor could she explain it to

  herself,butshefeltateverystepthatthetimeswereoutofjoint,atanyratefor

  onewhohadalwayskeptonlyher own good and that of her family before her

  eyes.When,thirtyyearsbefore,shehadcometoBosniaandbegunworkthere,

  lifehadseemedallofapiece.Everyonewasmovinginthesamedirectionasshe

  was;workandfamily.Everyonewasinhisrightplaceandtherewasaplacefor

  everyone. And over everyone reigned one order and one law, an established orderandastrictlaw.SohadtheworldthenappearedtoLotte.Noweverything

  had changed and was topsy-turvy. Men were divided and separated without, it

  seemedtoher,rhymeorreason.Thelawofprofitandloss,thatdivinelawwhich

  hadalwayscontrolledhumanactivities,seemedasifitwerenolongervalid,for

  so many men worked, spoke or wrote about things of which she could not see

  theaimorthesenseandwhichcouldonlyendinmisfortuneanddamage.Life

  was bursting asunder, was crumbling, was disintegrating. It seemed to her that

  thepresentgenerationattachedmoreimportancetoitsviewsonlifethantolife

  itself. It seemed to her mad and completely incomprehensible, yet it was so.

  Thereforelifewaslosingitsvalueandwastingawayinmerewords.Lottesaw

  thisclearlyandfeltitateverystep.

  Her business affairs, which at one time had seemed to gambol before her eyes

  likeaflockofspringlambs,nowlayinertanddeadlikethegreattombstonesin

  theJewishcemetery.Forthepasttenyearsthehotelhaddonelittlebusiness.The

  forestsaroundthetownhadbeencutdownandfellingwasmovingfartherand

  fartheraway,andwithitthebestofthehotel'scustomersandthegreaterpartof

  itsprofits.Thatshamelessandinsolentboor,Terdik,hadopenedhishouse'under

  the poplars' and enticed away many of Lotte's guests, offering them easily and

  immediatelyallthattheyhadneverbeenabletogetinherhotelhowevermuch

  theypaid.Lottehadlongrevoltedagainstthisunfairandshamelesscompetition

  andsaidthatthelastdayshadcome,thosedaysinwhichlawandorderexisted

  no longer or the chance of making an honest living. At first she had bitterly

  referredtoTerdikas'thewhoremaster';buthehadbroughtherbeforethecourts

  andLottehadbeensentencedtopayafinefordefamationofcharacter.Buteven

  now she never referred to him by any other term, though she took care before

  whomshewasspeaking.Thenewofficers'messhaditsownrestaurant,acellar

  ofgoodwinesanditsownguestroomswheredistinguishedvisitorscouldbeput

  up.Gustav,thesullenandbad-temperedbutskilfulandreliableGustav,hadleft

  the hotel after many years of service and opened his own café in the most

  frequentedpartofthemarketplace,andsoinsteadofacolleaguehehadbecome

  acompetitor.Thechoralsocietyandthevariousreading-roomswhichhadbeen

  openedinthetowninthepastfewyearshadtheirowncafésandattractedmany

  guests.

  Therewasnolongertheformeranimationeitherinthemainroomor,stillless,

  in
the extrazimmer. An occasional unmarried civil servant had his lunch there, readthenewspapersandtookcoffee.AlibegPašić,thetaciturnandimpassioned

  friend of Lotte's youth, still went there every afternoon. Still as careful and discreetasever,bothinspeechandactions,stillcorrectandcarefullydressed,he

  hadgrowngreyandponderous.Hiscoffeewasservedwithsaccharinebecause

  of the severe diabetes from which he had been suffering for years. He smoked

  quietlyand,silentasever,listenedtoLotte'schatter.Whenthetimecameherose

  justasquietlyandsilentlyandwenthometoCrnče.Therewasalsoanotherdaily

  visitor,Lotte'sneighbourPavleRanković.Hehadlongleftoffwearingnational

  costumeandnowworethe'tight'civiliandress,buthestillstucktohisshallow

  redfez.Healwaysworeastarchedshirtwithastiffcollar,andcuffsonwhichhe

  noteddownfiguresandaccounts.Hehadlongagosucceededintakingoverthe

  leading place in the Višegrad trading community. His position was by now

  consolidatedandassured,butnotevenhewaswithouthiscaresanddifficulties.

  Likealltheoldermenwhohadacertainamountofpropertyhewasbewildered

  bythenewtimesandtheclamorousonrushofnewideasandnewwaysoflife,

  thought and expression. All these things were embraced for him by the single

  word 'polities'. It was those 'politics' that confused and angered him and

  embitteredthoseyearswhichshouldhavebeenyearsofrespiteandsatisfaction

  after so much work and thrift and renunciation. He in no way wanted to stand

  asideorwithdrawhimselffromthemajorityofhisfellowcountrymen,butatthe

  sametimehehadnowishtocomeintoconflictwiththeauthoritieswithwhom

  hewishedtoremainatpeaceandatleastoutwardlyinagreement.Butthatwas

  difficult, almost impossible, to achieve. He could not even understand his own

  sonsasheshould.Likealltherestoftheyoungergenerationtheyweresimply

  baffling and incomprehensible to him; yet many older people either from

  necessity or weakness followed their example. Their bearing, behaviour and

  actions seemed to Pavle rebellious as if they thought that to live and die in