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  teacher.Heliftedthedoor-shutterenoughtolethimgetinsideandthenletitfall,

  sothatfromtheoutsidetheshopappearedtobeshut.Aloneinthedarkness,he

  wriggled his way into that little room behind the shop where he had so often

  taken refuge from the obtrusive world, from conversations that poisoned and

  boredhim,fromhisfamilyandfromhisownworries.Hesatdownonthesmall

  hard chair and crossed his legs under him and sighed. His inner self was still

  troubledbyoutwardimpressions,buthesoonbecamecalmandbalancedagain.

  Thenarrowroomquicklyfilledwiththewarmthofhisbodyandthe hodja felt

  that sweetness of solitude, peace and forgetfulness which made of the close,

  dark,dustylittleroomaplaceofendlessparadisiacalgardenswithgreenbanks

  betweenwhichmurmuredinvisiblewaters.

  In the darkness and closeness of this narrow space he could still feel the

  freshness of the morning rain and the sunrise outside. Outside there was an

  unusual silence which, for a wonder, was not broken by a single shot, a single

  voiceorfootfall.Alihodjawasfloodedwithafeelingofhappinessandgratitude.

  These few planks, he thought to himself, were enough, with God's help, to

  shelterandsaveatruebeliever,likesomewondership,fromeverymiseryand

  care to which there seemed no solution and from the guns with which the two

  enemies,bothinfidelandeachworsethantheother,werefightingtheirduelover

  his head. There had not been such a calm since the opening of hostilities,

  the hodja thought joyously, and silence is sweet and good; with it returned, at least for a moment, a little of that real human life which had recently grown

  weaker and weaker and which, under the thunder of the infidel guns, had

  completelydisappeared.Silenceisforprayer;itisitselflikeaprayer.

  Atthatmomentthe hodja feltthestoolunderhimriseupwardandlifthimlikea

  toy; his 'sweet' silence was shattered and suddenly transformed into a dull roar

  and a great smashing that filled the air, tore at the eardrums and became

  universal and unbearable. The shelves on the wall opposite cracked and the

  thingsonthemleaptathimasheatthem.Ah,shriekedthe hodja: orratherhe

  onlythoughtthatheshriekedforhehimselfnolongerhadvoiceorhearing,even

  ashenolongerhadanyplaceontheearth.Everythingwasdeafenedbysound,

  shattered,tornupbytherootsandwhirledabouthim.Improbableasitseemed,

  hefeltasifthelittletongueoflandbetweenthetworiversonwhichthetown

  wasbuilthadbeenpluckedoutoftheearthwithaterrificnoiseandthrowninto

  spaceinwhichitwasstillflying;thatthetworivershadbeentornoutoftheir

  bedsanddrawnupwardtotheskies,onlytofalloncemorewithalltheirmassof

  watersintothevoid,liketwowaterfallswhichhadnotyetbeenhaltedorbroken.

  Wasnotthis kiyamet, thatlastDayofJudgmentofwhichbooksandlearnedmen

  spoke,inwhichthislyingworldwouldbeburntupinthetwinklingofaneye,

  likeonestubsoutaspark?ButwhatneedhadGod,whoseglancewasenoughto

  createandtoextinguishworlds,withsuchachaos?Thiswasnotdivine.Butif

  not, how had human hands such power? How could he, so astonished, so

  deceived,sooverwhelmedbythisterribleblowwhichseemedtodestroy,break

  upandsuffocateeverythingdowntoman'sverythought,giveananswertothis?

  Hedidnotknowwhatpoweritwasthatborehimup,hedidnotknowwherehe

  wasflyingnorwherehewouldstop,butheknewthathe,Alihodja,hadalways

  and in everything been right. Ah, shrieked the hodja once again, but this time withpainforthatsameforcethathadliftedhimupnowthrewhimroughlyand

  violently back again, but not to the place where he had been but to the floor

  between the wooden wall and the overturned stool. He felt a dull blow on his

  headandapainunderhiskneesandinhisback.Nowhecouldtellonlybyear,

  likeasoundseparateanddistinctfromtheuniversalthundering,thatsomething

  heavy had struck the roof of the shop and that, there behind the partition, had

  begunaclashingandbreakingofwoodenandmetalobjectsasifallthethingsin

  the shop had come alive, were flying about and colliding in mid-air. But

  Alihodjahadalreadylostconsciousnessandlaymotionlessinhislittleroom,as

  ifitwereindeedhiscoffin.

  Outsideitwasbynowfullday.

  Hecouldnothavesaidevenapproximatelyhowlonghelaythere.Whatroused

  himoutofhisdeepunconsciousnesswasalightandatthesametimethesound

  of voices. He came to himself with difficulty. He knew very well that he was

  lying there in complete darkness and yet through the narrow entrance a ray of

  lightreachedhimfromtheshop.Herememberedhowtheworldhadbeenfilled

  with sound and uproar in which a man's hearing was deafened and his entrails

  melted within him. Now there was silence once more, but no longer like that

  silence that had seemed to him so sweet before the cataclysm that had thrown

  himdownwherehewasnow,butlikesomeevilsisterofit.Howdeepwasthis

  silencehebestrealizedbysomeweakvoiceswhich,asiffromagreatdistance,

  wereshoutinghisname.

  Realizing that he was alive and still in his little room, the hodja extricated himselffromthemassofobjectsthathadfallenontopofhimfromtheshelves,

  androse,groaningcontinuallyandutteringcriesofpain.Nowhecouldhearthe

  voicesfromthestreetclearly.

  He went down and crawled through the narrow opening into the shop. It was

  litteredwithfallenandbrokenobjects,allinthefulllightofday.Theshopwas

  wideopen,forthedoor-shutter,whichhehadleftleaningbutunlocked,hadbeen

  knockedoverbytheblast.

  Inthechaosanddisorderofscatteredgoodsanddamagedobjectsthatlayinthe

  centre of the shop was a heavy stone about the size of a man's head.

  The hodja looked up. Clearly the stone had flown through the air, breaking through the weak roof of wooden shingles. Alihodja looked again at the stone,

  white and porous, smooth and clean-cut on two sides but sharp and crudely

  brokenontheothertwo.'Ah,thebridge!'thoughtthe hodja butthevoicesfrom

  thestreetsummonedhimevenmoreloudlyandperemptorilyandwouldnotlet

  himthink.

  Bruisedandstillonlyhalf-conscious,the hodja foundhimselffacetofacewitha

  group of five or six young men, dusty and unshaven, in grey uniforms with

  forage-capsontheirheadsandpeasantsandalsontheirfeet.Allwerearmedand

  worecrossedbandoliersfilledwithsmall,shiningbullets.WiththemwasVlado

  Marić the locksmith, but without his usual cap, wearing a fur hat and with the

  samecartridgebeltsacrosshischest.Oneofthemen,clearlytheleader,ayoung

  manwiththinblackmoustachesandaregularfacewithfinefeature
sandfiery

  eyes, at once addressed the hodja. He was carrying his rifle over his shoulder likeahunterandhadathinhazelswitchinhisrighthand.

  'Hey, you! Do you usually leave your shop wide open? If anything is missing

  you will say that my soldiers have pillaged it. Do you expect me to look after

  yourgoodsforyou?'

  The man's face was calm, almost without expression, but his voice was angry

  and the switch in his hand was raised threateningly. Vlado Marić came up and

  whisperedtohim.

  'Verywell,then.Perhapsheisagoodandhonestman,butifIfindhehaslefthis

  shopyawningwideopenagain,hewillnotgetoffsoeasily.'

  Thearmedmenwentontheirway.

  'Thosearetheothers,'saidthe hodja tohimself,lookingafterthem.'Whyshould

  theylightonmeassoonastheycomeintothetown?Itseemsthatnothingcan

  changeinthistownwithoutthewholelotfallingonmyhead!'

  Hestoodinfrontofhisdamagedshop,mouthopen,withheavyheadandbroken

  body.Beforehimlaythesquarewhich,intheearlymorningsun,lookedlikea

  battlefield, scattered with large and small bits of stone, tiles and broken

  branches.Hisgazeturnedtothebridge.The kapia wastherewhereithadalways

  been, but just beyond the kapia the bridge stopped short. There was no longer anyseventhpier;betweenthesixthandtheeighthyawnedagulfthroughwhich

  he could see the green waters of the river. From the eighth pier onward the

  bridgeoncemorestretchedtothefartherbank,smoothandregularandwhite,as ithadbeenyesterdayandalways.

  The hodja blinked his eyes several times in unbelief; then he closed them.

  Before his inward sight appeared the memory of those soldiers whom he had

  seensixyearsbefore,concealedbeneathagreentent,diggingatthatverypier,

  andherecalledthepictureofthatironmanholewhichinlateryearshadcovered

  the entrance into the mined interior of the pier, and also the enigmatic yet

  eloquent face of Sergeant-Major Branković, deaf, blind and dumb. He started

  andopenedhiseyesagain,buteverythinginfrontofhimremainedjustasitwas

  before;thesquare,scatteredwithlargeandsmallblocksofstone,andthebridge

  withoutoneofitspiersandayawninggulfbetweentworoughlybrokenarches.

  Onlyindreamscouldoneseeandexperiencesuchthings.Onlyindreams.But

  whenheturnedawayfromthisimprobablesight,therestoodbeforehimhisshop

  withthegreatstone,atinypartofthatseventhnier,amonghisscatteredgoods.

  Ifitwasadream,itwaseverywhere.

  Further down the square he could hear shouting, loud words of command in

  Serbian and steps hurriedly drawing nearer. Alihodja rapidly put up his door-

  shutter,lockeditwithagreatpadlockandbegantomakehiswayhome,uphill.

  Earliertooithadhappenedtohimthatwhilehewasthusgoinguphillhisbreath

  hadfailedhimandhehadfelthisheartbeatingwhereitshouldnothavebeen.

  For a lone time past, from his fiftieth year, he had found the hill on which his house was built steeper and steeper and the way home longer and longer. But

  neversolongasitwastodaywhenhewantedtogetawayfromthemarketplace

  asquicklyaspossibleandgethomeassoonashecould.Hisheartwasbeating

  asitshouldnothave,hisbreathfailedhimandhewasforcedtohalt.

  Downbelowthere,itseemed,thevweresinging.Downbelowthere,too,wasthe

  ruined bridge, horribly, cruellv cut in half. There was no need for him to turn

  (and he would not have turned for anything in the world) to see the whole

  picture;inthedistancethepiercutshortlikeagigantictree-trunkandscattered

  inathousandpiecesandthearchestoleftandrightofitbrutallycutshort.The

  brokenarchesyawnedpainfullytowardsoneanotheracrossthebreak.

  No,notforanythingwouldhehaveturnedround.Buthecouldnotgoforward,

  uphill,forhisheartstifledhimmoreandmoreandhislegsrefusedtoobeyhim.

  Hebegantobreathemoreandmoredeeply,slowly,inmeasure,eachtimemore

  deeply.Thathadalwayshelpedhimbefore.Ithelpedhimnow.Hischestseemed

  togroweasier.Betweenthemeasureddeepbreathingandthebeatingofhisheart heestablishedasortofbalance.Hebegantowalkoncemoreandthethoughtof

  homeandbedstimulatedanddrovehimon.Hewalkedpainfullyandslowlyand

  beforehiseyes,asifitmovedalonginfrontofhim,wasthewholescenewith

  theruinedbridge.Itwasnotenoughtoturnone'sbackonathingforittocease

  togoadandtormentone.Evenwhenheshuthiseyeshecouldstillseeit.

  Yes,thoughtthe hodja moreanimatedly,forhewasnowbreathingalittlemore

  easily,nowonecanseewhatalltheirtoolsandtheirequipmentreallymeant,all

  their hurry and activity. (He had always been right, always, in everything and

  despite everybody. But that no longer gave him any satisfaction. For the first

  timeitdidnotreallymatter.Hehadbeenonlytooright!)Forsomanyyearshe

  hadseenhowtheyhadalwaysbeenconcerningthemselveswiththebridge;they

  had cleaned it, embellished it, repaired it down to its foundations, taken the

  watersupplyacrossit,lititwithelectricityandthenonedayblownitallintothe

  skiesasifithadbeensomestoneinamountainquarryandnotathingofbeauty

  andvalue,abequest.Nowonecouldseewhattheywereandwhattheywanted.

  Hehadalwaysknownthatbutnow,noweventhemoststupidoffoolscouldsee

  it for himself. They had begun to attack even the strongest and most lasting of

  things,totakethingsawayevenfromGod.Andwhoknewwhereitwouldstop!

  EventheVezir'sbridgehadbeguntocrumbleawaylikeanecklace;andonceit

  begannoonecouldholditback.

  The hodja halted again. His breath failed him and the slope suddenly grew

  steeper before him. Again he had to calm his heartbeats with deeo breathing.

  Againhesucceededinrecoveringhisbreath,felthimselfreviveandwalkedon

  morequickly.

  Sobeit,thouehtthe hodja. Iftheydestroyhere,thensomewhereelsesomeone

  elseisbuilding.Surelytherearestillpeacefulcountriesandmenofgoodsense

  whoknowofGod'slove?IfGodhadabandonedthisunluckvtownontheDrina,

  hehadsurelynotabandonedthewholeworldthatwasbeneaththeskies?They

  wouldnotdothisforever.Butwhoknows?(Oh.ifonlyhecouldbreathealittle

  moredeeolv,getalittlemoreair!)Whoknows?Perhapsthisimpureinfidelfaith

  that puts evervthing in order, cleans everything up, repairs and embellishes

  everythingonlvinordersuddenlyandviolentlytodemolishanddestroy,might

  spreadthroughthewholeworld;itmightmakeofallGod'sworldanemptyfield

  foritssenselessbuildingandcriminaldestruction,apasturageforitsinsatiable

  hungerandincomprehensibledemands?Anythingmighthappen.Butonething

  could not happen; it could not be that great and wise men of exalted soul who

  would raise lasting buildi
ngs for the love of God, so that the world should be morebeautifulandmanliveinitbetterandmoreeasily,shouldeverywhereand

  for all time vanish from this earth. Should they too vanish, it would mean that

  the love of God was extinguished and had disappeared from the world. That

  couldnotbe.

  Filledwithhisthoughts,the hodja walkedmoreheavilyandslowly.

  Nowtheycouldclearlybeheardsinginginthemarketplace.Ifonlyhehadbeen

  abletobreatheinmoreair,ifonlytheroadwerelesssteep,ifonlyhewereable

  toreachhome,liedownonhisdivanandseeandhearsomeoneofhisownabout

  him! That was all that he wanted now. But he could not. He could no longer

  maintainthatfinebalancebetweenhisbreathingandhisheartbeats;hishearthad

  nowcompletelystifledhisbreath,ashadsometimeshappenedtohimindreams.

  Only from this dream there was no awakening to bring relief. He opened his

  mouthwideandfelthiseyesbulginginhishead.Theslopewhichuntilthenhad

  been growing steeper and steeper was now quite close to his face. His whole

  field of vision was filled by that dry, rough road which became darkness and

  envelopedhim.

  OrtheslopewhichledupwardstoMejdanlayAlihodjaandbreathedouthislife

  inshortgasps.

  TableofContents

  INTRODUCTION

  TRANSLATOR'SFOREWORD

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  Document Outline

  INTRODUCTION

  TRANSLATOR'S FOREWORD

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII