compassionatelyattherefugeesandremainedsilent,whileothersgreetedthem
with 'merhaba', tried to stop them and offer them something. They paid no
attentiontotheoffersandscarcelyrespondedtothegreetings,buthurriedonto
reachtheirpostforthenightatOkolištewhileitwasstilllight.
In all there were about 120 families. More than 100 families were going on to
Sarajevowheretherewasachanceofbeingsettled,whilefifteenweretostayin
thetown;theywereforthemostpartthosewhohadrelativesthere.
One only of these dog-tired men, poor in appearance and apparently alone,
stopped for a moment on the kapia, drank his fill of water and accepted an offeredcigar.Hewaswhitealloverfromthedustoftheroad,hiseyesshoneas
if in fever and he was unable to keep his glance fixed on any single object.
Vigorously puffing out smoke, he looked around him with those shining
disagreeable glances, without replying to the timid and humble questions of
individuals. He only wiped his long moustaches, thanked them curtly and with
thatbitternesswhichovertirednessandafeelingofbeingoutcastleavesinaman
he muttered a few words looking at them with one of those sudden unseeing
glances.
'YousithereatyoureaseanddonotknowwhatishappeningbehindStaniševac.
HerewearefleeingintoTurkishlands,butwhereareyoutofleewhen,together
withus,yourturnwillcome?Noneofyouknowsandnoneofyoueverthinksof
it.'
Hesuddenlyceased.Eventhelittlehesaidwasmuchforthosewhotillthenhad
been so carefree, and yet little enough for his own bitterness which would not
allow him to stay silent yet at the same time prevented him from expressing
himself clearly. It was he himself who cut short the heavy silence by saying
farewellandhurryingawaytocatchupwiththerestoftheprocession.Allstood
uptoshoutgoodwishesafterhim.
All that evening the mood on the kapia remained heavy. All were silent and downcast. Even Salko sat dumb and motionless on one of the stone steps
surroundedbythehusksofthewater-melonshehadeatenforabet.Depressed
andsilenthesattherewithdowncastlooks,absent-mindedly,asthoughhewere
notlookingatthestonebeforehimbutatsomethingfardistantwhichhecould
scarcelyperceive.Thepeoplebegantodisperseearlierthanusual.
Butnextdayeverythingwasasithadalwaysbeen,forthetownsmendidnotlike
to remember evil and did not worry about the future; in their blood was the
conviction that real life consists of calm periods and that it would be mad and
vain to spoil them by looking for some other, firmer and more lasting life that
didnotexist.
In those twenty-five years in the middle of the nineteenth century the plague
ragedtwiceatSarajevoandthecholeraonce.Whenthishappenedthetownkept
regulationswhich,accordingtotradition,hadbeengivenbyMohammedhimself
to the faithful for their guidance in the event of an epidemic: 'While the
Pestilence rages in some place do not go there, for you may become infected,
and if you are already in the place where it rages then do not depart from that place lest you infect others.' But since men do not observe even the most
salutoryofregulations,evenwhentheyderivefromtheApostleofGodhimself,
ifnotforcedtodosoby'thepoweroftheauthorities',thentheauthoritiesonthe
occasion of every 'plague' limited or completely stopped all travel and postal
communications. Then life on the kapia changed its aspect. The people of the town, busy or at leisure, thoughtful or singing, disappeared, and on the
empty sofa, as in times of war or revolution, once again sat a guard of several gendarmes. They stopped all travellers coming from the direction of Sarajevo
andwavedthembackwiththeirriflesorshoutedloudlytothemtoretreat.The
posttheyacceptedfromthemessengerbutwitheverymeasureofprecaution.A
small fire of 'aromatic woods' was lit on the kapia and produced an abundant white smoke. The gendarmes took each individual letter in a pair of tongs and
passed it through this smoke. Only such 'purified' letters were sent onward.
Goodstheydidnotacceptatall.Buttheirmaintaskwasnotwithlettersbutwith
living men. Every day a few arrived, travellers, merchants, bearers of news,
tramps.Agendarmeawaitedthemattheentrytothebridgeandfromadistance
signalledwithhishandthattheymightnotgofarther.Thetravellerwouldhalt,
but begin to argue, to justify himself and explain his case. Each of them
consideredthatitwasabsolutelynecessarytolethimintothetownandeachof
them swore that he was healthy and had had no connection with the cholera
whichwastheresomewhereinSarajevo.Duringtheseexplanationsthetravellers
would edge little by little halfway across the bridge and approach
the kapia. There,othergendarmeswouldtaketheirpartintheconversationand astheytalkedatseveralpacesdistancetheyallshoutedloudlyandwavedtheir
arms.Thosegendarmesalsojoinedinwhosatalldayonthekapiasippingplum
brandy and eating garlic; their service gave them this right for it was believed
that both these were good antidotes against infection, and they made abundant
useoftheirprivilege.
Many a traveller would grow tired of pleading with and trying to convince the
gendarmesandwouldreturndowncast,hisworkunfinished,alongtheOkolište
road. But some were more persistent and persevering and remained there on
the kapia hopingforamomentofweaknessorinattentionorsomemadandlucky
chance. If it so happened that the leader of the town gendarmes, Salko Hedo,
were there, then there was no likelihood that the traveller would achieve
anything. Hedo was that true conscientious official who does not really see or
hear whomever he talks to, and who only considers him in so far as it is
necessarytofindtheplaceforhimsetoutbytheregulationsinforce.Untilhe
haddonethishewasdeafandblindandwhenhehaddoneithebecomedumbas
well.Invainthetravellerwouldimploreorflatter:
'Salik-Aga,Iamhealthy....'
'Wellthen,goinhealthwhenceyoucame.Getalong,outofmysight....'
There was no arguing with Hedo. But if some of the younger gendarmes were
alone,thensomethingmightstillbedone.Thelongerthetravellerstoodonthe
bridgeandthemoreheshoutedandtalkedwiththem,toldallhistroubles,why
hehadsetoutandalltheproblemsofhislife,themorepersonalandfamiliarhe
seemedtobecomeandlessandlesslikeamanwhomighthavecholera.Inthe
end,oneofthegendarmeswouldoffertotakeamessageforhimtowhomever
hewishedinthetown.Thiswasthefirststeptowardsyielding.Butthetraveller
knew that the message would never be d
elivered for the gendarmes, always
suffering from a hangover or half drunk as they were, remembered things with
difficulty and delivered messages inside out. Therefore he went on indefinitely
with his conversation, implored, offered bribes, called upon God and his soul.
All this he did until the gendarme whom he had marked down as the most
lenientremainedaloneonthebridge.Thenthebusinesswasfinishedsomehow
orother.Thesoulfulgendarmewouldturnhisfacetotheraisedwallasiftoread
theancientinscriptiononit,withhishandsbehindhisbackandthepalmofhis
right hand extended. The persevering traveller would put the agreed sum of
moneyintothegendarme'spalm,glancerightandleft,andthenslideacrossthe
otherhalfofthebridgeandbecomelostinthetown.Thegendarmewentbackto his post, chewed a head of garlic and washed it down with plum brandy. This
filledhimwithacertaingayandcarefreeresolutionandgavehimfreshstrength
tokeepvigilandguardthetownfromcholera.
But misfortunes do not last forever (this they have in common with joys) but
pass away or are at least diminished and become lost in oblivion. Life on
the kapia alwaysrenewsitselfdespiteeverythingandthebridgedoesnotchange
with the years or with the centuries or with the most painful turns in human
affairs.Allthesepassoverit,evenastheunquietwaterspassbeneathitssmooth
andperfectarches.
VIII
It was not only the wars, pestilences and migrations of the times which broke
against the bridge and interrupted life on the kapia. There were also other exceptional events which gave their name to the year in which they took place
andwerelongremembered.
Leftandrightofthe kapia inbothdirections,thestoneparapetofthebridgehad
longbecomesmoothandsomewhatdarkerthantherest.Forhundredsofyears
the peasants had rested their burdens on it when crossing the bridge, or idlers
hadleantshouldersandelbowsuponitinconversationwhilewaitingforothers
or when, solitary and leaning on their elbows, they looked in the depths below
thematthewatersastheywentfoamingswiftlypast,alwaysnewandyetalways
thesame.
But never had so many idle and inquisitive people leant on the parapet and
watchedthesurfaceofthewater,asiftoreadinittheanswertosomeriddle,as
inthelastdaysofAugustthatyear.Thewaterwascloudedbytherainsthoughit
was only towards the end of summer. In the eddies below the arches a white
foam formed, which moved in circles with twigs, small branches and rubbish.
But the leisurely and leaning townsmen were not really looking at the waters
which they had always known and which had nothing to tell them; but on the
surfaceofthewaterandintheirownconversationstheysearchedforsomesort
of explanation for themselves and tried to find there some visible trace of an
obscureandcrueldestinywhich,inthosedays,hadtroubledandsurprisedthem.
Aboutthattimeanunusualthinghadtakenplaceonthe kapia whichwouldlong
berememberedandwhichwasnotlikelytohappenagainaslongasthebridge
and the town on the Drina existed. It had excited and shaken the townspeople
and the story of it had passed beyond the town itself, to other places and
districts,tobecomealegend.
Thiswas,infact,ataleoftwoVišegradhamlets,VeljeLugandNezuke.These
twohamletslayattheextremeendsofthatamphitheatreformedaboutthetown
bythedarkmountainsandtheirgreenfoothills.
The great village of Stražište on the north-eastern side of the valley was the
nearest to the town. Its houses, fields and gardens were scattered over several
foothillsandemboweredinthevalleysbetweenthem.Ontheroundedflankof
one of these hills lay about fifteen houses, buried in plum orchards and
surroundedonallsidesbyfields.ThiswasthehamletofVeljeLug,apeaceful,
richandbeautifulTurkishsettlementontheslopes.Thehamletbelongedtothe
villageofStražište,butitwasnearertothetownthantoitsownvillagecentre,
for the men of Velje Lug could walk down to the marketplace in half an hour,
hadtheirshopsthereanddidbusinessinthetownliketheordinarytownsmen.
Between them and the townsmen there was indeed little or no difference save
perhaps that their properties were more solid and lasting for they stood on the
firm earth, not subject to floods, and the men there were more modest and did
not have the bad habits of the town. Velje Lug had good soil, pure water and
handsomepeople.
A branch of the Višegrad family of Osmanagić lived there. But even though
those in the town were richer and more numerous, it was generally considered
thattheyhad'degenerated'andthattherealOsmanagićswerethoseofVeljeLug
whencethefamilyhadcome.Theywereafineraceofmen,sensitiveandproud
oftheirorigin.Theirhouse,thelargestinthedistrict,showingupwhiteonthe
hillside just below the crest of the hill, turned towards the southwest; it was
alwaysfreshlywhitewashed,witharoofofblackenedthatchandfifteenglazed
ofatravellercomingtoVišegradandthelastthathesawonleavingit.Thelast
rays of the setting sun behind the Liještan ridge rested there and shone on the
white and shining face of this house. The townsmen were long accustomed to
look at it from the kapia in the early evening and see how the setting sun was reflectedfromtheOsmanagićwindowsandhowthelightleftthemoneafterthe
other.Asthesunsetandthetownwasinshadowitslastrays,fallingononeof
the windows, as it broke through the clouds, would shine for a few moments
longerlikeahugeredstaroverthedarkenedtown.
Alsowellknownandesteemedinthetownwastheheadofthathouse,Avdaga
Osmanagić,aboldandfierymaninprivatelifeasinbusiness.Hehadashopin
the market, a low twilit room in which maize, dried plums or pinecones lay
scattered over planks and plaited mats. Avdaga only did a wholesale trade,
therefore his shop was not open every day, but regularly on market days and
throughouttheweekaccordingtotheneedsofbusiness.Initwasalwaysoneof
Avdaga's sons, while he himself usually sat on a bench before it. There he
chattedwithcustomersoracquaintances.Hewasabigandimposingman,ruddy
inappearance,butwithpurewhitebeardandmoustaches.Hisvoicewasharsh
andthroaty.Foryearshehadsufferedcruellyfromasthma.Wheneverhegrew
excitedinconversationandraisedhisvoice,andthatwasafrequentoccurrence,
hewouldsuddenlychoke,hisnecktendonsstandout,hisfacegrowredandhis
eyesfillwithtears,whilehis
chestcreaked,wheezedandechoedlikeastormon
the hills. When the fit of choking had passed, he would pull himself together,
takeadeepbreathandgoonwiththeconversationwherehehadleftoff,onlyin
achangedthinvoice.Hewasknowninthetownandthesurroundingsasaman
of harsh words, but generous and brave. So he was in everything, even in
business,thoughoftentohisownhurt.Oftenbyaboldwordhewouldreduceor
raisethepriceofplumsormaizeevenwhenthiswasnottohisownadvantage,
only to spite some avaricious peasant or rapacious merchant. His word was
universally listened to and accepted in the marketplace, though it was known
thathewasoftenhastyandpersonalinhisjudgments.WhenAvdagacamedown
from Velje Lug and sat before his shop he was rarely alone, for men liked to
listentohistalkandwantedtohearhisopinion.Hewasalwaysopenandlively,
ready to speak out and defend what others considered was best passed over in
silence. His asthma and attacks of heavy coughing would interrupt his
conversation at any moment, but for a wonder this did not spoil it but made it
seem the more convincing and his whole manner of expressing himself had a
sortofheavyandpainfuldignity,whichitwasnoteasytoresist.
Avdagahadfivemarriedsonsandanonlydaughter,whowastheyoungestofhis
childrenandjustripeformarriage.ShewascalledFataanditwasknownofher
thatshewasexceptionallybeautifulandtheveryimageofherfather.Thewhole
town and to some extent even the whole district discussed the question of her
marriage. It has always been the case with us that at least one girl in every
generationpassesintolegendandsongbecauseofherbeauty,herqualitiesand
her nobility. So she was in those few years the goal of all desires and the
inaccessibleexample;imaginationflaredupatmentionofhernameandshewas
surroundedbytheenthusiasmofthemenandtheenvyofthewomen.Shewas
one of those outstanding persons set apart by nature and raised to dangerous
heights.
This daughter of Avdaga resembled her father not only in face and appearance