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Withdrawn into the farthest corners the notorious addicts of plum brandy sat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