by Ivo Andrić
smiling, visiting churches and monasteries, religious meetings and festivals; he
prayed, did penance and fasted. Earlier the Turkish authorities had paid no
attentiontohimandregardedhimasafeeble-mindedandreligiousman,letting
himgowherehewouldandsaywhatheliked.Butnow,duetotheinsurrection
in Serbia, new times had come and harsher measures prevailed. A few Turkish
families had arrived in the town whose property had been destroyed by the
insurgents; they spread hatred and called for vengeance. Guards were
everywhere. Supervision was intensified, the local Turks were anxious, filled
with rancour and ill-will and looked on everyone bloodthirstily and with
suspicion.
TheoldmanhadbeentravellingalongtheroadfromRogaticaandbybadluck
wasthefirsttravelleronthedaywhentheblockhousehadbeencompletedand
the first guards had taken up their posts there. In fact he had chosen the very
worst time, for the day had not fully dawned. He bore before him, as a man
carries a lighted candle, a sort of thick stick decorated with strange signs and
letters. The blockhouse swallowed him up like a spider does a fly. They
interrogated him curtly. They demanded who he was, what he was doing and
whencehecame,andcommandedhimtoexplainthedecorationsandwritingon
hisstaff.Herepliedfreelyandopenly,eventoquestionsthathadnotbeenasked
him,asifspeakingbeforetheLastJudgmentofGodandnotbeforeagroupof
evil Turks. He said that he was no one and nothing, a traveller on this earth, a transientinatransientworld,ashadowinthesun,butthathepassedhisfewand
short days in prayer and in going from monastery to monastery, until he had
visitedalltheholyplaces,allthebequestsandthetombsoftheSerbiantsarsand
nobles. As to the signs and letters on his staff they represented the times of
Serbian freedom and greatness, past and future. For, said the old man, smiling
gentlyandtimidly,thedayofresurrectionwascomingsoonand,judgingfrom
whathehadreadinbooksandfromwhatmightbeseenontheearthandinthe
skies, it was now quite near. The kingdom was reborn, redeemed by trials and
foundedontruth.
'Iknowthatitisnotpleasant,gentlemen,foryoutohavetolistentothesethings
andthatIshouldnotevenspeakofthembeforeyou,butyouhavestoppedme
andtoldmethatIshouldtellyouthewholetruth,whereveritmaylead.Godis
truthandGodisOne!Andnow,Ibegyou,letmegoonmywayforIamdue
todayatBanja,attheMonasteryoftheHolyTrinity.'
The interpreter Shefko translated, struggling in vain to find in his poor
knowledgeoftheTurkishlanguageequivalentsforabstractideas.TheCaptainof
theGuard,asicklyAnatolian,stillonlyhalfawake,listenedtotheconfusedand
disconnectedwordsofthetranslatorandfromtimetotimethrewaglanceatthe
old man who, without fear or evil thoughts, looked back at him and confirmed
withhiseyesthateverythingwasjustastheinterpreterhadsaid,thoughheknew
not a word of Turkish. Somewhere in the back of his mind it was clear to the
Captain that this man was some sort of half-witted infidel dervish, a good-
natured and harmless madman. And in the old man's staff, which they had
already cut through in several places thinking that it was hollow and that
messages were concealed in it, they found nothing. But in Shefko's translation
theoldman'swordsseemedsuspicious,smelledofpoliticsandseditiousintent.
The Captain, for his part, would have let this poor dim-witted creature go his
way,buttherestofthesoldiersandcivilguardshadgatheredtogetherthereand
were listening to the interrogation. There was his sergeant Tahir, an evil man,
sullen and rheumy-eyed, who had already several times slandered him to his
chief and accused him of lack of care and severity. Then too there was that
Shefko, who in his translation was obviously putting the worst possible
construction on the old man's exalted phrases and who loved to stick his nose
into everything and carry tales even when there was nothing in them, and was
everreadytogiveortoconfirmanevilreport.ThentootherewerethoseTurks
fromthetown,volunteers,whowenttheirroundssullenlyandself-importantly,
arrested suspicious characters and interfered needlessly in his official duties.
They were all there. And all of them, these days, were as if drunk with
bitterness, from desire for vengeance and longed to punish and to kill
whomsoever they could, since they could not punish or kill those whom they
wished.Hedidnotunderstandthem,nordidheapproveofthem,buthesawthat
theywereallagreedthattheblockhousemusthaveitsvictimthisfirstmorning.
Hesuspectedthatbecauseoftheirintoxicationofbitternesshemightbetheone to suffer if he opposed their wishes. The thought that he might have
unpleasantnessbecauseofthismadoldfoolseemedtohimintolerable.Andthe
oldmanwithhistalesoftheSerbianEmpirewouldnotinanycasegetveryfar
among the Turks of the district who, these days, were like a swarm of angry
bees. Let the troubled waters carry him away, even as they had brought him
here....
AssoonastheoldmanhadbeenboundandtheCaptainwaspreparingtogointo
thetownsoasnottohavetowatchtheexecution,someTurkishpolicemenanda
fewciviliansappeared,leadingapoorlydressedSerbianyouth.Hisclothingwas
tornandhisfaceandhandsscratched.ThiswasacertainMile,apoordevilfrom
Lijesko,wholivedquitealoneinawater-millatOsojnica.Hemighthavebeen
nineteenatmost,strongandburstingwithhealth.
That morning before sunrise Mile placed some barley in the mill to be ground
and then opened the big millrace and went into the forest to cut wood. He
brandished his axe and cut the soft alder branches like straws. He enjoyed the
morningfreshnessandtheeasewithwhichthewoodfellbeforehisaxe.Hisown
movementswereapleasuretohim.Buthisaxewassharpandthethinwoodtoo
frailfortheforcethatwasinhim.Somethingwithinhimswelledhisbreastand
drove him to shout aloud at each movement. His cries became more and more
frequent and connected. Mile who, like all men of Lijesko, had no ear and no
idea of how to sing, sang and shouted in the thick and shady forest. Without
thinkingofanythingandforgettingwherehewas,hebegantosingwhathehad
heardotherssinging.
At that time, when Serbia had risen in revolt, the people had made of the old
song:
'WhenAlibegwasayoungbeg
Amaidenborehisstandard..."anewsong:
'WhenKarageorgewasayoungbeg
Amaidenborehisstandard...'
<
br /> Inthatgreatandstrangestruggle,whichhadbeenwagedinBosniaforcenturies
between two faiths, for land and power and their own conception of life and
order, the adversaries had taken from each other not only women, horses and
armsbutalsosongs.
Manyaversepassedfromonetotheotherasthemostpreciousofbooty.
This song, then, was one recently sung among the Serbs, but stealthily and in
secret, in closed houses, at family feasts or in distant pastures where a Turk
mightnotsetfootforyearsatatimeandwhereaman,atthepriceofloneliness
andpovertyinthewilds,mightliveashewishedandsingwhatheliked.Andit
was just this song that Mile, the mill attendant, had thought fit to sing in the forestjustbelowtheroadalongwhichtheTurksofOlujacandOrahovacpassed
ontheirwaytothemarketinthetown.
Dawnhadjusttouchedthecrestsofthemountainsandthere,inthatshadyplace,
it was still quite dark. Mile was all wet with the dew but warm from a good
night'ssleep,hotbreadandwork.Hebrandishedhisaxeandstrucktheslender
aldernearitsrootbutthetreeonlybentandbowedlikeayoungbridewhokisses
the hand of the 'kum' who leads her to marriage. The alder was sprinkled with
colddewlikeafinerainandremainedbent,foritcouldnotfallbecauseofthe
thicknessofthegreeneryaround.Thenhecutoffthegreenbrancheswithhisaxe
inonehandasifplaying.Whilehewasdoingthishesangatthetopofhisvoice
pronouncing certain of the words with enjoyment. 'Karageorge' was something
vaguebutstronganddaring;'maiden'and'standard'werealsothingsunknownto
him, but things which in some way answered to his most intimate dreams; to
haveagirlofhisownandtobearastandard.Inanycasetherewasasweetness
in pronouncing such words. And all the strength within him drove him on to
pronouncethemclearlyandcountlesstimesover.Hisutteranceofthemseemed
torenewhisstrengthmakinghimrepeatthemstillmoreloudly.
SosangMileatthebreakofdayuntilhehadcutandtrimmedthebranchesfor
whichhehadcome.Thenhewentdownthewetslopedragginghisfreshburden
behindhim.ThereweresomeTurksinfrontofthemill.Theyhadtetheredtheir
horses and were waiting for someone. There were ten of them. He felt himself
again,ashehadbeenbeforehehadsetouttogetthewood,clumsy,raggedand
embarrassed, without Karageorge before his eyes, without a girl or a standard
nearhim.TheTurkswaiteduntilhehadputdownhisaxe,thenfellonhimfrom
allsidesandafterashortstruggleboundhimwithahalterandtookhimtothe
town.Ontheirwaytheybeathimandkickedhiminthegroin,askinghimwhere
washisKarageorgenowandsayingevilwordsabouthisgirlandhisstandard.
Undertheblockhouseonthe kapia wheretheyhadjustboundthehalf-wittedold
mansomeofthetownne'er-do-wellshadjoinedthesoldierseventhoughithad
onlyjustdawned.Amongstthemwere
anumberofrefugeesfromSerbiawhosehomestherehadbeenburntdown.All
werearmedandworeasolemnexpressionasthoughagreateventoradecisive
battle were in question. Their emotion rose with the rising sun. The sun rose
rapidly, amid shining mists down there on the skyline above Goleš. The Turks
waitedfortheterrifiedyouthasifhehadbeenarevolutionaryleader,thoughhe
wasraggedandmiserableandhadbeenbroughtfromtheleftbankoftheDrina
wheretherewasnoinsurrection.
TheTurksfromOlujacandOrahovac,exasperatedbythearrogancewhichthey
wereunabletobelievewasnotintentional,borewitnessthattheyoungmanhad
been singing in a provocative manner beside the road songs about Karageorge
and the infidel fighters. He, frightened, in wet rags, scratched and beaten, his
eyesfilledwithemotionthatmadehimseemtosquint,watchedtheCaptainasif
hewerehopingforsalvationfromhim.Ashecamerarelytothetownhehadnot
knownthatablockhousewasbeingerectedonthebridge;thereforeeverything
seemed to him strange and unreal as if he had wandered in his sleep into a
strangetownfilledwithevilanddangerousmen.Stutteringandkeepinghiseyes
ontheground,hesworethathehadneversunganythingandthathehadnever
struckaTurk,thathewasapoorman,wholookedafterthewater-mill,thathe
wascuttingwoodanddidnotknowwhyhehadbeenbroughthere.Heshivered
fromfearandwasreallyunabletounderstandwhathadhappenedandhow,after
that exalted mood down there by the freshness of the stream, he had suddenly
found himself bound and beaten here on the kapia, the centre of all interest, before so many people to whom he had to answer. He had himself quite
forgottenthathehadeversungeventhemostinnocentofsongs.
But the Turks stood by their words; that he had been singing insurrectionist
songsatthemomenttheyhadbeenpassingandthathehadresistedthemwhen
they wanted to bind him. Each of them confirmed this on oath to the Captain
whointerrogatedthem:
'DoyouswearbyAllah?'
'IswearbyAllah.'
'Isthatthetruth?'
'Thatisthetruth.'
So thrice repeated. Then they put the young man beside Jelisije and went to
wakentheheadsmanwho,itseemed,sleptverysoundly.Theoldmanlookedat
the youth who, confused and ashamed, blinked since he was not used to being
the centre of attention in broad daylight on the bridge surrounded by so many people.
'Whatisyourname?'theoldmanasked.
'Mile,' said the youth humbly, as if he were still replying to the Turkish
questions.
'Mile, my son, let us kiss,' and the old man leant his grey head on Mile's
shoulder.'LetuskissandmakethesignoftheCross.IntheNameoftheFather
andoftheSonandoftheHolyGhost.IntheNameoftheFatherandoftheSon
andoftheHolyGhost.Amen.'
Sohecrossedhimselfandtheyouthinwordsonly,fortheirhandswerebound,
quickly,fortheexecutionerhadalreadyarrived.
The headsman, who was one of the soldiers, rapidly finished his task and the
firstcomers,whodescendedthehillsbecauseofmarketdayandwentacrossthe
bridge,couldseethetwoheadsplacedonfreshstakesontheblockhouseanda
bloodstained place, sprinkled with gravel and smoothed down, on the bridge
wheretheyhadbeenbeheaded.
Thustheblockhousebeganitswork.
Fromthatdayonwardsallwhoweresuspectedorguiltyofinsurrection,whether
caught on the bridge itself or somewhere on the frontier, were brought to
the kapia. Oncetheretheyrarelygotawayalive.Theheadsofthoseconnected
with the revolt, or simply those who were unlucky, were exposed on stakes
placed around the blockhouse and their bodies thrown from the bridge into the
Drinaifnooneappearedtoran
somtheheadlesscorpse.
The revolt, with shorter or longer periods of truce, lasted for years and in the
courseofthoseyearsthenumberofthosethrownintotherivertodriftdownto
'look for another, better and more reasonable land' was very great. Chance had
decreed, that chance that overwhelms the weak and unmindful, that these two
simplemen,thispairfromthemassofunlearned,poverty-strickenandinnocent,
shouldheadtheprocession,sinceitisoftensuchmenwhoarefirstcaughtupin
the whirlpool of great events and whom this whirlpool irresistibly attracts and
sucksdown.ThustheyouthMileandtheoldmanJelisije,beheadedatthesame
moment and in the same place, united as brothers, first decorated with their
headsthemilitaryblockhouseonthe kapia, whichfromthenonwards,aslongas
the revolt lasted, was practically never without such decoration. So these two,
whom no one before then had ever seen or heard of, remained together in memory, a memory clearer and most lasting than that of so many other, more
important,victims.
So the kapia disappeared under this bloodstained blockhouse of ill repute and withitvanishedalsoallmeetings,conversations,songsandenjoyment.Eventhe
Turks passed that way unwillingly while only those Serbs who were forced to
crossedthebridgehastilyandwithloweredheads.
Aroundthewoodenblockhouse,whoseplankswithtimebecamefirstgreyand
thenblack,wasquicklycreatedthatatmospherethatalwayssurroundsbuildings
inpermanentusebythearmy.Thesoldiers'washinghungfromthebeamsand
rubbish was tipped from the windows into the Drina, dirty water and all the
refuseandfilthofbarracklife.Onthewhitecentralpierofthebridgeremained
longdirtystreakswhichcouldbeseenfromafar.
The job of headsman was for long always carried out by the same soldier. He
wasafatanddark-skinnedAnatolianwithdullyellowisheyesandnegroidlips
in a greasy and earthen-coloured face, who seemed always to be smiling, with
thesmileofawell-nourishedandgood-humouredman.HewascalledHairuddin
andwassoonknowntothewholetownandevenbeyondthefrontier.Hecarried