by Ivo Andrić
Then the stranger began to draw for himself, with open cards. When he got to
twenty-sevenhestoppedandlookedMilanintheeyes,butMilanlookedaway.
The stranger turned another card. It was a two. He sighed quickly, scarcely
audibly.Itseemedthathewouldstandpatattwenty-nineandthebloodbeganto
flowbacktoMilan'sheadinajoyfulpresentimentofvictory.Thenthestranger
started,expandedhischestandthrewbackhisheadsothathiseyesandforehead
shone in the moonlight and turned up another card. Another two. It seemed
impossiblethatthreetwosshouldturnuponeaftertheother,butsoitwas.On
the turned-up card Milan seemed to see his field, ploughed and harrowed as it
was in spring when it was at its best. The furrows whirled about him as in
delirium,butthecalmvoiceofthestrangerrecalledhimtohimself.
'Otuzbir! Thefieldismine!'
Thencametheturnoftheotherfields,thenbothhousesandthentheoakgrove
atOsojnica.Theyinvariablyagreedonthevalues.SometimesMilanwouldwin
andwouldsnatchuptheducats.Hopeshonebeforehimlikegoldbutaftertwo
orthreeunluckyhandshewasagainwithoutmoneyandagainbeganstakinghis
property.
When the game had swept away everything like a torrent both players stopped
foramoment,nottotakebreathforbothofthemitseemedfearedtodoso,but
to consider what else they could wager. The stranger was calm like a
conscientious worker who has finished the first part of his task and wants to
hasten on with the second. Milan remained tense as if turned to ice; his blood
was beating in his ears and the stone seat beneath him rose and fell. Then the
strangersuggestedinthatmonotonous,even,somewhatnasalvoice:
'Doyouknowwhat,friend?Letushaveonemoreturnatthecards,butallfor
all. I will wager all that I have gained tonight and you your life. If you win, everythingwillbeyoursagainjustasitwas,money,cattleandlands.Ifyoulose,
youwillleapfromthe kapia intotheDrina.'
He said this in the same dry and business-like voice as he had said everything
else,asifitwereaquestionofthemostordinarywagerbetweentwogamblers absorbedbytheirplay.
Soithascometolosingmysoulorsavingit,thoughtMilanandmadeaneffort
torise,toextricatehimselffromthatincomprehensiblewhirlpoolthathadtaken
everythingfromhimandevennowdrewhimonwithirresistibleforce,butthe
strangersenthimbacktohisplacewithaglance.Asiftheyhadbeenplayingat
the inn for a stake of three or four grosh he lowered his head and held out his hand.Theybothcut.ThestrangercutafourandMilanaten.Itwashisturnto
deal and that filled him with hope. He dealt and the stranger asked for a
completenewhand.
'More!More!More!'
Themantookfivecardsandonlythensaid:'Enough!'NowitwasMilan'sturn.
Whenhereachedtwenty-eighthestoppedforasecond,lookedatthecardsinthe
stranger'shandandathisenigmaticface.Hewasunabletogetanyideaathow
many the stranger had stopped, but it was exceedingly likely that he had more
thantwenty-eight;firstly,becausealleveninghehadneverstoppedatlowscores
and secondly, because he had five cards. Summoning the last of his strength
Milan turned over one more card. It was a four; that meant thirty-two. He had
lost.
He looked at the card but was unable to believe his eyes. It seemed to him
impossiblethatheshouldhavelosteverythingsoquickly.Somethingfieryand
noisy seemed to course through him, from his feet to his head. Suddenly
everything became clear; the value of life, what it meant to be a man and the
meaning of his curse, that inexplicable passion to gamble with friends or
strangers,withhimselfandwithallaroundhim.Allwasclearandlightasifthe
dayhaddawnedandhehadonlybeendreamingthathehadgambledandlost,
buteverythingwasatthesametimetrue,irrevocableandirreparable.Hewanted
tomakesomesound,togroan,tocryoutforhelp,evenwereitonlyasigh,but
hecouldnotsummonupenoughstrength.
Beforehimthestrangerstoodwaiting.
Then,allofasudden,acockcrowedsomewhereonthebank,highandclear,and
immediatelyafter,asecond.Itwassonearthathecouldhearthebeatingofits
wings. At the same time the scattered cards flew away as if carried off by a
storm, the money was scattered and the whole kapia rocked to its foundations.
Milanclosedhiseyesinfearandthoughtthathislasthourhadcome.Whenhe
openedthemagainhesawthathewasalone.Hisopponenthadvanishedlikea
soapbubbleandwithhimthecardsandthemoneyfromthestoneflags.
Anorange-colouredmoonswamonthehorizon.Afreshbreezebegantoblow.
The roar of waters in the depths became louder. Milan tentatively fingered the
stoneonwhichhewassitting,tryingtocollecthimself,torememberwherehe
was and what had happened; then he rose heavily and as if on someone else's
legsmovedslowlyhomewardtoOkolište.
Groaningandstaggeringhescarcelyreachedthedoorofhishousebeforehefell
likeawoundedman,strikingthedoorheavilywithhisbody.Thoseinthehouse,
wakenedbythenoise,carriedhimtobed.
For two months he lay in fever and delirium. It was thought that he would not
survive. Pop Nikola came and consecrated the holy oils. None the less he
recoveredandgotupagain,butasadifferentman.Hewasnowamanoldbefore
histime,aneccentricwholivedinaworldapart,whospokelittleandassociated
with other men as little as possible. On his face, which never smiled, was an
expression of painful and concentrated attention. He concerned himself only
withhisownhouseandwentabouthisownbusiness,asifhehadneverheardof
companyorofcards.
During his illness he had told Pop Nikola all that had happened that night on
the kapia, and later he told it all to two good friends of his, for he felt that he could not go on living with that secret on his mind. The people heard the
rumoursofwhathadhappenedbut,asifwhathadactuallyhappenedhadbeena
smallmatter,theyaddedfurtherdetailsandelaboratedthewholestory,andthen,
asisusuallythecase,turnedtheirattentionelsewhereandforgotallaboutMilan
and his experience. So what was left of the onetime Milan Glasičanin lived,
worked and moved among the townsfolk. The younger generation only knew
himashewasintheirtimeandneversuspectedthathehadbeendifferent.And
he himself seemed to have forgotten everything. When, descending from his
housetothetown,hecrossedthebridgewithhisheavyslowsleepwalker'sstep,
hepassedbythe kapia withouttheleastemotion,evenwithoutanymemoryof
it. It never even crossed his mind that that
sofa with its white stone seats and carefreecrowdcouldhaveanyconnectionwiththatterribleplace,somewhereat
theendsoftheearth,wherehehadonenightplayedhislastgame,stakingona
deceivingcardallthathepossessed,evenhisownlifeinthisworldandthenext.
OftenMilanaskedhimselfifallthatnightepisodeonthe kapia hadbeenonlya
dreamwhichhehaddreamtashelayunconsciousbeforethedoorofhishouse,
the consequence and not the cause of his illness. To tell the truth, both Pop Nikola and those two friends in whom he had confided were more inclined to
regardthewholeofMilan'staleasahallucination,afantasywhichhadappeared
tohiminafever.Fornoneofthembelievedthatthedevilplayed otuzbir orthat
hewouldtakeanyonehewishedtodestroytothe kapia. Butourexperiencesare
oftensoheavyandcloudedthatitisnowonderthatmenjustifythemselvesby
theinterventionofSatanhimself,consideringthatthisexplainsthemoratleast
makesthemmorebearable.
Butwhethertrueornot,withthedevil'shelporwithoutit,indreamorinfact,it
wassurethatMilanGlasičanin,sincehehadlosthishealthandhisyouthanda
large sum of money overnight, had by a miracle been finally liberated for ever
fromhisvice.Andnotonlythat.TothestoryofMilanGlasičaninwasaddedyet
anothertaleofyetanotherdestiny,whosethreadstartedalsofromthe kapia.
The day after the night when Milan Glasičanin (in dream or in waking) had
playedhisterriblefinalgameonthe kapia dawnedasunnyautumnday.Itwasa
Saturday.AsalwaysonSaturdays,theVišegradJews,merchantswiththeirmale
children,weregatheredonthe kapia. At leisure and in formal dress, with satin trousers and woollen waistcoats, with dull red shallow fezzes on their heads,
theystrictlyobservedtheSabbathDay,walkingbesidetheriverasiflookingfor
someoneinit.Butforthemostparttheysatonthe kapia, carryingonloudand
livelyconversationsinSpanish,onlyusingSerbianwhentheywantedtoswear.
Amongthefirsttoarriveonthe kapia thatmorningwasBukusGaon,theeldest
sonofthepious,poorandhonestbarber,AvramGaon.Hewassixteenandstill
hadnotfoundpermanentworkoraregularoccupation.Theyoungman,unlike
all the other Gaons, was somewhat scatter-brained and this had prevented him
from behaving reasonably and settling down to a trade, and drove him to look
for something higher and better for himself. When he wanted to sit down, he
lookedtoseeiftheseatwasclean.Itwaswhiledoingthisthathesaw,inacrack
betweentwostones,athinlineofshiningyellow.Thatwastheshineofgold,so
dear to men's eyes. He looked more closely. There could be no doubt; a ducat
hadsomehowfallenthere.Theyoungmanlookedaroundhim,toseeifanyone
waswatching,andsearchedforsomethingtopryloosetheducatwhichlaughed
at him from its hiding place. Then suddenly he remembered that it was a
Saturdayandthatitwouldbeashameandasintodoanykindofwork.Excited
and embarrassed, he went on sitting on that spot and did not move until noon.
WhenitwastimeforlunchandalltheJews,oldandyoung,hadgonehome,he
foundathickbarleystalkand,forgettingthesinandtheholyday,carefullypried
theducatloosefrombetweenthestones.ItwasarealHungarianducat,thinand weighingnomorethanadeadleaf.Hewaslateforlunch.Whenhesatdownat
the sparse table around which all thirteen of them (eleven children, father and
mother)weresitting,hedidnothearhowhisfatherscoldedhimandcalledhima
lazywastrelwhocouldnotevenbeintimeforlunch.Hisearshummedandhis
eyesweredazzled.Beforehimopenedthosedaysofunheard-ofluxuryofwhich
he had often dreamed. It seemed to him that he was carrying the sun in his
pocket.
Nextday,withoutmuchreflection,BukuswenttoUstamujić'sinnandedgedhis
wayintothatlittleroomwhereatalmostanytimeofthedayornightthecards
were in play. He had always dreamed of doing this, but had never had enough
moneytodaretogoinandtryhisluck.Nowhewasabletorealizethatdream.
Therehepassedseveralhoursfilledwithanguishandemotion.Atfirsttheyhad
all greeted him with disdain and mistrust. When they saw him change the
Hungarian ducat they at once thought that he had stolen it from someone but
theyagreedtoaccepthimandhisstake(forifgamblersquestionedtheoriginof
everystake,thegamewouldneverbegin).Butthenfreshmiseriescommenced
for the beginner. Whenever he won, the blood rushed to his head and his eyes
clouded with sweat and heat. When he made a rather greater loss it seemed to
him that he stopped breathing and his heart died. But despite all his torments,
eachofwhichseemedinsoluble,henonethelesslefttheinnthateveningwith
fourducatsinhispocket.Thoughhewasbrokenandfeverishwithemotionasif
he had been beaten with fiery rods, he walked proud and erect. Before his
glowingimaginationopenedfarandgloriousprospectswhichthrewaglittering
sheenoverhispovertyandsweptawaythewholetowndowntoitsfoundations.
Hewalkedwithasolemnpaceasthoughdrunk.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehe
wasabletofeelnotonlytheshimmerandthesoundofgoldbutalsoitsweight.
Thatsameautumn,thoughstillyoungandgreen,Bukusbecameagambleranda
vagabond and left the family home. Old Gaon shrivelled up from shame and
griefforhiseldestson,andthewholeJewishcommunityfeltthemisfortuneasif
ithadbeenitsown.Laterheleftthetownandwentoutintotheworldwithhis
evil gambler's destiny. And nothing more was ever heard of him for all those
fourteenyears.Thecauseofallthat,theysaid,wasthat'devil'sducat'whichhe
hadfoundonthe kapia andhadpriedlooseontheSabbathDay.
XIII
Itwasthefourthyearoftheoccupation.Itseemedasifeverythinghadsomehow
or other calmed down and 'was working'. Even if the sweet peace of Turkish
timeshadnotbeenrestored,atleastorderhadbeenestablishedaccordingtothe
new ideas. But then there were once more troubles in the land, fresh troops
arrived unexpectedly and a guard was once again mounted on the kapia. This
wasthewayofit.
ThenewauthoritiesthatyearbeganrecruitinginBosniaandHerzegovina.This
provoked great agitation among the people, especially the Turks. Fifty years
before, when the Sultan had introduced the nizam (the first Turkish regular
army),clothed,drilledandequippedintheEuropeanmanner,theyhadrevolted
andwagedaseriesofsmallbutbloodywars,fortheywouldnotweartheinfidel
clothingandputonbeltswhichcrossedoverthechestandsocreatedthehated
symbolofthecross.Nowtheyhadtoputonthatsameodious'tightclothing'and
that,furthermore,intheserviceofaforeignrulerofanotherfaith.
In
thefirstyearsaftertheoccupation,whentheauthoritieshadbegunnumbering
housesandtakingacensusofthepopulation,thesemeasureshadalreadyexcited
mistrustamongtheTurksandstirredupundefinedbutdeeplyfeltmisgivings.
Asalwaysinsuchcases,themostlearnedandrespectedoftheVišegradTurks
metstealthilytodiscussthesignificanceofthesemeasuresandtheattitudethey
shouldadopttowardsthem.
One May morning these leaders gathered on the kapia as if by chance and
occupied all the seats on the sofa. Peacefully drinking their coffee and looking
straight in front of them, they talked in whispers of the new and suspicious
measures of the authorities. They were all ill at ease about the new ideas, the
very nature of which was contrary to their ideas and habits, for each of them
considered this interference by the authorities in his personal affairs and his
family life as an unnecessary and incomprehensible humiliation. But no one
knewhowtointerprettherealsenseofthisnumbering,norcouldsuggesthowit
couldbestberesisted.AmongstthemwasAlihodjawhootherwiserarelycame
to the kapia, for his right ear always throbbed painfully when he happened to lookatthosestonestepsleadinguptothe sola.
The Višegrad schoolmaster, Husseinaga, a learned and loquacious man,
interpreted,asthemostcompetentamongstthemtodoso,whatthisnotingdown
ofhousesbynumberandthiscountingofmenandchildrenmightmean.
'Thishas,itseems,alwaysbeenaninfidelcustom;thirtyyearsago,ifnotmore,
therewasaVezirinTravnik,acertainTahirpashaStambolija.Hewasoneofthe
converted,butfalseandinsincere.HeremainedaChristianinhissoul,ashehad
oncebeen.Hekept,itissaid,abellbesidehimandwhenhewantedtocallone
of his servants he would ring this bell like a Christian priest until someone
answered.ItwasthisTahirpashawhobegantonumberthehousesinTravnikand
oneachhousehenailedatabletwiththenumber(itwasforthisreasonthathe
was known as "the nailer"). But the people rebelled and collected all those tabletsfromthehouses,madeapileofthemandsetfiretoit.Bloodwasaboutto