by Ivo Andrić
'Don'tyouknow,fellow,themeaningofasprigoftansythrownbyagirl?'said
oneofthem.'ItmeansthatPašaistellingyou:Iampiningawayforyoulikethis
pluckedflower;butyouneitheraskformyhandnorallowmetogotoanother.
Thatiswhatitmeans.'
TheyallbegantotalktohimaboutPaša,solovely,sochaste,aloneintheworld,
waitingforthehandthatshouldpluckher,andthatthehandforwhichshewas
waitingwasCorkan'sandhisalone.
Theypretendedtogetangryandshoutedloudly;howdidshecometocasther
eye on Ćorkan? Others defended him. As Ćorkan went on drinking he came
almosttobelieveinthismarvel,onlytorejectitatonceasanimpossibility.In
conversationheinsistedthatshewasnotthegirlforhim,anddefendedhimself
againsttheirjeersbysayingthathewasapoorman,thathewasgrowingoldand
not very attractive, but in his moments of silence he let his thoughts dwell on
Paša, her beauty and the joy that she would bring, heedless whether such joy
were possible for him or not. In that wonderful summer night which with the
plum brandy and the songs and the fire burning on the grass seemed endless,
everything was possible or at least not completely impossible. That the guests
were mocking and ridiculing him he knew; gentlemen could not live without
laughter,someonehadtobetheirbuffoon,italwayshadbeenandalwayswould
be. But if all this were only a joke, his dream of a marvellous woman and an
unattainablelove,ofwhichhehadalwaysdreamedandstilldreamedtoday,was
nojoke.Therewasnojokeinthosesongsinwhichlovewasbothrealandunreal
andwomanbothnearandunattainableasinhisdream.Fortheguestsallthattoo
wasajoke,butforhimitwasatrueandsacredthingwhichhehadalwaysborne
within himself and which had become real and indubitable, independent of the
guests'pleasure,ofwineandofsong,ofeverything,evenofPašaherself.
Allthisheknewwellandyeteasilyforgot.Forhissoulwouldmeltandhismind
flowlikewater.
So Ćorkan, three years after his great love and the scandal about the pretty
Germantight-ropewalker,fellintoanewandenchantedloveandalltherichand
idleguestsfoundafreshgame,cruelandexcitingenoughtogivethemcausefor
laughterformonthsandyearstocome.
That was in midsummer. But autumn and winter passed and the game about
Corkan's love for the beautiful Paša filled the evenings and shortened the days
forthemerchantsfromthemarketplace.TheyalwaysreferredtoCorkanasthe
bridegroom or the lover. By day, overcome by the night's drinking and lack of
sleep, when Ćorkan did odd jobs in the shops, fetching and carrying, he was
surprised and angered that they should call him so, but only shrugged his
shoulders. But as soon as night came and the lamps were lit in Zarije's inn,
someonewouldshout'RumforCorkan!'andanothersingsoftlyasifbychance:
'Eveningcomesandthesungoesdown:Onthyfaceitshinesnolonger....'
then suddenly everything changed. No more burdens, no more shrugging of
shoulders, no more town or inn or even Ćorkan himself as he was in reality,
snuffling, unshaven, clothed in rags and cast-off clothing of other men. There
existedahighbalconylitbythesettingsunandwreathedinvines,withayoung
girlwholookedforhimandwaitedforthemantowhomshehadthrownasprig
oftansy.Therewasstill,tobetrue,thecoarselaughteraroundhimandthecrude
jests, but they were all far away, as in a fog, and he who sang was near him,
closebyhisear:
'IfIcouldgrowwarmagain
Inthesunlightthatyoubringme....'
andhewarmedhimselfinthatsun,whichhadset,ashehadneverbeenwarmed
bytherealsunwhichroseandsetdailyoverthetown.
'RumforCorkan!'
So the winter nights passed. Towards the end of that winter Paša got married.
The poor seamstress from Dušče, in all her beauty of not quite nineteen years,
marriedHadjiOmerwholivedbehindthefortress,arichandrespectedmanof
fifty-five—ashissecondwife.
Hadji Omer had already been married more than thirty years. His wife came
from a famous family and was renowned for her cleverness and good sense.
Their property behind the fortress was a whole settlement in itself, progressive
andrichineverything.Hisshopsinthetownweresolidlybuiltandhisincome
assured and large. All this was not so much due to the peaceable and indolent
HadjiOmer,whodidlittlemorethanwalktwiceadaytothetownandback,as
tohisableandenergetic,alwayssmilingwife.Heropinionwasthelastwordon
manyquestionsforalltheTurkishwomenofthetown.
Hisfamilywasineverywayamongthebestandmostrespectedinthetown,but
thealreadyageingcouplehadnochildren.Forlongtheyhadhoped.HadjiOmer
had even made the pilgrimage to. Mecca and his wife had made bequests to religious houses and given alms to the poor. The years had passed, everything
had increased and prospered, but in this one most important matter they had
receivednoblessing.HadjiOmerandhisgoodwifehadbornetheirevilfortune
wiselyandwellbuttherecouldbenolongeranyhopeofchildren.Hiswifewas
inherforty-fifthyear.
The great inheritance which Hadji Omer was to leave behind him was in
question. Not only his and his wife's numerous relations had concerned
themselves in this matter, but to some extent the whole town also. Some had
wantedthemarriagetoremainchildlesstotheend,whileothershadthoughtita
pity that such a man should die without heirs and that his goods should be
dispersed among the many relations, and had therefore urged him to take a
second, younger wife while there was still a chance of heirs. The local Turks
weredividedintotwocampsonthequestion.Butthematterwassettledbythe
barren wife herself. Openly, resolutely and sincerely, as in everything she did,
shetoldherundecidedhusband:
'The good God has given us everything, all thanks and praise to Him, concorn
andhealthandriches,butHehasnotgivenuswhathegivestoeverypoorman;
to see our children and to know to whom to leave what shall remain after us.
Thathasbeenmybadfortune.ButevenifI,bythewillofGod,mustbearthis,
there is no reason why you should do so. I see that the whole marketplace is
concerning itself with our troubles and urging you to marry again. Well, since
theyaretryingtomarryyouoff,thenitisIwhowanttoarrangeyourmarriage
foryou,fornooneisagreaterfriendtoyouthanI.'
Shethentoldhimherplan;astherewasnolongeranylikelihoodthattheytwo
couldeverhavechildren,thenhemustbringtotheirh
ome,besideher,asecond
wife,ayoungerone,bywhomhemightstillbeabletohavechildren.Thelaw
gave him that right. She, naturally, would go on living in the house as 'the
old hadjinica' andseethateverythingwasdoneproperly.
HadjiOmerlongresistedandsworethatheaskednobettercompanionthanshe,
that he did not need a second wife, but she stuck to her opinion and even
informedhimwhichgirlshehadchosen.Sincehemustmarryinordertohave
children,thenitwerebestthathetakeayoung,healthyandprettygirlofpoor
family who would give him healthy heirs and, while she was alive, would be
grateful for her good fortune. Her choice fell on pretty Paša, daughter of the
seamstressfromDušče.
So it was done. At the wish of his older wife and with her assistance, Hadji Omer married the lovely Paša and eleven months later Paša gave birth to a
healthyboy.SothequestionofHadjiOmer'sinheritancewassettled,thehopes
ofmanyrelationswereextinguishedandthemouthsofthemarketplacesealed.
Paša was happy and 'the old hadjinica' satisfied, and the two lived in Hadji Omer'shouseinconcordlikemotheranddaughter.
ThatfortunateconclusionofthequestionofHadjiOmer'sheirwasthebeginning
of Corkan's great sufferings. That winter the principal amusement of the idle
guests in Zarije's inn was Ćorkan's sorrow at Paša's marriage. The unfortunate
loverwasdrunkashehadneverbeenbefore;theguestslaughedtilltheycried.
Theyalltoastedhimandeachoneofthemgotgoodvalueforhismoney.They
mocked him with imaginary messages from Paša, assuring him that she wept
nightandday,thatshewaspiningforhim,nottellinganyonetherealreasonfor
hersorrow.Ćorkanwasinafrenzy,sang,wept,answeredallquestionsseriously
and in detail and bewailed the fate which had created him so unprepossessing
andpoor.
'Verywell,Ćorkan,buthowmanyyearsyoungerareyouthanHadjiOmer?'one
oftheguestswouldbegintheconversation.
'How do I know? And what good would it do me even if I were younger?'
Ćorkanansweredbitterly.
'Eh,ifIweretojudgebyheartandyouth,thenHadjiOmerwouldnothavewhat
hehas,norwouldourĆorkanbesittingwhereheis,'brokeinanotherguest.
ItdidnotneedmuchtomakeĆorkantenderandsentimental.Theypouredhim
rumafterrumandassuredhimthatnotonlywasheyoungerandhandsomerand
moresuitableforPašabutthat,afterall,hewasnotsopoorashethoughtoras
heseemed.Inthelongnightstheseidlemenovertheirplumbrandythoughtupa
wholehistory;howĆorkan'sfather,anunknownTurkishofficer,whomnoone
hadeverseen,hadleftagreatpropertysomewhereinAnatoliatohisillegitimate
son in Višegrad as sole heir, but that some relations down there had stayed the
executionofthewill;thatnowitwouldonlybenecessaryforĆorkantoappear
intherichanddistantcityofBrusatocountertheintriguesandliesofthesefalse
heirsandrecoverwhatrightlybelongedtohim.Thenhewouldbeabletobuyup
HadjiOmerandallhiswealth.
Ćorkanlistened,wentondrinkingandonlysighed.Allthatpainedhimbutatthe
sametimedidnotstophimfromsometimesthinkingofhimselfso,andbehaving
as a man who has been cheated and robbed both in this town and over there somewhereinadistantandbeautifulland,thehomelandofhissupposedfather.
Those around him pretended to make preparations for his journey to Brusa.
Their jokes were long, cruel and worked out to the smallest detail. One night
they brought him a supposedly complete passport, and with coarse jokes and
roarsoflaughterpulledĆorkanintothecentreoftheinnandturnedhimround
andexaminedhim,inordertoinscribehispersonalcharacteristicsonit.Another
timetheycalculatedhowmuchmoneyhewouldneedforhistriptoBrusa,how
he would travel and where he would spend his nights. That too passed a good
partofthelongnight.
When he was sober Ćorkan protested; he both believed and disbelieved all he
was told, but he disbelieved more than he believed. When he was sober he
believed,infact,nothingatallbutassoonashewasdrunkhebehavedasthough
hebelieveditall.Forwhenalcoholgotagriponhimhenolongeraskedhimself
whatwastrueandwhatwasalie.Thetruthwasthat,afterthesecondlittlebottle
ofrum,healreadyseemedtofeelthescentedairfromdistantandunattainable
Brusaandsaw,alovelysight,itsgreengardensandwhitehouses.Hehadbeen
deceived,unfortunateineverythingfrombirth,inhisfamily,hispropertyandhis
love; wrong had been done to him, so great a wrong that God and men were
alikehisdebtors.Itwasclearthathewasnotwhatheappearedtobeorasmen
sawhim.Theneedtotellallthosearoundhimtormentedhimmorewithevery
glass, though he himself felt how hard it was to prove a truth that was to him
clearandevident,butagainstwhichcriedoutallthatwasinhimandabouthim.
After the first glass of rum, he explained this to everyone, all night long, in
brokensentencesandwithgrotesquegesturesanddrunkard'stears.Themorehe
explainedthemorethosearoundhimjokedandlaughed.Theylaughedsolong
and heartily that their ribs and their jaws ached from that laughter, contagious,
irresistible and sweeter than any food or drink. They laughed and forgot the
boredomofthewinternight,andlikeĆorkandrankthemselvessilly.
'Kill yourself!' shouted Mehaga Sarač who by his cold and apparently serious
mannerbestknewhowtoprovokeandexciteĆorkan.'Sinceyouhavenotbeen
manenoughtoseizePašafromthatweaklingofaHadjiOmer,thenyououghtn't
toliveanylonger.Killyourself,Ćorkan;thatismyadvice.'
'Kill yourself, kill yourself!' wailed Ćorkan. 'Do you think I haven't thought of
that? A hundred times I have gone to throw myself into the Drina from
the kapia and a hundred times something held me back.' 'What held you back?
Fear held you back, full breeches, Ćorkan!' 'No, no. It was not fear, may God
hearme,notfear!'InthegeneraluproarandlaughterĆorkanleaptup,beathis breastandtoreapieceofbreadfromtheloafbeforehimandthrustitunderthe
coldandimmobilefaceofMehaga.
'Doyouseethis?Bymybreadandmyblessing,itwasnotfear,but...'
Suddenlysomeonebegantohuminalowvoice:
'Onthyfaceitshinesnolonger....'
EveryonepickedupthesonganddrownedMehaga'svoiceshoutingatĆorkan.
'Kill...kill...yourself...!'
Thus singing they themselves fell into that state of exaltation into which they
hadtriedtodriveĆorkan.Theeveningdevelopedintoamadorgy.
One February night they had thus awaited dawn, driving themselves mad with
theirvictimĆorkan,andthemselvesvictimsofhisfolly.Itwasalreadydaywhen
theycameoutoftheinn.Heatedwithdrink,withveinsswollenandcrackling,
theywenttothebridgewhichatthetimewascoatedwithafinelayerofice.
With shouts and gusts of laughter, paying no heed to the few early passers-by,
theybetamongthemselves;whodarestocrossthebridge,butalongthenarrow
stoneparapetshiningunderthethincoatingofice.
'Ćorkandares!'shoutedoneofthedrunkards.
'Ćorkan?Notonyourlife!'
'Whodaren't?I?Idaretodowhatnolivingmandares,'shoutedĆorkanbeating
hisbreastnoisily.
'Youhaven'ttheguts!Doitifyoudare!'
'Idare,byGod!'
'Ćorkandares!'
'Liar!'
Thesedrunkardsandboastersshoutedeachotherdown,eventhoughtheycould
scarcelykeeptheirfeetonthebroadbridge,staggering,teeteringandholdingon
tooneanotherforsupport.
They did not even notice when Ćorkan climbed on to the stone parapet. Then,
suddenly, they saw him floating above them and, drunk and dishevelled as he was,begintostanduprightandwalkalongtheflagstonesontheparapet.
Thestoneparapetwasabouttwofeetwide.Ćorkanwalkedalongitswayingnow
left now right. On the left was the bridge and on the bridge, there beneath his
feet,thecrowdofdrunkenmenwhofollowedhiseverystepandshoutedwords
at him which he scarcely understood and heard only as an incomprehensible
murmur; and on the right a void, and in that void somewhere far below, the
unseenriver;athickmistfloatedupwardsfromitandrose,likewhitesmoke,in
thechillmorningair.
The few passers-by halted, terrified, and with wide-open eyes watched the
drunken man who was walking along the narrow and slippery parapet, poised
above the void, waving his arms frantically to retain his balance. In that
companyofdrunkardsafewofthemoresoberwhostillhadsomecommonsense
watched the dangerous game. Others, not realizing the danger, walked along
beside the parapet and accompanied with their cries the drunken man who
balancedandswayedanddancedabovetheabyss.
All at once, in his dangerous position, Ćorkan felt himself separated from his