by Ivo Andrić
teacher.Heliftedthedoor-shutterenoughtolethimgetinsideandthenletitfall,
sothatfromtheoutsidetheshopappearedtobeshut.Aloneinthedarkness,he
wriggled his way into that little room behind the shop where he had so often
taken refuge from the obtrusive world, from conversations that poisoned and
boredhim,fromhisfamilyandfromhisownworries.Hesatdownonthesmall
hard chair and crossed his legs under him and sighed. His inner self was still
troubledbyoutwardimpressions,buthesoonbecamecalmandbalancedagain.
Thenarrowroomquicklyfilledwiththewarmthofhisbodyandthe hodja felt
that sweetness of solitude, peace and forgetfulness which made of the close,
dark,dustylittleroomaplaceofendlessparadisiacalgardenswithgreenbanks
betweenwhichmurmuredinvisiblewaters.
In the darkness and closeness of this narrow space he could still feel the
freshness of the morning rain and the sunrise outside. Outside there was an
unusual silence which, for a wonder, was not broken by a single shot, a single
voiceorfootfall.Alihodjawasfloodedwithafeelingofhappinessandgratitude.
These few planks, he thought to himself, were enough, with God's help, to
shelterandsaveatruebeliever,likesomewondership,fromeverymiseryand
care to which there seemed no solution and from the guns with which the two
enemies,bothinfidelandeachworsethantheother,werefightingtheirduelover
his head. There had not been such a calm since the opening of hostilities,
the hodja thought joyously, and silence is sweet and good; with it returned, at least for a moment, a little of that real human life which had recently grown
weaker and weaker and which, under the thunder of the infidel guns, had
completelydisappeared.Silenceisforprayer;itisitselflikeaprayer.
Atthatmomentthe hodja feltthestoolunderhimriseupwardandlifthimlikea
toy; his 'sweet' silence was shattered and suddenly transformed into a dull roar
and a great smashing that filled the air, tore at the eardrums and became
universal and unbearable. The shelves on the wall opposite cracked and the
thingsonthemleaptathimasheatthem.Ah,shriekedthe hodja: orratherhe
onlythoughtthatheshriekedforhehimselfnolongerhadvoiceorhearing,even
ashenolongerhadanyplaceontheearth.Everythingwasdeafenedbysound,
shattered,tornupbytherootsandwhirledabouthim.Improbableasitseemed,
hefeltasifthelittletongueoflandbetweenthetworiversonwhichthetown
wasbuilthadbeenpluckedoutoftheearthwithaterrificnoiseandthrowninto
spaceinwhichitwasstillflying;thatthetworivershadbeentornoutoftheir
bedsanddrawnupwardtotheskies,onlytofalloncemorewithalltheirmassof
watersintothevoid,liketwowaterfallswhichhadnotyetbeenhaltedorbroken.
Wasnotthis kiyamet, thatlastDayofJudgmentofwhichbooksandlearnedmen
spoke,inwhichthislyingworldwouldbeburntupinthetwinklingofaneye,
likeonestubsoutaspark?ButwhatneedhadGod,whoseglancewasenoughto
createandtoextinguishworlds,withsuchachaos?Thiswasnotdivine.Butif
not, how had human hands such power? How could he, so astonished, so
deceived,sooverwhelmedbythisterribleblowwhichseemedtodestroy,break
upandsuffocateeverythingdowntoman'sverythought,giveananswertothis?
Hedidnotknowwhatpoweritwasthatborehimup,hedidnotknowwherehe
wasflyingnorwherehewouldstop,butheknewthathe,Alihodja,hadalways
and in everything been right. Ah, shrieked the hodja once again, but this time withpainforthatsameforcethathadliftedhimupnowthrewhimroughlyand
violently back again, but not to the place where he had been but to the floor
between the wooden wall and the overturned stool. He felt a dull blow on his
headandapainunderhiskneesandinhisback.Nowhecouldtellonlybyear,
likeasoundseparateanddistinctfromtheuniversalthundering,thatsomething
heavy had struck the roof of the shop and that, there behind the partition, had
begunaclashingandbreakingofwoodenandmetalobjectsasifallthethingsin
the shop had come alive, were flying about and colliding in mid-air. But
Alihodjahadalreadylostconsciousnessandlaymotionlessinhislittleroom,as
ifitwereindeedhiscoffin.
Outsideitwasbynowfullday.
Hecouldnothavesaidevenapproximatelyhowlonghelaythere.Whatroused
himoutofhisdeepunconsciousnesswasalightandatthesametimethesound
of voices. He came to himself with difficulty. He knew very well that he was
lying there in complete darkness and yet through the narrow entrance a ray of
lightreachedhimfromtheshop.Herememberedhowtheworldhadbeenfilled
with sound and uproar in which a man's hearing was deafened and his entrails
melted within him. Now there was silence once more, but no longer like that
silence that had seemed to him so sweet before the cataclysm that had thrown
himdownwherehewasnow,butlikesomeevilsisterofit.Howdeepwasthis
silencehebestrealizedbysomeweakvoiceswhich,asiffromagreatdistance,
wereshoutinghisname.
Realizing that he was alive and still in his little room, the hodja extricated himselffromthemassofobjectsthathadfallenontopofhimfromtheshelves,
androse,groaningcontinuallyandutteringcriesofpain.Nowhecouldhearthe
voicesfromthestreetclearly.
He went down and crawled through the narrow opening into the shop. It was
litteredwithfallenandbrokenobjects,allinthefulllightofday.Theshopwas
wideopen,forthedoor-shutter,whichhehadleftleaningbutunlocked,hadbeen
knockedoverbytheblast.
Inthechaosanddisorderofscatteredgoodsanddamagedobjectsthatlayinthe
centre of the shop was a heavy stone about the size of a man's head.
The hodja looked up. Clearly the stone had flown through the air, breaking through the weak roof of wooden shingles. Alihodja looked again at the stone,
white and porous, smooth and clean-cut on two sides but sharp and crudely
brokenontheothertwo.'Ah,thebridge!'thoughtthe hodja butthevoicesfrom
thestreetsummonedhimevenmoreloudlyandperemptorilyandwouldnotlet
himthink.
Bruisedandstillonlyhalf-conscious,the hodja foundhimselffacetofacewitha
group of five or six young men, dusty and unshaven, in grey uniforms with
forage-capsontheirheadsandpeasantsandalsontheirfeet.Allwerearmedand
worecrossedbandoliersfilledwithsmall,shiningbullets.WiththemwasVlado
Marić the locksmith, but without his usual cap, wearing a fur hat and with the
samecartridgebeltsacrosshischest.Oneofthemen,clearlytheleader,ayoung
manwiththinblackmoustachesandaregularfacewithfinefeature
sandfiery
eyes, at once addressed the hodja. He was carrying his rifle over his shoulder likeahunterandhadathinhazelswitchinhisrighthand.
'Hey, you! Do you usually leave your shop wide open? If anything is missing
you will say that my soldiers have pillaged it. Do you expect me to look after
yourgoodsforyou?'
The man's face was calm, almost without expression, but his voice was angry
and the switch in his hand was raised threateningly. Vlado Marić came up and
whisperedtohim.
'Verywell,then.Perhapsheisagoodandhonestman,butifIfindhehaslefthis
shopyawningwideopenagain,hewillnotgetoffsoeasily.'
Thearmedmenwentontheirway.
'Thosearetheothers,'saidthe hodja tohimself,lookingafterthem.'Whyshould
theylightonmeassoonastheycomeintothetown?Itseemsthatnothingcan
changeinthistownwithoutthewholelotfallingonmyhead!'
Hestoodinfrontofhisdamagedshop,mouthopen,withheavyheadandbroken
body.Beforehimlaythesquarewhich,intheearlymorningsun,lookedlikea
battlefield, scattered with large and small bits of stone, tiles and broken
branches.Hisgazeturnedtothebridge.The kapia wastherewhereithadalways
been, but just beyond the kapia the bridge stopped short. There was no longer anyseventhpier;betweenthesixthandtheeighthyawnedagulfthroughwhich
he could see the green waters of the river. From the eighth pier onward the
bridgeoncemorestretchedtothefartherbank,smoothandregularandwhite,as ithadbeenyesterdayandalways.
The hodja blinked his eyes several times in unbelief; then he closed them.
Before his inward sight appeared the memory of those soldiers whom he had
seensixyearsbefore,concealedbeneathagreentent,diggingatthatverypier,
andherecalledthepictureofthatironmanholewhichinlateryearshadcovered
the entrance into the mined interior of the pier, and also the enigmatic yet
eloquent face of Sergeant-Major Branković, deaf, blind and dumb. He started
andopenedhiseyesagain,buteverythinginfrontofhimremainedjustasitwas
before;thesquare,scatteredwithlargeandsmallblocksofstone,andthebridge
withoutoneofitspiersandayawninggulfbetweentworoughlybrokenarches.
Onlyindreamscouldoneseeandexperiencesuchthings.Onlyindreams.But
whenheturnedawayfromthisimprobablesight,therestoodbeforehimhisshop
withthegreatstone,atinypartofthatseventhnier,amonghisscatteredgoods.
Ifitwasadream,itwaseverywhere.
Further down the square he could hear shouting, loud words of command in
Serbian and steps hurriedly drawing nearer. Alihodja rapidly put up his door-
shutter,lockeditwithagreatpadlockandbegantomakehiswayhome,uphill.
Earliertooithadhappenedtohimthatwhilehewasthusgoinguphillhisbreath
hadfailedhimandhehadfelthisheartbeatingwhereitshouldnothavebeen.
For a lone time past, from his fiftieth year, he had found the hill on which his house was built steeper and steeper and the way home longer and longer. But
neversolongasitwastodaywhenhewantedtogetawayfromthemarketplace
asquicklyaspossibleandgethomeassoonashecould.Hisheartwasbeating
asitshouldnothave,hisbreathfailedhimandhewasforcedtohalt.
Downbelowthere,itseemed,thevweresinging.Downbelowthere,too,wasthe
ruined bridge, horribly, cruellv cut in half. There was no need for him to turn
(and he would not have turned for anything in the world) to see the whole
picture;inthedistancethepiercutshortlikeagigantictree-trunkandscattered
inathousandpiecesandthearchestoleftandrightofitbrutallycutshort.The
brokenarchesyawnedpainfullytowardsoneanotheracrossthebreak.
No,notforanythingwouldhehaveturnedround.Buthecouldnotgoforward,
uphill,forhisheartstifledhimmoreandmoreandhislegsrefusedtoobeyhim.
Hebegantobreathemoreandmoredeeply,slowly,inmeasure,eachtimemore
deeply.Thathadalwayshelpedhimbefore.Ithelpedhimnow.Hischestseemed
togroweasier.Betweenthemeasureddeepbreathingandthebeatingofhisheart heestablishedasortofbalance.Hebegantowalkoncemoreandthethoughtof
homeandbedstimulatedanddrovehimon.Hewalkedpainfullyandslowlyand
beforehiseyes,asifitmovedalonginfrontofhim,wasthewholescenewith
theruinedbridge.Itwasnotenoughtoturnone'sbackonathingforittocease
togoadandtormentone.Evenwhenheshuthiseyeshecouldstillseeit.
Yes,thoughtthe hodja moreanimatedly,forhewasnowbreathingalittlemore
easily,nowonecanseewhatalltheirtoolsandtheirequipmentreallymeant,all
their hurry and activity. (He had always been right, always, in everything and
despite everybody. But that no longer gave him any satisfaction. For the first
timeitdidnotreallymatter.Hehadbeenonlytooright!)Forsomanyyearshe
hadseenhowtheyhadalwaysbeenconcerningthemselveswiththebridge;they
had cleaned it, embellished it, repaired it down to its foundations, taken the
watersupplyacrossit,lititwithelectricityandthenonedayblownitallintothe
skiesasifithadbeensomestoneinamountainquarryandnotathingofbeauty
andvalue,abequest.Nowonecouldseewhattheywereandwhattheywanted.
Hehadalwaysknownthatbutnow,noweventhemoststupidoffoolscouldsee
it for himself. They had begun to attack even the strongest and most lasting of
things,totakethingsawayevenfromGod.Andwhoknewwhereitwouldstop!
EventheVezir'sbridgehadbeguntocrumbleawaylikeanecklace;andonceit
begannoonecouldholditback.
The hodja halted again. His breath failed him and the slope suddenly grew
steeper before him. Again he had to calm his heartbeats with deeo breathing.
Againhesucceededinrecoveringhisbreath,felthimselfreviveandwalkedon
morequickly.
Sobeit,thouehtthe hodja. Iftheydestroyhere,thensomewhereelsesomeone
elseisbuilding.Surelytherearestillpeacefulcountriesandmenofgoodsense
whoknowofGod'slove?IfGodhadabandonedthisunluckvtownontheDrina,
hehadsurelynotabandonedthewholeworldthatwasbeneaththeskies?They
wouldnotdothisforever.Butwhoknows?(Oh.ifonlyhecouldbreathealittle
moredeeolv,getalittlemoreair!)Whoknows?Perhapsthisimpureinfidelfaith
that puts evervthing in order, cleans everything up, repairs and embellishes
everythingonlvinordersuddenlyandviolentlytodemolishanddestroy,might
spreadthroughthewholeworld;itmightmakeofallGod'sworldanemptyfield
foritssenselessbuildingandcriminaldestruction,apasturageforitsinsatiable
hungerandincomprehensibledemands?Anythingmighthappen.Butonething
could not happen; it could not be that great and wise men of exalted soul who
would raise lasting buildi
ngs for the love of God, so that the world should be morebeautifulandmanliveinitbetterandmoreeasily,shouldeverywhereand
for all time vanish from this earth. Should they too vanish, it would mean that
the love of God was extinguished and had disappeared from the world. That
couldnotbe.
Filledwithhisthoughts,the hodja walkedmoreheavilyandslowly.
Nowtheycouldclearlybeheardsinginginthemarketplace.Ifonlyhehadbeen
abletobreatheinmoreair,ifonlytheroadwerelesssteep,ifonlyhewereable
toreachhome,liedownonhisdivanandseeandhearsomeoneofhisownabout
him! That was all that he wanted now. But he could not. He could no longer
maintainthatfinebalancebetweenhisbreathingandhisheartbeats;hishearthad
nowcompletelystifledhisbreath,ashadsometimeshappenedtohimindreams.
Only from this dream there was no awakening to bring relief. He opened his
mouthwideandfelthiseyesbulginginhishead.Theslopewhichuntilthenhad
been growing steeper and steeper was now quite close to his face. His whole
field of vision was filled by that dry, rough road which became darkness and
envelopedhim.
OrtheslopewhichledupwardstoMejdanlayAlihodjaandbreathedouthislife
inshortgasps.
TableofContents
INTRODUCTION
TRANSLATOR'SFOREWORD
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Document Outline
INTRODUCTION
TRANSLATOR'S FOREWORD
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII