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Authors: Ivo Andrić
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from two sides, so that they could not escape unless they had wings or could go under water.
All that long cold night the man from Plevlje lay in the boat covered with sheepskins, tormented by the dark thoughts whirling in his head; would Abidaga really carry out his threat and take his life which, under such a chief, was in any case no life but only terror and torment? But along the whole of the construction works not a murmur could be heard except the monotonous lapping and lisping of the unseen waters. Thus it dawned and the man from Plevlje felt in all his stiffened body that his life was darkening and shortening.
On the next, the third and last night, there was the same vigil, the same arrangements, the same fearful listening. Midnight passed. The man from Plevlje was seized with a mortal apathy. Then he heard a slight splash and then, louder, a blow on the oak beams which were placed in the river and on which the staging rested. There was a sharp whistle. But the leader's boat had already moved. Standing upright, he peered into the darkness, waving his hands and shouting in a hoarse voice:
'Row, row. .. .'
The men, half awake, rowed vigorously, but a strong current caught the boat earlier than it should have. Instead of reaching the staging, the boat turned down river. They were unable to make way against the current and it would have swept them far away had not something unexpectedly checked them.
There, right in the middle of the main current, where there were neither beams nor scaffolding, their boat struck something heavy and wooden which echoed dully. Only then did they realize that on the scaffolding above them the guards were struggling with something. The guards, local renegades, were all shouting at once; they fell over one another in the darkness in a medley of broken and incomprehensible cries:
'Hold there, don't let go!'
'Hey, fellows, here!'
'It's me! . ..'
Between the shouts some heavy object or human body could be heard splashing into the water.
The man from Plevlje was for some moments uncertain where he was or what was happening, but as soon as he had come to his senses he began to pull with an iron hook at the end of a long pole at the beams on which his boat had struck and succeeded in pulling the boat upstream nearer and nearer the scaffolding. Soon he was up to the oak piles and, taking heart, shouted at the top of his voice:
'Lights! Light a torch there! Throw me a rope!'
At first no one answered. Then, after much shouting, in which no one listened to or could understand anyone else, a weak torch glimmered uncertainly and fitfully above. This first spark of light only confused the eyes even more and mingled in an uneasy whirl, men, things and their shadows with the red reflections on the water. But then another torch flamed in another hand. The light steadied and men began to pull themselves together and recognize one another. Soon everything became clear and explicable.
Between the boat of the man from Plevlje and the scaffolding lay a small raft made of only three planks; at the front was an oar, a real raftsman's oar, only shorter and weaker. The raft was moored with a bark cord to one of the beams under the scaffolding and was held thus against the swift waters which splashed about it and tried with all their force to pull it away downstream. The guards on the staging helped their leader to cross the raft and climb up to them. All were haggard and out of breath. On the planks a Christian peasant was lying. His breast was heaving quickly and violently and his eyes, starting out of his head, showed fear-stricken whites.
The oldest of the four guards explained to their excited leader that they had been keeping watch at various points on the staging. When they heard the sound of oars in the darkness, they had thought it was their leader's boat, but they had been clever enough not to show themselves and to wait and see what would happen. Then they saw two peasants who approached the
All that long cold night the man from Plevlje lay in the boat covered with sheepskins, tormented by the dark thoughts whirling in his head; would Abidaga really carry out his threat and take his life which, under such a chief, was in any case no life but only terror and torment? But along the whole of the construction works not a murmur could be heard except the monotonous lapping and lisping of the unseen waters. Thus it dawned and the man from Plevlje felt in all his stiffened body that his life was darkening and shortening.
On the next, the third and last night, there was the same vigil, the same arrangements, the same fearful listening. Midnight passed. The man from Plevlje was seized with a mortal apathy. Then he heard a slight splash and then, louder, a blow on the oak beams which were placed in the river and on which the staging rested. There was a sharp whistle. But the leader's boat had already moved. Standing upright, he peered into the darkness, waving his hands and shouting in a hoarse voice:
'Row, row. .. .'
The men, half awake, rowed vigorously, but a strong current caught the boat earlier than it should have. Instead of reaching the staging, the boat turned down river. They were unable to make way against the current and it would have swept them far away had not something unexpectedly checked them.
There, right in the middle of the main current, where there were neither beams nor scaffolding, their boat struck something heavy and wooden which echoed dully. Only then did they realize that on the scaffolding above them the guards were struggling with something. The guards, local renegades, were all shouting at once; they fell over one another in the darkness in a medley of broken and incomprehensible cries:
'Hold there, don't let go!'
'Hey, fellows, here!'
'It's me! . ..'
Between the shouts some heavy object or human body could be heard splashing into the water.
The man from Plevlje was for some moments uncertain where he was or what was happening, but as soon as he had come to his senses he began to pull with an iron hook at the end of a long pole at the beams on which his boat had struck and succeeded in pulling the boat upstream nearer and nearer the scaffolding. Soon he was up to the oak piles and, taking heart, shouted at the top of his voice:
'Lights! Light a torch there! Throw me a rope!'
At first no one answered. Then, after much shouting, in which no one listened to or could understand anyone else, a weak torch glimmered uncertainly and fitfully above. This first spark of light only confused the eyes even more and mingled in an uneasy whirl, men, things and their shadows with the red reflections on the water. But then another torch flamed in another hand. The light steadied and men began to pull themselves together and recognize one another. Soon everything became clear and explicable.
Between the boat of the man from Plevlje and the scaffolding lay a small raft made of only three planks; at the front was an oar, a real raftsman's oar, only shorter and weaker. The raft was moored with a bark cord to one of the beams under the scaffolding and was held thus against the swift waters which splashed about it and tried with all their force to pull it away downstream. The guards on the staging helped their leader to cross the raft and climb up to them. All were haggard and out of breath. On the planks a Christian peasant was lying. His breast was heaving quickly and violently and his eyes, starting out of his head, showed fear-stricken whites.
The oldest of the four guards explained to their excited leader that they had been keeping watch at various points on the staging. When they heard the sound of oars in the darkness, they had thought it was their leader's boat, but they had been clever enough not to show themselves and to wait and see what would happen. Then they saw two peasants who approached the
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