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examined the scratches and the dislodged stones, shook their heads, and made incomprehensible gestures. One of them, to everybody’s amazement, stripped off and dived into the water, apparently to inspect the damage below the water line.
    The same thing happened on the second and third days. The inspection team was headed by a tall, thin, extremely stooped man. He seemed to have some kind of cramp in his neck, because he could barely move his head. Judging by the respect shown to him by everybody else, including even the master-in-chief, who was no respecter of persons, people supposed that he must be one of the principal proprietors of the roads and bridges.
    â€œLook how God has bent that cursed one double,” old Ajkuna said when she saw him. “That’s how he’ll twist everyone who wants to build bridges. He’ll bend them double like the bridges themselves, so that their heads touch their feet. Our forebear was right when he said, ‘May you be bent double and eat your toes, you who stray from the path!”,

28
    I WAS SUMMONED in haste to our count. Everyone was gathered there: the emissaries of the road owners, the master-in-chief, and our liege lord’s scribes. Their expressions were despondent, We waited for the count to arrive.
    I could not at all imagine why this meeting was being held. Would there really be a decision to abandon the works? It would be difficult for our liege lord to pay -back even a small percentage of the money he had received. They did not really know his ways.
    The delegation sat as if fixed to their high seats. The stooped man who had been so powerfully cursed by old Ajkuna was among them.
    These meetings were beginning to irritate me. So in particular was the road owners, garbled language, which made my head ache for two days after translating it. Both sides, the water people and the road people, were equally unknown to me, but at least the water people spoke clearly and precisely. But an hour’s talk with the road people seemed to coat the table with the dust of their slovenly language, just as they littered the land where they built,
    I will do what I can today, I said to myself, but next time I will find an excuse not to come.
    The visitors glanced repeatedly at the door through which the count would enter. In fact, his delay showed that he was not pleased at this meeting. The visitors seemed increasingly on tenterhooks. They stared into space, at their hands, or at some pieces of parchment scribbled with all kinds of sketches.
    At last the count arrived. He nodded a frosty greeting and sat down at the table.
    â€œI’m listening,” he said.
    Evidently the tall, bent man would speak first. He cleared his throat two or three times as if in search of the right pitch and was about to say something, but then hesitated and seemed to abandon the idea.
    â€œPm listening,” I translated for the count a second time.
    The head of the deputation also cleared his throat, then said in a dry voice:
    â€œSomeone is damaging our bridge.”
    The count’s eyebrows rose. They expressed surprise, but more expectation, and a hint of mockery.
    â€œIt is not the spirits of the water who are damaging our bridge, as rumor has it, but men,” the visitor continued.
    The count’s face remained petrified.
    The foreigners, representative studied the notes in front of him.
    â€œWe may state from the start whom we suspect,” he went on.
    Our count shrugged, as if to say that it was no concern of his whom they suspected. The visitor apparently misinterpreted the gesture, and hastened to add:
    â€œPlease do not misunderstand me. We don’t suspect your own people in the least.” He gulped. “Nor do we even suspect the Turks. Our suspicions lie elsewhere.”
    â€œFm listening,’ Stres Gjikondi said for the third time.
    The scratching of the quills of the count’s two scribes made the silence even more painful.
    â€œThe