Read Online Three Arched Bridge by Ismaíl Kadaré - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ismaíl Kadaré
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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delegation, hunched, almost fallen on the table.
The master-in-chief, s red poll was opposite him, like a cold fire.
âYou mentioned a murder,â the count said.
Their eyes were again fixed on each other.
âA punishment,â the visitor said.
âAh yes, a punishment.â
The silence continued after the scratching of the quills ceased, when any silence becomes unbearable.
Everybody expected the words of our liege lord to fill this lull. His voice came, weary and indifferent as if from beyond the grave.
âIf it is true, as you say, that your enemies have hit upon the idea of destroying the bridge with the help of legend, then you in turn could use the same means of punishing the culpritsâ¦. In other words â¦â
The count left the phrase unfinished, which happened extremely rarely.
The strangersâ eyes burned feverishly.
âI understand, my lord count,â their leader said at last.
He raised his body from the seat, although his back and head remained hunched over the table, as if they could not be detached from it. It was apparently not easy for him to move his back, and he remained thus for a very long time, while the others turned their heads toward the master-in-chief, almost as if he, who knew the secrets of bridges, could help to lift that arched backbone.
The man finally succeeded in standing up, and after bidding the count farewell, the delegation left one by one. I left too.
It was bad weather outside. The north wind froze my ears. As I walked, I could not stop thinking of what they had talked about with the count. Something ominous had been discussed in a mysterious way. Everything had been carefully shrouded. I had once seen the body of a murdered man on the main road, two hundred paces from the Inn of the Two Roberts. They had wrapped him in a cloth and left him there by the road. Nobody dared to lift the cloth to see the wounds. They must have been terrible.
The thought that I had involuntarily taken part in a conspiracy to murder disturbed my sleep all night. My head was heavy next morning. Outside, everything was dismal Old, iron-heavy rain fell. Oh God, I said to myself, what is the matter with me? And a wild desire seized me to weep, to weep heavy, useless tears, like this rain.
29
T HE RAIN CONTINUED ALL THAT WEEK , as drearily as on that day of the discussion. People say that rain like this falls once in four years. The heavens seemed to be emptying the whole of their antiquity on the earth.
In spite of the bad weather, work on the bridge did not pause for a single day. Builders stopped abandoning the site. Work on the second and third arches proceeded at speed. Sometimes the mortar froze in the cold, and they were obliged to mix it with hot water. Sometimes they threw salt in the water.
The Ujana e Keqe swelled further and grew choppier, but did not mount another assault on the bridge. It flowed indifferently past it, as if nothing had happened, and indeed, to a foreign eye there was nothing but an ordinary bridge and river, like dozens of others that had long ago set aside the initial quarrels of living together and were now in agreement on everything. However, if you looked carefully, you would see that the Ujana e Keqe did not reflect the bridge. Or, if its furrows cleared and smoothed somewhat^ it only gave a troubled reflection almost as if what loomed above it were not a stone bridge but the fantasy or labor of an unquiet spirit.
Everyone was waiting to see what the spirits of the waters would do next. Water never forgetsâ old people said. Earth is more generous and forgets more quickly, but water never.
They said that the bridge was carefully guarded at night. The guards could not be seen anywhere, but no doubt they watched secretly among the timbers.
30
A S SOON AS IT HAD PUT ITS AFFAIRS IN ORDER , the deputation departed^ leaving only one man behind. This was the quietest among themâ a listless man with watery, colorless eyes.
The master-in-chief, s red poll was opposite him, like a cold fire.
âYou mentioned a murder,â the count said.
Their eyes were again fixed on each other.
âA punishment,â the visitor said.
âAh yes, a punishment.â
The silence continued after the scratching of the quills ceased, when any silence becomes unbearable.
Everybody expected the words of our liege lord to fill this lull. His voice came, weary and indifferent as if from beyond the grave.
âIf it is true, as you say, that your enemies have hit upon the idea of destroying the bridge with the help of legend, then you in turn could use the same means of punishing the culpritsâ¦. In other words â¦â
The count left the phrase unfinished, which happened extremely rarely.
The strangersâ eyes burned feverishly.
âI understand, my lord count,â their leader said at last.
He raised his body from the seat, although his back and head remained hunched over the table, as if they could not be detached from it. It was apparently not easy for him to move his back, and he remained thus for a very long time, while the others turned their heads toward the master-in-chief, almost as if he, who knew the secrets of bridges, could help to lift that arched backbone.
The man finally succeeded in standing up, and after bidding the count farewell, the delegation left one by one. I left too.
It was bad weather outside. The north wind froze my ears. As I walked, I could not stop thinking of what they had talked about with the count. Something ominous had been discussed in a mysterious way. Everything had been carefully shrouded. I had once seen the body of a murdered man on the main road, two hundred paces from the Inn of the Two Roberts. They had wrapped him in a cloth and left him there by the road. Nobody dared to lift the cloth to see the wounds. They must have been terrible.
The thought that I had involuntarily taken part in a conspiracy to murder disturbed my sleep all night. My head was heavy next morning. Outside, everything was dismal Old, iron-heavy rain fell. Oh God, I said to myself, what is the matter with me? And a wild desire seized me to weep, to weep heavy, useless tears, like this rain.
29
T HE RAIN CONTINUED ALL THAT WEEK , as drearily as on that day of the discussion. People say that rain like this falls once in four years. The heavens seemed to be emptying the whole of their antiquity on the earth.
In spite of the bad weather, work on the bridge did not pause for a single day. Builders stopped abandoning the site. Work on the second and third arches proceeded at speed. Sometimes the mortar froze in the cold, and they were obliged to mix it with hot water. Sometimes they threw salt in the water.
The Ujana e Keqe swelled further and grew choppier, but did not mount another assault on the bridge. It flowed indifferently past it, as if nothing had happened, and indeed, to a foreign eye there was nothing but an ordinary bridge and river, like dozens of others that had long ago set aside the initial quarrels of living together and were now in agreement on everything. However, if you looked carefully, you would see that the Ujana e Keqe did not reflect the bridge. Or, if its furrows cleared and smoothed somewhat^ it only gave a troubled reflection almost as if what loomed above it were not a stone bridge but the fantasy or labor of an unquiet spirit.
Everyone was waiting to see what the spirits of the waters would do next. Water never forgetsâ old people said. Earth is more generous and forgets more quickly, but water never.
They said that the bridge was carefully guarded at night. The guards could not be seen anywhere, but no doubt they watched secretly among the timbers.
30
A S SOON AS IT HAD PUT ITS AFFAIRS IN ORDER , the deputation departed^ leaving only one man behind. This was the quietest among themâ a listless man with watery, colorless eyes.
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