Condottiero (3/3)
Così trascorse il primo giorno, e altri ne seguirono allo stesso modo. Non accadde nulla di grande importanza, solo eventi triviali: essi rovinarono a capofitto in un fossato, quindi in un burrone; si graffiarono contro siepi e cespugli di more; alcune braccia e gambe si fratturarono, alcuni subirono dei colpi alla testa. Ma essi sopportarono questi tormenti. Qualche vecchio venne abbandonato morente lungo la strada. “Sarebbe morto anche se fosse rimasto a casa, per non dire in mezzo alla strada!“ disse il portavoce, incoraggiando gli altri a proseguire. Anche qualche infante, di uno o due anni, perì. I genitori repressero stoicamente il loro crepacuore poiché tale era la volontà di Dio. E quanto più piccoli erano gli infanti, tanto meno il cordoglio. Quando sono giovani, la pena è minore. Che Dio non permetta mai ai genitori di perdere i loro figli quando questi hanno raggiunto l’età da matrimonio. Se tale è il destino dei piccoli, è meglio che essi periscano prima. Allora la pena non è così grande!” li consolò nuovamente il portavoce.
Taluni si avvolsero delle pezze intorno alla testa e applicarono degli impacchi freddi sui loro lividi. Altri avevano le braccia fasciate. Tutti erano laceri e feriti. Le loro vesti erano a brandelli, ma nonostante ciò essi muovevano in avanti con gioia. Sarebbe stato più facile sopportare tutto questo se non avessero dovuto patire spesso la fame. Pure essi dovevano proseguire.
Un giorno, accadde qualcosa di più significativo.
Il condottiero camminava davanti, circondato dagli uomini più coraggiosi del gruppo. (Due di loro mancavano, e nessuno sapeva dove fossero. Era opinione comune che questi avessero tradito la causa e disertato. In una circostanza il portavoce disse qualcosa al riguardo del vergognoso tradimento. Solo qualcuno si persuase che i due erano periti lungo il cammino, ma questi non diedero voce alla loro opinione per non turbare gli altri). Il resto del gruppo era in fila dietro di loro. Improvvisamente apparve una gola rocciosa incredibilmente ampia e profonda – un autentico abisso. La pendenza era talmente ripida che essi non osarono muovere un passo avanti. Finanche i più coraggiosi si fermarono di colpo e rivolsero gli sguardi al condottiero. Accigliato, assorto nei suoi pensieri, il capo chino, egli si fece avanti con audacia, battendo il suo bastone, prima a destra e poi a sinistra, secondo il suo modo caratteristico. Molti dissero che tutto ciò lo faceva apparire ancora più nobile. Egli non guardò alcuno, né disse alcunché. Il suo volto non mostrava mutamenti di espressione o tracce di timore mentre egli si avvicinava sempre più al precipizio. Persino gli uomini più temerari sbiancarono come cadaveri, ma nessuno osò ammonire il valoroso, saggio condottiero. Altri due passi ed egli si trovava sul ciglio. Con folle terrore e occhi stralunati, tutti tremarono. Gli uomini più coraggiosi erano sul punto di tirare indietro il condottiero, anche se questo significava una mancanza di disciplina, quando egli mosse un passo, due, e precipitò nel burrone. Allora vi furono confusione, lamenti, grida; il terrore ebbe la meglio. Alcuni cominciarono a fuggire.
– Fermatevi, fratelli! Cos’è questo marasma? È così che tenete fede alle vostre parole? Dobbiamo seguire questo saggio poiché egli sa quello che sta facendo. Sarebbe folle a danneggiare se stesso. Avanti, dietro di lui! Questa è la più grande e forse ultima insidia, l’ostacolo finale. Chi può dirlo? Magari dall’altro lato di questo burrone troveremo una magnifica e fertile terra che Dio aveva in serbo per noi. Avanti! Senza sacrifici non otterremo nulla! – tali erano le parole ammonitrici del portavoce e anch’egli mosse due passi in avanti, scomparendo nel burrone. I più temerari seguirono l’esempio, dopodiché tutti gli altri si lanciarono a loro volta.
Si udirono strepiti, lamenti, ruzzolii, gemiti, sul ripido pendio di questa vasta gola. Si poteva giurare che nessuno ne sarebbe mai uscito vivo, tanto meno illeso e tutto d’un pezzo, ma la vita umana è tenace. Il condottiero fu insolitamente fortunato. Cadendo si era impigliato sui cespugli così da non farsi male. Gli riuscì di rimettersi in sesto e risalire. Mentre strepiti, gemiti e pianto risuonavano dal fondo, egli sedeva immobile, pensosamente assorto. Taluni malconci e furenti presero a maledirlo ma egli non se ne curò. Coloro che erano stati fortunosamente capaci di afferrare un cespuglio o un albero mentre cadevano provarono faticosamente a risalire. Alcuni avevano la testa rotta cosicché il sangue gli colava lungo il volto. Non ce n’era uno integro eccetto il condottiero. Tutti quanti d’un tratto lo guardarono torvi gemendo per il dolore ma egli nemmeno sollevò il capo. Era silenzioso, e aveva assunto la posa riflessiva di un vero saggio!
Trascorse del tempo. Il numero di viandanti diventava sempre più esiguo. Ogni giorno aveva la sua pena. Alcuni lasciarono il gruppo e tornarono indietro.
Dei tanti che erano all’inizio restarono soltanto una ventina all’incirca. I loro volti macilenti e consunti riflettevano i segni della disperazione, dubbio, fatica e fame, ma nessuno pronunziò una sola parola. Essi erano altrettanto silenziosi del loro condottiero e continuavano a trascinarsi. Persino l’esuberante portavoce scrollò la testa mestamente. Il cammino invero era difficile.
Il loro numerò diminuì quotidianamente finché ne rimasero soltanto dieci. I volti scorati, essi soltanto gemevano e deploravano in luogo di conversare.
Sembravano più storpi che uomini. Alcuni adoperavano grucce. Altri tenevano le braccia fasciate intorno al collo. Sulle mani avevano numerose bende e impacchi. Quand’anche avessero voluto sottoporsi a nuovi sacrifici, non avrebbero potuto perché non era rimasto quasi alcun posto sui loro corpi per delle nuove ferite.
Anche i più forti e coraggiosi tra loro avevano già perduto fede e speranza ma essi ancora proseguivano a fatica; ossia arrancavano in qualche modo con grande sforzo, lamentandosi, tormentati dal dolore. Cos’altro restava da fare se non si poteva tornare indietro? Tanti sacrifici per poi demordere dall’impresa?
Imbrunì. Zoppicando sulle stampelle, d’un tratto essi s’accorsero che il condottiero non era più dinanzi a loro. Ancora un passo e tutti precipitarono in un altro strapiombo.
– Ohi, la mia gamba! Ohi, la mia mano! – risuonarono gli strepiti e i lamenti. Una flebile voce arrivò finanche a maledire il degno condottiero ma poi tacque.
Quando sorse il sole, ecco là seduto il condottiero, così come nel giorno in cui venne prediletto.
Il portavoce risalì il baratro, seguito da altri due. Sfigurati e sanguinanti, si guardarono dattorno per vedere quanti ne restavano, ma essi erano i soli. Una mortale angoscia e disperazione ghermì i loro cuori. La regione era ignota, collinosa, rocciosa – nessun sentiero in vista. Due giorni prima erano giunti a una strada ma se l’erano lasciata alle spalle. Era stato il condottiero a guidarli in siffatto modo.
Essi pensarono ai tanti amici e parenti che erano periti in questo chimerico viaggio. Vennero sopraffatti da una mestizia più intensa del dolore nei loro arti menomati. Avevano assistito alla propria distruzione con i loro stessi occhi.
Il portavoce avvicinò il condottiero e prese a parlare con voce stanca e tremolante, colma di sofferenza, disperazione e amarezza.
– Dove stiamo andando adesso?
Il condottiero restò muto.
– Dove ci state portando e dove ci avete mai condotto? Abbiamo messo noi stessi e le nostre famiglie nelle vostre mani e vi abbiamo seguito, lasciandoci alle spalle le nostre case e le tombe dei nostri antenati nella speranza di poterci salvare dalla rovina in quella terra sterile. Ma voi ci avete rovinati in modo peggiore. C’erano duecento famiglie al vostro seguito e guardate adesso quante ne sono rimaste!
– Volete dire che non sono tutti qui? – mormorò il condottiero senza sollevare il capo.
– Come potete chiedere una cosa simile? Alzate lo sguardo e osservate! Contate quanti di noi sono rimasti dopo questo sciagurato viaggio! Guardate in che condizione siamo! Sarebbe stato meglio essere morti che restare storpi a questo modo.
– Io non posso guardarvi!
– Perché no?
– Sono cieco.
Vi fu un mortale silenzio.
– Avete perduto la vista durante il cammino?
– Sono nato cieco!
I tre chinarono il capo per lo sconforto.
Il vento autunnale soffiò sinistro tra le montagne è fece cadere le foglie morte. La nebbia aleggiava sulle colline, e attraverso la fredda, fosca aria frullavano le ali dei corvi. Risonò un gracchiare di cattivo auspicio. Il sole era nascosto dietro le nubi, che si accumulavano sempre più in fretta.
I tre si guardarono terribilmente inorriditi.
– Dove possiamo andare ora? – biascicò uno con angoscia.
– Non lo sappiamo!
A Belgrado, 1901
Per il progetto “Radoje Domanovic” tradotto da Walter Taurisano, 2020
Condottiero (1/3)
– Fratelli e amici, ho udito i vostri discorsi, vi prego quindi adesso di darmi ascolto. Tutto il nostro discorrere e deliberare non giova a nulla fintanto che rimaniamo in questa regione arida. In questo suolo brullo e tra queste rocce non è mai riuscito a crescere nulla, nemmeno negli anni ricchi di pioggia, figurarsi con una siccità come quella attuale, che nessuno di noi ha mai visto prima. Per quanto ancora seguiteremo a riunirci così e blaterare in vano? Il bestiame muore per mancanza di nutrimento, e presto anche noi e i nostri figli saremo ridotti alla fame. Dobbiamo trovare un’altra soluzione che sia migliore e più sensata. Io penso che sarebbe meglio abbandonare questa terra arida e andare per il mondo in cerca di un terreno migliore e più fertile, poiché non possiamo davvero vivere più a lungo in questo modo.
Così un’abitante di qualche sterile provincia si espresse una volta con voce stanca in una certa riunione. Il dove e il quando non è di nostro interesse, suppongo. L’importante è che mi crediate quando dico che ciò è avvenuto da qualche parte in un certo paese molto tempo fa, e tanto basta. Per dirla tutta, una volta ho pensato di aver inventato di sana pianta l’intera storia, ma poco a poco mi è riuscito di liberarmi da questa spiacevole illusione. Adesso credo fermamente che sto per narrare ciò che è davvero accaduto e che deve essere successo da qualche parte e in qualche tempo e che io non avrei mai potuto inventarlo da me.
Gli uditori, dai pallidi volti macilenti e dagli sguardi vuoti, cupi, quasi imperscrutabili, le mani sotto la cinghia, sembrarono ravvivarsi a queste sagge parole. Ognuno immaginava già di essere in qualche sorta di magica, paradisiaca terra dove la ricompensa per lo spezzarsi la schiena nel lavoro sarebbe stata un ricco raccolto.
– Ha ragione! Ha ragione! – mormorarono le voci stremate da ogni lato.
– Questo luogo è vi…ci…no? – un lungo sospiro si udì provenire da un angolo.
– Fratelli! – principiò un altro con voce un po’ più forte. – Dobbiamo seguire subito questo consiglio perché non possiamo più andare avanti così. Abbiamo faticato e ci siamo sacrificati, ma tutto è stato vano. Abbiamo piantato sementi che avrebbero potuto darci nutrimento, ma giunsero le alluvioni a spazzare via semi e terra dai pendii lasciando allora solo la nuda roccia. Dovremmo restare qui per sempre e lavorare da mane a sera solo per rimanere affamati e assetati, nudi e a piedi scalzi? Dobbiamo andarcene e cercare terreni migliori e più fertili dove il duro lavoro produrrà raccolti abbondanti.
– Andiamo! Andiamo via subito poiché non si può più vivere in questo posto!
Si levarono mormorii, e ognuno cominciò ad allontanarsi, senza pensare dove stesse andando.
– Aspettate, fratelli! Dove andate? – il primo oratore interloquì nuovamente. È certo che dobbiamo metterci in cammino, ma non in questo modo. Dobbiamo sapere dove siamo diretti. Viceversa, potremmo finire in una situazione peggiore anziché trovare la salvezza. Suggerisco di nominare un capo al quale ubbidire e che ci indichi la via migliore e la più diretta.
– Scegliamo! Scegliamo subito qualcuno, – si udì tutt’intorno.
Fu allora che divampò la contesa, un autentico guazzabuglio. Chiunque parlava e nessuno prestava ascolto o era capace di farlo. Presero a dividersi in fazioni, ogni individuo che mormorava tra sé, e poi anche queste si sciolsero. A due a due si prendevano per il braccio, arguivano, cercavano di dimostrare qualcosa, si tiravano per la manica e intimavano a gesti il silenzio. Poi tutti si riunirono di nuovo, seguitando a discorrere.
– Fratelli! – si levò d’un tratto una voce più forte che soffocò tutte le altre sorde e roche. – Così non otterremo alcuna intesa. Tutti parlano e nessuno ascolta. Designiamo un condottiero! Chi potremmo scegliere tra di noi? Chi ha viaggiato abbastanza da conoscere le vie? Noialtri ci conosciamo bene, eppure io per primo non metterei me stesso e i miei figli sotto la guida di nessuno dei presenti. Piuttosto, ditemi chi conosce quel viandante laggiù che sieda all’ombra sul ciglio della strada da stamane?
Calò il silenzio. Tutti si voltarono verso lo straniero e lo squadrarono da capo a piedi.
Il viandante, di mezz’età, dal volto greve che s’intravedeva appena tra la barba e i capelli lunghi, sedeva restando in silenzio come prima, assorto nei suoi pensieri, e di tanto in tanto batteva a terra il suo grosso bastone.
– Ieri ho veduto quello stesso individuo con un ragazzo. Si tenevano per mano e scendevano lungo la strada. E la scorsa notte il ragazzo ha lasciato il villaggio ma lo straniero è rimasto qui.
– Fratello, dimentichiamo queste ridicole inezie in modo da non perdere del tempo. Chiunque egli sia, viene certo da lontano siccome nessuno di noi lo conosce e sicuramente sa qual è la via più breve e migliore per condurci. Secondo la mia opinione egli è un uomo molto saggio, poiché siede là in silenzio e medita. Chiunque altro avrebbe già messo naso nei nostri affari una decina di volte o più, oppure avrebbe intavolato una conversazione con uno di noialtri, invece egli è rimasto seduto là per tutto il tempo in solitudine e senza dir nulla.
– È naturale, il buonuomo siede tranquillo perché medita qualcosa. Non può che essere molto intelligente, – convenirono gli altri e presero a scrutare di nuovo lo straniero.
Non perdettero molto altro tempo a discutere prima di concordare che sarebbe stato meglio interrogare questo viandante – il quale, sembrava loro, era stato inviato da Dio per condurli in giro per il mondo in cerca di una terra migliore e un più fertile suolo. Egli avrebbe dovuto essere il loro condottiero, e loro gli avrebbero ubbidito senza discutere.
Scelsero dieci uomini tra di loro che sarebbero dovuti andare dallo straniero per spiegargli la loro decisione. Questa delegazione avrebbe dovuto illustrargli la loro infelice condizione e chiedergli di essere il loro duce.
Così i dieci gli si avvicinarono e s’inchinarono con umiltà. Uno di loro cominciò a parlare del suolo infecondo della zona, degli anni di siccità e della miseria nella quale tutti si ritrovavano. Costui concluse nella seguente maniera:
– Tali condizioni ci costringono a lasciare le nostre case e la nostra terra e ad andare per il mondo in cerca di una patria migliore. In questo preciso istante, quando finalmente abbiamo raggiunto un accordo, sembra che Dio abbia avuto misericordia di noi, che ci abbia mandato voi, uno straniero saggio e degno, e che voi ci guiderete liberandoci dalla nostra miseria. Nel nome di tutti i presenti, vi chiediamo di essere il nostro condottiero. Ovunque andrete, noi vi seguiremo. Voi conoscete le vie e siete di certo nato in una più felice e migliore patria. Vi ascolteremo e ubbidiremo ogni vostro ordine. Accetterete, saggio straniero, di salvare così tante vite? Sarete il nostro condottiero?
Per l’intera durata di questa supplica il saggio straniero non sollevò mai il capo. Egli restò nella medesima posizione nella quale l’avevano trovato. Il capo chino, egli aggrottava la fronte e non disse nulla. Solo pestava il suolo di tanto in tanto con il suo bastone, e pensava. Quando la petizione fu terminata, egli borbottò seccamente e adagio senza mutare la sua posizione:
– Lo farò!
– Possiamo dunque venire con voi in cerca di un posto migliore?
– Potete! – soggiunse senza levare il capo.
Entusiasmo ed espressioni di lode si levavano adesso, ma lo straniero non profferì parola al riguardo.
I dieci informarono l’assemblea del loro successo.
– Non si è nemmeno mosso dalla sua posizione o sollevato il capo per vedere se non altro chi gli parlava. Si è limitato a rimanere seduto in silenzio a meditare. In risposta a tutti i nostri discorsi e apprezzamenti ha pronunziato solo tre parole.
– Un vero saggio! Un’intelligenza rara! – gridarono con giubilo da ogni parte affermando che Dio stesso lo aveva inviato come un angelo dal cielo per salvarli. Erano tutti persuasi del successo sotto la guida di un simile condottiero che nulla al mondo poteva inquietare. E così fu deciso di partire l’indomani all’alba.
Danga
I had an awful dream. I do not wonder so much at the dream itself, but I wonder how I could find the courage to dream about awful things, when I am a quiet and respectable citizen myself, an obedient child of our dear, afflicted mother Serbia, just like all her other children. Of course, you know, if I were an exception in anything, it would be different, but no, my dear friend, I do exactly the same as everybody else, and as to being careful in everything, nobody can quite match me there. Once I saw a shiny button of a policeman’s uniform lying in the street, and I stared at its magic glow, almost on the point of passing by, full of sweet reminiscences, when suddenly, my hand began to tremble and sprang to a salute; my head bowed to the earth of itself, and my mouth spread into that lovely smile which we all wear when greeting our superiors.
— Noble blood runs in my veins — that’s what it is! — This is what I thought at that moment and I looked with disdain at the passing brute who carelessly stepped on the button.
— A brute! — I said bitterly, and spat, and then quietly walked on, consoled by the thought that such brutes are few; and I was particularly glad that God had given me a refined heart and the noble, chivalrous blood of our ancestors.
Well, you can see now what a wonderful man I am, not at all different from other respectable citizens, and you will no doubt wonder how such awful and foolish things could occur in my dreams.
Nothing unusual happened to me that day. I had a good dinner and afterwards sat picking my teeth at leisure; sipping my wine, and then, having made such a courageous and conscientious use of my rights as a citizen, I went to bed and took a book with me in order to go to sleep more quickly.
The book soon slipped from my hands, having, of course, gratified my desire and, all my duties done, I fell asleep as innocent as a lamb.
All at once I found myself on a narrow, muddy road leading through mountains. A cold, black night. The wind howls among barren branches and cuts like a razor whenever it touches naked skin. The sky black, dumb, and threatening, and snow, like dust, blowing into one’s eyes and beating against one’s face. Not a living soul anywhere. I hurry on and every now and then slip on the muddy road to the left, to the right. I totter and fall and finally lose my way, I wander on — God knows where — and it is not a short, ordinary night, but as long as a century, and I walk on all the time without knowing where.
So I walked on for very many years and came somewhere, far, far away from my native country to an unknown part of the world, to a strange land which probably nobody knows of and which, I am sure, can be seen only in dreams.
Roaming about the land I came to a big town where many people lived. In the large market-place there was a huge crowd, a terrible noise going on, enough to burst one’s ear-drum. I put up at an inn facing the market-place and asked the landlord why so many people had gathered together…
— We are quiet and respectable people, — he began his story, — we are loyal and obedient to the Mayor.
— The Mayor is not your supreme authority, is he? — I asked, interrupting him.
— The Mayor rules here and he is our supreme authority; the police come next.
I laughed.
— Why are you laughing? … Didn’t you know? … Where do you come from?
I told him how I had lost my way, and that I came from a distant land—Serbia.
— I’ve heard about that famous country! — whispered the landlord to himself, looking at me with respect, and then he spoke aloud:
— That is our way, — he went on, — the Mayor rules here with his policemen.
— What are your policemen like?
— Well, there are different kinds of policemen—they vary, according to their rank. There are the more distinguished and the less distinguished… We are, you know, quiet and respectable people, but all kinds of tramps come from the neighbourhood, they corrupt us and teach us evil things. To distinguish each of our citizens from other people the Mayor gave an order yesterday that all our citizens should go to the Town Hall, where each of us will have his forehead stamped. This is why so many people have got together: in order to take counsel what to do.
I shuddered and thought that I should run away from this strange land as quickly as I could, because I, although a Serb, was not used to such a display of the spirit of chivalry, and I was a little uneasy about it!
The landlord laughed benevolently, tapped me on the shoulder, and said proudly:
— Ah, stranger, is this enough to frighten you? No wonder, you have to go a long way to find courage like ours!
— And what do you mean to do? — I asked timidly.
— What a question! You will see how brave we are. You have to go a long way to find courage like ours, I tell you. You have travelled far and wide and seen the world, but I am sure you have never seen greater heroes than we are. Let us go there together. I must hurry.
We were just about to go when we heard, in front of the door, the crack of a whip.
I peeped out: there was a sight to behold—a man with a shining, three-horned cap on his head, dressed in a gaudy suit, was riding on the back of another man in very rich clothes of common, civilian cut. He stopped in front of the inn and the rider got down.
The landlord went out, bowed to the ground, and the man in the gaudy suit went into the inn to a specially decorated table. The one in the civilian clothes stayed in front of the inn and waited. The landlord bowed low to him as well.
— What’s all this about? — I asked the landlord, deeply puzzled.
— Well, the one who went into the inn is a policeman of high rank, and this man is one of our most distinguished citizens, very rich, and a great patriot, — whispered the landlord.
— But why does he let the other one ride on his back?
The landlord shook his head at me and we stepped aside. He gave me a scornful smile and said:
— We consider it a great honour which is seldom deserved! — He told me a great many things besides, but I was so excited that I could not make them out. But I heard quite clearly what he said at the end: — It is a service to one’s country which all nations have still not learned to appreciate!
—
We came to the meeting and the election of the chairman was already in progress.
The first group put up a man called Kolb, if I remember the name rightly, as its candidate for the chair; the second group wanted Talb, and the third had its own candidate.
There was frightful confusion; each group wanted to push its own man.
— I think that we don’t have a better man than Kolb for the chair of such an important meeting, — said a voice from the first group, — because we all know so well his virtues as a citizen and his great courage. I do not think there is anybody among us here who can boast of having been ridden so frequently by the really important people…
— Who are you to talk about it, — shrieked somebody from the second group. — You have never been ridden on by a junior police clerk!
— We know what your virtues are, — cried somebody from the third group. — You could never suffer a single blow of the whip without howling!
— Let us get this straight, brothers! — began Kolb. — It is true that eminent people were riding on my back as early as ten years ago; they whipped me and I never gave a cry, but it may well be that there are more deserving ones among us. There are perhaps younger better ones.
— No, no, — cried his supporters.
— We don’t want to hear about out-of-date honours! It’s ten years since Kolb was ridden on, — shouted the voices from the second group.
— Young blood is taking over, let old dogs chew old bones, — called some from the third group.
Suddenly there was no more noise; people moved back, left and right, to clear a path and I saw a young man of about thirty. As he approached, all heads bowed low.
— Who is this? — I whispered to my landlord.
— He is the popular leader. A young man, but very promising. In his early days he could boast of having carried the Mayor on his back three times. He is more popular than anybody else.
— They will perhaps elect him? — I inquired.
— That is more than certain, because as for all the other candidates — they are all older, time has overtaken them, whereas the Mayor rode for a little while on his back yesterday.
— What is his name?
— Kleard.
They gave him a place of honour.
— I think, — Kolb’s voice broke the silence, — that we cannot find a better man for this position than Kleard. He is young, but none of us older ones is his equal.
— Hear, hear! … Long live Kleard! … — all the voices roared.
Kolb and Talb took him to the chairman’s place. Everybody made a deep bow, and there was utter silence.
— Thank you, brothers, for your high regard and this honour you have so unanimously bestowed upon me. Your hopes, which rest with me now, are too flattering. It is not easy to steer the ship of the nation’s wishes through such momentous days, but I will do everything in my power to justify your trust, to represent honestly your opinion, and to deserve your high regard for me. Thank you, my brothers, for electing me.
— Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! — voters thundered from all sides.
— And now, brothers, I hope you will allow me to say a few words about this important event. It is not easy to suffer such pains, such torments as are in store for us; it is not easy to have one’s forehead branded with hot iron. Indeed, no — they are pains which not all men can endure. Let the cowards tremble, let them blench with fear, but we must not forget for a moment that we are sons of brave ancestors, that noble blood runs in our veins, the heroic blood of our grandfathers, the great knights who used to die without batting an eyelid for freedom and for the good of us all, their progeny. Our suffering is slight, if you but think of their suffering — shall we behave like members of a degenerate and cowardly breed now that we are living better than ever before? Each true patriot, everyone who does not want to put our nation to shame before all the world, will bear the pain like a man and a hero.
— Hear! Hear! Long live Kleard!
There were several fervent speakers after Kleard; they encouraged the frightened people and repeated more or less what Kleard had said.
Then a pale weary old man, with a wrinkled face, his hair and beard as white as snow, asked to speak. His knees were shaking with age, his hands trembling, his back bent. His voice quavered, his eyes were bright with tears.
— Children, — he began, with tears rolling down his white, wrinkled cheeks and falling on his white beard, — I am miserable and I shall die soon, but it seems to me that you had better not allow such shame to come to you. I am a hundred years old, and I have lived all my life without that! … Why should the stamp of slavery be impressed on my white and weary head now ? …
— Down with that old rascal! — cried the chairman.
— Down with him! — others shouted.
— The old coward!
— Instead of encouraging the young, he is frightening everybody!
— He should be ashamed of his grey hairs! He has lived long enough, and he can still be scared — we who are young are more courageous…
— Down with the coward!
— Throw him out!
— Down with him!
An angry crowd of brave, young patriots rushed on the old man and began to push, pull, and kick him in their rage.
They finally let him go because of his age — otherwise they would have stoned him alive.
They all pledged themselves to be brave tomorrow and to show themselves worthy of the honour and the glory of their nation.
People went away from the meeting in excellent order. As were parting they said:
— Tomorrow we shall see who is who!
— We’ll sort out the boasters tomorrow!
— The time has come for the worthy to distinguish themselves from the unworthy, so that every rascal will not be will not be able to boast a brave heart!
—
I went back to the inn.
— Have you seen what we are made of? — my landlord asked me proudly.
— Indeed I have, — I answered automatically, feeling that my strength had deserted me and that my head was buzzing with strange impressions.
On that very day I read in their newspaper a leading article which ran as follows:
— Citizens, it is time to stop the vain boasting and swaggering amongst us; it is time to stop esteeming the empty words which we use in profusion in order to display our imaginary virtues and deserts. The time has come, citizens, to put our words to the test and to show who is really worthy and who is not! But we believe that there will be no shameful cowards among us who will have to be brought by force to the appointed branding place. Each one of us who feels in his veins a drop of the noble blood of our ancestors will struggle to be among the first to bear the pain and anguish, proudly and quietly, for this is holy pain, it is a sacrifice for the good of our country and for the welfare of us all. Forward, citizens, for tomorrow is the day of the noble test! …
—
My landlord went to bed that day straight after the meeting in order to get as early as possible to the appointed place the next day. Many had, however, gone straight to the Town Hall to be as near as possible to the head of the queue.
The next day I also went to the Town Hall. Everybody was there — young and old, male and female. Some mothers brought their little babies in their arms so that they could be branded with the stamp of slavery, that is to say of honour, and so obtain greater right to high positions in the civil service.
There was pushing and swearing (in that they are rather like us Serbs, and I was somehow glad of it), and everybody strove to be the first at the door. Some were even taking others by the throat.
Stamps were branded by a special civil servant in a white, formal suit who was mildly reproaching the people:
— Don’t hum, for God’s sake, everybody’s turn will come — you are not animals, I suppose we can manage without shoving.
The branding began. One cried out, another only groaned, but nobody was able to bear it without a sound as long as I was there.
I could not bear to watch this torture for long, so I went back to the inn, but some of them were already there, eating and drinking.
— That is over! — said one of them.
— Well, we didn’t really scream, but Talb was braying like a donkey! … — I said another.
— You see what your Talb is like, and you wanted to have him as the chairman of the meeting yesterday.
— Ah, you never can tell!
— They talked, groaning with pain and writhing, but trying to hide it from one another, for each was ashamed of being thought a coward.
Kleard disgraced himself, because he groaned, and a man named Lear was a hero because he asked to have two stamps impressed on his forehead and never gave a sound of pain. All the town was talking with the greatest respect only about him.
Some people ran away, but they were despised by everybody.
After a few days the one with two stamps on his forehead walked about with head held high, with dignity and self-esteem, full of glory and pride, and wherever he went, everybody bowed and doffed his hat to salute the hero of the day.
Men, women, and children ran after him in the street to see the nation’s greatest man. Wherever he went, whisper inspired by awe followed him: ‘Lear, Lear! … That’s him! … That is the hero who did not howl, who did not give a sound while two stamps were impressed on his forehead!’ He was in the headlines of the newspapers, praised and glorified.
And he had deserved the love of the people.
—
All over the place I listen to such praise, and I begin to feel the old, noble Serbian blood running in my veins, Our ancestors were heroes, they died impaled on stakes for freedom; we also have our heroic past and our Kosovo. I thrill with national pride and vanity, eager to show how brave my breed is and to rush to the Town Hall and shout:
— Why do you praise your Lear? … You have never seen true heroes! Come and see for yourself what noble Serbian blood is like! Brand ten stamps upon my head, not only two!
The civil servant in the white suit brought his stamp near my forehead, and I started… I woke up from my dream.
I rubbed my forehead in fear and crossed myself, wondering at the strange things that appear in dreams.
— I almost overshadowed the glory of their Lear, — I thought and, satisfied, turned over, and I was somehow sorry that my dream had not come to its end.
Source: Yugoslav Short Stories, Oxford University Press, London 1966. (Translated by Svetozar Koljević)
Last year, when we were preparing for the publication of this story on our website, we contacted our esteemed academician Mr Svetozar Koljević to ask if he would give us the rights to publish his translation. In a short and cordial phone conversation, Mr Koljević expressed his agreement and support, saying that “it is a great step for our little Radoje”. Recently, we learned with a great deal of sorrow that Mr Koljević had passed away, at the age of 85, after a long and fruitful academic career spanning over 50 years. We publish this work in his honour. May his memory be eternal! Editors.
The Leader (3/3)
(Previous)
Thus the first day passed, and there followed more days with the same success. Nothing of very great importance happened, only trivial occurrences: they tumbled headfirst into a ditch, then into a ravine; they brushed against hedges and blackberry bushes; they stepped on bottles; several broke arms and legs; some suffered blows on the head. But all this torment was endured. A few old men were left lying dead on the road. “They would have died even if they had stayed at home, not to mention on the road!” the spokesmen said, encouraging the others to continue. A few smaller children, one to two years old, also perished. The parents stoically suppressed their heartaches because it was God’s will. “And the smaller the children, the less the grief. When they are younger the sorrow is less. God grant the parents never lose their children when they have reached the marrying age. If the children are so destined, it’s better that they die early. Then the sorrow is not so great!” the spokesmen consoled them again. Some wrapped cloths around their heads and put cold compresses on their bruises. Others carried their arms in slings. All were ragged and cut up. Their clothes hung in shreds, but they nevertheless pushed happily forward. All this would have been easier to bear if they had not been racked with hunger many times over. But they had to keep going.
One day, something more significant happened.
The leader was walking in front, surrounded by the bravest men in the group. (Two of them were missing, and no one knew where they were. It was the general opinion that they had betrayed their cause and fled. On one occasion the spokesman said something about their shameful treason. Only a few believed the two had died on the way, but they did not voice their opinion in order not to arouse the others.) The rest of the group was in line behind them. Suddenly there appeared an exceedingly large and deep, rocky gorge – a real abyss. The slope was so steep that they did not dare take a step forward. Even the bravest ones stopped short and looked at the leader. Frowning, absorbed in thoughts with his head down, he boldly stepped forward, tapping his cane in front, first to the right, then to the left, in his characteristic way. Many said it all made him seem still more dignified. He neither looked at anyone nor said anything. On his face there was no change of expression or trace of fear as he got nearer and nearer to the precipice. Even the very boldest men became pale as death, but no one dared warn the valiant, wise leader. Two more steps and he was at the edge. In morbid fear and with wide open eyes, they all trembled. The bravest men were just on the point of holding the leader back, even if it meant a breach of discipline, when he stepped once, twice, and plunged into the ravine. There arose bewilderment, wailing, screaming; fear got the upper hand. Some began to flee.
– Hold it, brothers! What’s the hurry? Is this the way you keep your word? We must follow this wise man because he knows what he’s doing. He would be insane to ruin himself. Forward, after him! This is the biggest and perhaps the last hazard, the last hurdle. Who knows? Maybe on the other side of this ravine we’ll find a magnificient, fertile land which God meant for us. Forward! Without sacrifice, we’ll get nowere! – such were the spokesman’s words of advice and he too took two steps forward, disappearing into the ravine. The bravest followed and then everyone else plunged in.
There was wailing, groaning, tumbling, moaning on the steep slope of this vast gorge. One would have sworn that no one would ever get out alive, much less unhurt and in one piece, but human life is tenacious. The leader was unusually lucky. He hung onto bushes as he fell so that he was not hurt. He managed to pull himself together and climb out. While wailing, moaning and weeping resounded below, he sat motionless, pensively silent. A few who were battered and angry began to curse him but he paid no heed. Those who luckily were able to hold of a bush or a tree while falling began trying strenuously to climb out. Some had cracked heads so that blood was gushing out of their faces. There was nobody in one piece except the leader. They all suddenly frowned at him and groaned in agony but he did not even lift his head. He was silent and assumed the reflective pose of a real sage!
Some time passed. The number of travelers was becoming smaller and smaller. Each day took its toll. Some left the group and turned back.
Of the large number that started, only about twenty remained. Their haggard, exhausted faces mirrored signs of despair, doubt, fatigue and hunger, but no one said as much as a word. They were as silent as their leader and kept plodding along. Even the spirited spokesman shook his head desperately. The road was difficult indeed.
Their numbers diminished daily until there were only ten. With despondent faces, they only groaned and complained instead of conversing.
They looked more like cripples than men. Some were on cruthces. Some held their arms in slings fastened around their necks. On their hands were numerous bandages and compresses. Even if they had wanted to make new sacrifices, they could not because there was almost no room on their bodies for any new wounds.
Even the strongest and bravest among them had already lost faith and hope but they still struggled farther; that is, they somehow hobbled along with great effort, complaining, racked with pain. What else could they do if they could not go back? So many sacrifices and now to abandon the journey?
Twilight descended. Limping along on crutches, they suddenly saw that the leader was not in front of them anymore. Another step and they all plunged into another ravine.
– Oh, my leg! Oh, my hand! – resounded the wailing and groaning. One weak voice even cursed the worthy leader but then became silent.
When the sun came up, there sat the leader, the same as on that day when he was chosen. There was not the least change in his appearance.
The spokesman climbed out of the ravine, followed by two others. Disfigured and bloody, they turned around to see how many were left, but they were the only ones. Deathly fear and hopelessness filled their hearts. The region was unknown, hilly, rocky – no paths anywhere. Two day before they had come upon a road but left it behind. The leader led them that way.
They thought about the many friends and relatives who had died on this fantastic trip. A sadness stronger than the pain in their crippled limbs overcame them. They had witnessed their own destruction with their own eyes.
The spokesman went up to the leader and began speaking with a tired, trembling voice full of pain, despair and bitterness.
– Where are we going now?
The leader was silent.
– Where are you taking us and where have you brought us? We placed ourselves and our families in your hands and we followed you, leaving behind our homes and our ancestors’ graves in hopes that we could save ourselves from ruin in that barren land. But you have ruined us in a worse way. There were two hundred families behind you and now look how many there are!
– You mean everyone is not here? – mumbled the leader without lifting his head.
– How can you ask such a question? Look up and see! Count how many of us are left on this unfortunate journey! Look at the shape we’re in! It would be better to have died than to be crippled like this.
– I can’t look at you!
– Why not?
– I’m blind.
A dead silence.
– Did you lose your sight during the journey?
– I was born blind!
The three hung their heads in despair.
The autumn wind blew sinisterly through the mountains and brought down the withered leaves. A fog hovered over the hills, and through the cold, misty air fluttered ravens’ wings. An ill-omened cawing resounded. The sun was concealed behind the clouds, which were rolling and hurrying along farther and farther.
The three looked at each other in utter horror.
– Where can we go now? – mumbled one gravely.
– We don’t know!
Source: Vučković, Tihomir (ed.), A Millenium of Serbian Literature, Centre of Emigrants of Serbia, Belgrade 1999, 127–135. Translated by W. Murray Lineker.
The Leader (2/3)
(Previous)
On the next day everyone who had the courage to go on a long journey assembled. More than two hundred families came to the appointed place. Only a few remained at home to look after the old homesite.
It was indeed sad to look at this mass of miserable people whom bitter misfortune had forced to forsake the land in which they were born and in which lay the graves of their ancestors. Their faces were haggard, worn-out and sunburned. The suffering of many long laborious years showed its effect on them and conveyed a picture of misery and bitter despair. But in this very instant there was seen the first glimmer of hope – mixed with homesickness to be sure. A tear flowed down the wrinkled face of many an old man who sighed desperately and shook his head with an air of evil foreboding. He would rather remain for some time so that he too could die among these rocks instead of looking for a better homeland. Many of women lamented loudly and bade farewell to their dead loved ones whose graves they were leaving.
The men were trying to put up a brave front and were shouting, – Well, do you want to keep on starving in this damned land and living in these shacks? – Actually they would have liked the best of all to take the whole cursed region with them with them if it had been possible.
There was the usual noise and shouting as in every mass of people. Both men and women were restless. The children were shrieking in cradles on their mothers’ backs. Even the livestock were a bit uneasy. There were not too many cattle, a calf here and there and then a lean, shaggy hack with a large head and fat legs on which they were loading old rugs, bags and even two sacks over the pack saddle, so that the poor animal swayed under the weight. Yet it managed to stay up and neigh from time to time. Others were loading donkeys; the children were pulling at dogs on leashes. Talking, shouting, cursing, wailing, crying, barking, neighing – all abounded. Even a jackass brayed a few times. But the leader did not utter a word, as if the whole affair were none of his business. A real wise man!
He just sat pensively and silently, with his head down. Now and then he spat; that was all. But on account of his strange behavior, his popularity grew so much that all would have gone through fire and water, as they say, for him. The following conversations could be heard:
– We should be happy to have found such a man. Had we gone ahead without him, God forbid! We would have perished. He has real intelligence, I tell you! He’s silent. He hasn’t sait a word yet! – said one while looking at the leader with respect and pride.
– What should he say? Whoever talks a lot doesn’t think very much. A smart man, that’s for sure! He only ponders and says nothing, – added another, and he too looked at the leader with awe.
– It’s not easy to lead so many people! He has to collect his thoughts because he’s got a big job on his hands, – said the first again.
The time came to get started. They waited awhile, however, to see if anyone else would change his mind and come with them, but since no one came, they could not linger any longer.
– Shouldn’t we get going? – they asked the leader.
He got up without saying a word.
The most courageous men immediately grouped around him to be at hand in case of danger or an emergency.
The leader, frowning, his head down, took a few steps, swinging his cane in front of himself in a dignified fashion. The gathering moved along behind him and shouted several times, “Long live our leader!” He took a few more steps and bumped into the fence in front of the village hall. There, naturally, he stopped; so the group stopped too. The leader then stepped back a bit and rapped his cane on the fence several times.
– What do you want us to do? – they asked.
He said nothing.
– What should we do? Tear the fence down! That’s what we’re to do! Don’t you see that he’s shown us with his cane what to do? – shouted those who stood around the leader.
– There is the gate! There is the gate! – screamed the children and pointed at the gate which stood opposite them.
– Hush, quiet, children!
– God help us, what’s going on? – a few women crossed themselves.
– Not a word! He knows what to do. Tear the fence down!
In an instant the fence was down as if it had never been there.
They went past the fence.
Scarcely had they gone a hundred steps when the leader ran into a large thorn bush and stopped. With great difficulty he managed to pull himself out and then began tapping his cane in all directions. No one budged.
– And what’s the matter now? – shouted those in the rear.
– Cut the thorn bush down! – cried the ones standing around the leader.
– There’s the road, behing the thorn bushes! There it is! – screamed the children and even many people in the back.
– There’s the road! There’s the road! – jeered those around the leader, mimicking angrily. – And how can we blind men know where he’s leading us? Everyone can’t give orders. The leader knows the best and most direct route. Cut down the thorn bush!
They plunged in to clear the way.
– Ouch, – cried someone who was stuck in the hand by a thorn and someone else whose face was struck by a blackberry branch.
– Brothers, you can’t have something for nothing. You have to strain yourselves a bit to succeed, – answered the bravest in the group.
They broke through the bush after much effort and moved forward.
After wandering along a little further, they came upon a buch of logs. These, too, were thrown to the side. Then they continued.
Very little ground was covered on the first day because they had to overcome several, similar obstacles. And all this on little food because some had brought only dried bread and a little cheese while others had only some bread to satisfy their hunger. Some had nothing at all. Fortunately it was summertime so that they found a fruit tree here and there.
Thus, although on the first day only a small stretch lay behind them, they felt very tired. No great dangers turned up and there were no accidents either. Naturally in such a large undertaking the following events must be considered trifles: a thorn stuck one woman’s left eye, which she covered with a damp cloth; one child bawled and limped into a log; an old man tripped over a blackberry bush and sprained his ankle; after ground onion was put on it, the man bravely endured the pain and, leaning on his cane, limped forward valiantly behind the leader. (To be sure, several said that the old man was lying about the ankle, that he was only pretending because he was eager to go back.) Soon, there were only a few who did not have a thorn in their arm or a scratched face. The men endured it all heroically while the women cursed the very hour they departed and the children cried, naturally, because they did not understand all this toil and pain would be richly rewarded.
Much to everyone’s happiness and joy, nothing at all happened to the leader. Frankly, if we are to tell the truth, he was very much protected, but still, the man was simply lucky. At the first night’s campsite everyone prayed and thanked God that the day’s journey was successful and that nothing, not even the slightest misfortune, had befallen the leader. Then one of the bravest men began to speak. His face had been scratched by a blackberry bush, but he simply paid no attention to it.
– Brothers, – he began. – One day’s journey lies successfully behind us, thank God. The road is not easy, but we’ve got to stick it out because we all know that this difficult road will lead us to happiness. May almighty God protect our leader from any harm so that he may continue to lead us successfully.
– Tomorrow I’ll lose my other eye if things go like today! – one of the women uttered angrily.
– Ouch, my leg! – the old man cried, encouraged by the woman’s remark.
The children kept on whining and crying, and the mothers had a hard time silencing them so that the spokesman could be heard.
– Yes, you’ll lose your other eye, – he burst out in anger, – and may you lose both! It’s no big misfortune for one woman to lose her eyes for such a great cause. For shame! Don’t you ever think about the well-being of your children? Let’s half of us perish in this endeavor! What difference does it make? What’s one eye? Of what use are your eyes when there’s someone who’s looking for us and leading us to happiness? Should we abandon our undertaking merely on account of your eye and the old man’s leg?
– He’s lying! The old man’s lying! He’s only pretending so he can go back, – resounded voices from all sides.
– Brothers, whoever doesn’t want to go any farther, – said the spokesman again, – let him go back instead of complaining and stirring up the rest of us. As far as I’m concerned, I am going to follow this wise leader as long as there’s anything left in me!
– We’ll all follow! We’ll all follow him as long as we live!
The leader was silent.
Everyone began looking at him and whispering:
– He’s absorbed in his thoughts!
– A wise man!
– Look at his forehead!
– And always frowning!
– Serious!
– He’s brave! That’s seen in everything about him.
– You can say that again! Fence, logs, briars – he plows through it all. He somberly taps his cane, saying nothing, and you must guess what he has in mind.
(Next)
Радоје Домановић 