Ismail Kadare - Three Arched Bridge

ASMALL CROWD OF PEOPLE, both familiar faces and strangers, had gathered round the man who had fallen in a fit, He shook and foamed, as if straining to thrust his limbs right across the Ujana e Keqe, while stretching his neck in the opposite direction. Someone tried two or three times to hold his head, as they usually do in such cases, so that he would not crack his skull in his convulsions, but it was impossible to hold still that half-bald cranium,

“It is a sign from on high,” said one of the bystanders. This was a thin man who, when we later asked what his business was, said he was a wandering fortune-teller,

“And what sort of sign is it?” someone else asked.

The man’s blank eyes gazed at the trembling victim, then at the surface of the river,

“Yes,” he muttered. “A sign from on high, Look how his movements span the waters, and the waters pass on their movements to him. My God, they understand each other.”

Those standing around looked at each other. The man on the ground seemed somewhat calmer now. Someone was holding his head,

“And what sort of sign is it, in your opinion?” someone asked again.

The man who said he was a wandering fortune-teller half closed his lifeless eyes.

“It is a sign from the Almighty that a bridge should be built here, over these waters,”

“Abridge?”

“Didn’t you see how he stretched his arms in the direction of the river? And that his body shook, just as a bridge shakes when a number of carts pass over it together?”

“Brr … It’s cold,’ someone said.

The sick man was quiet now’ his limbs only occasionally twitching in their last spasms, as if they had wound down. Someone bent over and wiped the foam from the edges of his lips. His eyes were desolate and dull

“This is a holy sickness,” the fortune-teller said. “In our parts, they call it the foaming. It always comes as a sign. The sign can portend evil and warn of an earthquake, for instance, but this time, praise God, the omen was a favorable one.”

“A bridge … this is strange,” the people standing about started saying. “Our liege lord must be told of this.” “Who is the lord of these parts?” “Count Stres of the Gjikas, long life to him. Are you a foreigner then, not knowing a thing like that?” “That’s right, brother, from abroad. I was waiting for the raft when that wretch …” “This must certainly reach the ear of our liege lord. Well, a bridge? To be honest, we would never have thought of such a thing!”

THREE WEEKS LATER I was summoned urgently to the count. His great house, fortified at every corner with turrets, was only one hour’s journey away. When I arrived, they told me to go straight up to the armorial hall, where our liege lord usually received princes and other nobles whose journeys brought them through his lands.

In the hall were the count, one of his scribes, our bishop, and two unknown houseguests dressed in tight-fitting jerkins, in fashion who knows where.

The count looked annoyed. His eyes were bloodshot for lack of sleep, and 1 remembered that his only daughter had recently fallen ill. No doubt the two strangers were doctors, come from who knew where*

“I can’t get through to them at all,” he said as soon as I entered. “You know lots of languages. Maybe you can help.”

The new arrivals did indeed speak the most horrible tongue. My ears had never heard such a babble. Slowly I began to untangle the strands. I noticed that their numbers were Latin and their verbs generally Greek or Slav, while they used Albanian for the names of things, and now and then a word of German, They used no adjectives,

With difficulty 1 began to grasp what they were trying to say. They had both been sent by their master to our liege lord, the count of the Gjikas, with a particular mission. They had heard of the sign sent by the Almighty for the construction of a bridge over the Ujana e Keqe, and they were prepared to build it — or in other words he, their master, was — if the count would give them permission. In short, they were prepared to build a stone bridge over the Ujana e Keqe within a period of two years, to buy the land where it would stand, and to pay the count a regular annual tax on the profits they would earn from it. If the count agreed, this would all be laid down in a detailed agreement (item by item and point by point, as they put it) that would be signed by both sides and confirmed with their seals.

They broke off their speech to produce their seal, which one of them drew from inside his strange jerkin.

“We must heed the sign of the Almighty,” they said, almost in one voice.

The count, with weary, bloodshot eyes, looked first at the bishop and then at his own secretary. But their gaze appeared somewhat blurred by this mystery.

“And who is this master of yours?” our liege lord asked.

They started off again with a tangle of words, but the threads were this time so snagged that it took me twice as long to comb them out. They explained that their master was neither a duke, nor a baron, nor a prince, but was a rich man who had recently bought the old bitumen mines abandoned since the time of the Romans, and had also bought the larger part of the equally ancient great highway, which he intended to repair. He has no title, they said, but he has money.

Interrupting each other, they noted down on a piece of paper the sums they would give to buy the land and the sum of the annual tax for the use of the bridge.

“But the main thing is that the sign sent by the Almighty must be obeyed,” one of them said.

The sums noted on the paper were fabulous, and everyone knew that our liege lord’s revenue had recently declined. Moreover, his daughter had been ill for two months, and the doctors could not diagnose her malady.

Our liege lord and the bishop repeatedly caught each other’s eye. The count’s thoughts were clearly wandering from his empty exchequer to his sick daughter, and the bridge these strangers were offering was the sole remedy for both.

They started talking again about the heavenly message conveyed by the vagrant. In our parts, they call that wretch’s ailment moon-sickness, one of them explained, whereas here, as far as I can gather, it is called earth-sickness. However, it is virtually one and the same. These very names show clearly that everywhere they consider it a superior disorder, or divine, as one might say.

Our count did not think matters over for long. He said that he accepted the agreement, and gave the order to his scribe to put it down in writing, in Albanian and Latin. He then invited us all for luncheon. It was the most bitter luncheon I have ever eaten in my life, and this was because of the houseguests, whose speech became more and more tangled, while I had to unravel it for hours on end.

IN THE AFTERNOON I had the misfortune to accompany the strangers as far as the bank of the Ujana, I consoled myself that I was at least not obliged to translate the confusion that issued from their mouths. This road bad because non maintain, mess complete. Water smooth itself, road non, routen need work, we has no tales, has instruct, we fast money, give, take. Water different, boat move itself graciosus, but vdrug many drown, bye-bye, sto dhjavolos, Funebrum, he, he, road no, road sehr guten but need gut repair…

Fortunately, now and then they shut their mouths. They followed with their eyes the flight of the thrushes. Then’ seeing the granaries^ they asked about the quantity of wheat and the cattle that were taken to market and the route they took

I noticed that as we drew nearer to the river, not only their desire to talk but their spirits declined precipitously As they waited for the raft that was to carry them across, they did not conceal their terror of the waters, This was evident from their faces’ without their saying,