Miljenko Jergovic - The Walnut Mansion

People even knew which way they were supposed to come. It was the same way they’d been coming for centuries. The Turks would drive their goods to Ljubovija, where they would be taken over by men from Foča. Before the Smrdan watchtower near Banja Koviljača they would be reloaded.

“You don’t go on a caravan without two hundred horses!” Dominko Pujdin said, sounding off and exaggerating. Then a new caravan would be formed and cross the Drina by ferry. It would have been simpler if the Turks crossed over to Bosnia before reloading, but they didn’t do that, nor had they done it when Bosnia had been theirs. Their nasty beliefs drove them from that river, and those beliefs reached back to an earlier time when the sultan Mehmed el-Fatih had begun his conquest of Bosnia. At that time the river was called the Zelenka. It was high, and no one except the brave Kujundžićka, the mother of three brothers from Ustikolina, had ventured to go by ferry to fetch the sultan. More than anyone else it was that woman who had helped el-Fatih to conquer Bosnia. She arrived for him and his horse, but the beast got frightened in the middle of the water, fell into the river, and drowned. Then the sultan shouted, “Bu su derin!” which in Turkish means This water is deep! From the word derin the River Zelenka has been called the Drina ever since, and due to the death of the sultan’s horse, the Turkish caravan drivers crossed it unwillingly. Well, after the Foča caravan crossed the river at the Smrdan watchtower (Dominko Pujdin knew all kinds of things about it, but there were those who knew better than he and went into more detail), it would start toward the rich Semberija town of Janja. There it would be additionally loaded with corn and wheat and start along the Drina, making its way through the canyons and high mountains along the river, and then, God willing, it would arrive in Dubrovnik five days later.

“Now it’ll take them ten days,” said Grandpa Niko. “These are dangerous times, and the caravan drivers have to be cautious.” Dominko Pujdin nodded self-importantly. Father returned to his nails. Grandpa was evidently thinking about whether to roll three more cigarettes, but that seemed to him to be too extravagant. They still didn’t know how much treasure would come along with the caravan and how much it would cost. When he realized that the smoking was over for today, Dominko Pujdin went home. He would let them know as soon as he heard that the caravan was nearing the city. They didn’t need to worry; soon the house would be full of all of God’s gifts.

The phantoms were evidently waiting for the guest to leave because Dominko Pujdin had hardly made it down the stairs and they were already knocking on the door.

“Help us, neighbor, the rain is killing us!” shouted the one with the French hat. Contritely and already far away from the good news, Grandpa put on his coat; Mother looked at him reproachfully and said nothing. How could you tell a man, and your own father, such things? The girl stole off after him. She took care to be as inconspicuous as possible because she was sure the day would come when her mother wouldn’t let her go to the cellar with Grandfather any more. That would be her way of telling him that it wasn’t good for him to be letting those men in.

He poured some diluted vinegar, and the goblet went from one mouth to another. A little light still came in from outside, and they could see one another better than they had the day before. Fatso was short, with thin, short arms. One could tell that he’d never done anything. Horse Face wasn’t elongated in his face only. He was all like a reed bent at the top under the weight of its seed head. His palms were large, like shovels, but he didn’t look dangerous. The small-headed one with the French hat was, however, terrible. Whether it was because of the disproportionate size of his head in relation to his body or because his body was really huge, the girl thought he was three times taller and more powerful than Grandpa Niko. The day before she could see him only in the glow of the cigarette and he hadn’t been like that, but he hadn’t been that way the day before that either, when they’d come around noon and there was enough light to see by. Two days before Horse Face had also been a little shorter and fatter, and Fatso hadn’t had a boy’s hands. . They changed every day, she thought. Grandpa opened his mouth silently, like a red porgy when a net is lifted out of the water, because he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t tell them about the caravan drivers. And maybe he too saw that those men were sometimes smaller and weaker and sometimes bigger and more wicked.

“You say the priest claimed that the boy didn’t have a soul,” Horse Face spoke first.

“Ugh, shame on them,” Fatso said, jumping up.

“Priests have no shame,” said the Monster with the French hat.

“Hodjas do, thank God,” said Horse Face.

“And what do you care about hodjas— do you have them in Dubrovnik. .?” asked French Hat.

“I don’t, I’m just saying. .” said Horse Face.

“Forget that. What was that about the soul?” Fatso interjected. Grandpa kept moving his lips without managing to say anything.

“As if they would wash their bottoms so much if they were thinking about the soul. .” Horse Face said.

“Who do you mean? Are you talking about hodjas again?” asked the French Hat.

“No, I’m not, dammit!” Horse Face answered. “You think about hodjas as soon as I mention bottoms.”

“Come on, people, get serious. The man’s child died, and the priest didn’t want to bury it,” Fatso shouted.

“Don’t talk about it now,” said Grandpa Niko.

“Why not?!” Horse Face objected. “It can’t be that you don’t care any more?”

Grandpa didn’t answer. His lower jaw quivered as if he were about to cry or he was very angry. The girl grew frightened. Her heart was beating like crazy. So it’s here after all, she thought. But her fear didn’t lessen.

“How can he not care?!” Fatso said and slapped his knees. “It’s not like he’s an animal and he doesn’t care. He’s a man. A baptized man! Right, old man, aren’t you baptized?”

Grandpa said nothing and looked at the tips of his shoes.

“Tell us, dammit, are you baptized? Look at him; he’s not saying anything. You come in to get out of the rain, and he doesn’t say anything. It would have been better to stay outside. Wouldn’t it have been better to stay outside?” Fatso said and raised his hands as if to say “Got me.” Monster stood up and paced around the cellar; the tip of his hat nearly brushed the beams on the ceiling. He paced around and was very nervous. And he wanted everyone to see how nervous he was.

“You, little girl,” he said, putting his index finger on her forehead. “Do you have a soul?”

She looked at her grandpa, but he didn’t seem to notice what was going on. He sat there with his hands folded, leaning on his knees, and watched what was going on in the mud floor. Monster didn’t take his finger away; he poked her to get her to answer, and she was waiting on what her grandpa would do. She waited for a very long time. Maybe hours passed, maybe even days, time that couldn’t be measured by anything. He never told her what to do. The girl would forget what happened further, and by virtue of that it was as if nothing had happened. The phantoms laughed for a long time; one by one they patted Grandpa Niko on the shoulders, hit him on his back as if he were choking, embraced him, and slapped him on his cheeks, and he sat in the same position; tears were streaming down his cheeks and falling onto the mud floor of the cellar, which soon turned into a little lake.

“The old man’s afraid we might spend the night at his place,” said Horse Face on their way out. It was as if Grandpa couldn’t hear.