Miljenko Jergovic - The Walnut Mansion

They liked the fact that there were so many people. People had hardly gone outside for a month, but now the rain had stopped and everyone was going back out among people. True, those people weren’t particularly talkative; it was true that they were sizing each other up like roosters before a cockfight; it was true that some might lose their lives and that there wouldn’t be enough wares for everyone, but it was nevertheless somehow good. After the long, suffocating ordeals of going back and forth from the kitchen to the cellar, Niko was able to rest his mind. It stung him that his granddaughter hadn’t even looked at him that morning. She hadn’t said anything, even when he told her that he would bring something back for her too— the caravan drivers always brought sweets for children, kerchiefs for women, and a fine chibouk here and there, a nargileh or similar things to lure money out of your pocket. She acted as if she hadn’t heard or she didn’t care. But she did care! She’d cajoled him and buttered him up so many times in hopes that he would bring her something from town. He would always bring something because he knew she’d be excited. He’d spend a lot of money on a few dates, bring the first ripe rose hips, a hairpin or a fuzzy toy rabbit. . But now she hadn’t even looked at him! Regardless of the fact that he really wanted her to look at him, to be happy at seeing him, to give him a hug and ask him to take her along. Or maybe she hadn’t looked at him precisely because it was so important to him. She was a child, but she already knew how to punish adults. Actually, how women punish men who love them. That was something new in the life of Niko Azinović. His wife Bare had never given him the silent treatment. She hadn’t had time because she’d died too early, but he was sure that she wouldn’t have done such things. Niko thought Bare was the embodiment of a real angel and so never married again.

But what if the girl was right? He hadn’t lifted a finger when that jerk had frightened her, putting his finger on her forehead and looking at her the way a hunter looks at a bear cub, seeing where he would put a bullet in it so as not to damage the hide. Yes, he knew that nothing would happen and that all he needed to do was wait until those uninvited guests left, but the little girl hadn’t known that. And if she had, it wouldn’t have made any difference. She wanted him to defend her. But what she saw was him bowing his head before power. He didn’t defend her, and that was what mattered to her. She surely thought that those robbers had spared her life and that Grandpa wouldn’t have lifted a finger if they’d wanted to cut her throat.

“I’m going home!” he said, getting up and reaching for his sack.

“What’s wrong, did I say something wrong?” Dominko Pujdin asked and grabbed him by the arm.

“No, but I have to go home. Now!”

“Are you crazy? — the caravan is almost here. All kinds of things to buy. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me, but I’m going. .”

“And what are you going to tell everyone at home? What will you say to them when you’re feeding them bran, and whoever isn’t dirt poor is eating what the caravan brought?”

Niko stopped. The old man was right. You can’t come home with empty hands and an empty sack. He’d done something wrong, and now he was wanting to make that right by doing something worse. But the thought that the girl was thinking what she surely was and scorned him was unbearable.

“I insulted Regina. Terribly,” he said.

“Who?” Dominko Pujdin asked; he didn’t understand.

“My little girl. My granddaughter,” he said and his eyes filled with tears from the sound of his words.

“Leave the child in peace,” he said, holding firmly on to Niko’s arm. “She’ll forget about it, whatever it was.”

Dominko Pujdin couldn’t have done any more for him. He’d said something he didn’t believe, but he thought that it was what Niko wanted to hear. He couldn’t figure out what that man, who was his friend, was doing with his life. And had always been doing with it. Instead of getting over his wife and finding another, he had stayed alone. He spoke with children as if they were grown-ups. Next he would be speaking with birds and goats as if they were his equals. .

Niko sat back down on the sack, but in his mind he was going through everything he would do when he got back home. He would tell her that for her he would. . No, he wouldn’t tell her anything. Not today. If she didn’t look at him and didn’t take what he was bringing her, he would act as if nothing were wrong. But the next day he would be waiting for those three with an axe— or should he borrow a hunting rifle from Dominko? Then he’d get them off his doorstep. The girl would watch that. . No! Regina would watch it. From now on he wouldn’t call her a little girl, nor a child, or a little one. . She had her own name! If he’d thought of her as Regina, he wouldn’t have acted like that. Or would he? It was no longer important. What was important was that he would chase them off his doorstep with an axe and a rifle! He would tell them off as he’d never told anyone off in his life. He’d also tell them that the only way they were coming in was over his dead body. Because they’d laid their hands on what he valued most. Regina was dearer to his heart than his two daughters. When you become a father, you fear your own children, but when you become a grandfather, you are the happiest you’ve ever been. He wouldn’t tell his daughter that, but he had to keep it in mind! If he’d thought that then, what had happened never would have happened. And if— God forbid— they attacked him, he would shoot! That was why it was better to get the rifle from Dominko. With an axe you’re never sure. He would shoot and kill! No court in the world would convict him for that. If someone tries to force their way into your home, you have the right to kill them! But what if you don’t? He would do hard labor if he had to, but there was no way he could stand by and watch his kin be threatened! If he’d thought like that the day before, he wouldn’t be feeling as he did today. It was better to go underground than to have your soul come apart. And his soul was coming apart!

They’d been sitting for two hours, and people kept coming. It seemed as if all of Dubrovnik had found out about the caravan. At one point it started to get on Dominko Pujdin’s nerves. He was really galled when he realized that everyone had learned the same thing in confidence, maybe at the same time, in the same way that he had. Yeah, what kind of people are we? — he wondered. The worst pagan had more honor than that! And now the problem with Niko: every so often he would look at him. He would try to start a conversation, but Niko would answer curtly. It was clear that nothing mattered to him, and he kept staring at the same spot, getting wrinkles like an old oak tree— with every minute a new wrinkle appeared on his face, and one could see that great anguish had taken hold of him. Worst of all was that Dominko Pujdin was sure that his anguish was all for nothing.

“Turks have plundered the caravan! In Trebinje, at Arslanagić Bridge,” said a giant of a man in a Konavle peasant outfit as he made his way through the people. “We don’t have any choice but to get ready and head up there!” he said, gripping a muzzle-loading pistol (which was probably two hundred years old) to show that he was already ready to go.

“What will we do up there? If they plundered the caravan, then there won’t be any stuff left. I don’t feel like dying, thank you very much!”

“I’m not going!” Čare Nedoklan objected.

“Well, I’ll go, by God! Are my kids supposed to go hungry just because of some Turkish thugs?” said another voice. The crowd began to stir and separate; everyone went in his own direction, swearwords flew, and people cursed God, others’ mothers, and unborn Turkish children, and there were those who just gave up, grabbing their sacks and baskets to go home.