The Bridge on the Drina (21 page)

Alihodja himself was still a young man, lively, healthy and smiling. Like a real Mutevelić he held contrary opinions in everything, defending them tenaciously and sticking to them obstinately. Because of his outspoken nature and independence of his thought he was frequently at odds with the local 
ulema 
and the Moslem notables. He had the title and rank of 
hodja 
but neither carried out
any of the duties of that office nor received any income from that calling. In order to be as independent as possible, he himself looked after the shop which had been left by his father.

Like the majority of the Višegrad Moslems, Alihodja too was opposed to any armed resistance. But in his case there could be no question of cowardice or religious lukewarmness. He loathed the foreign Christian power and all that it would bring with it as much as the 
mufti 
or any of the insurgents. But seeing that the Sultan had in fact left Bosnia at the mercy of the Schwabes (for so they called the Austrians) and knowing his fellow-citizens, he was opposed to any disorganized popular resistance which could only end in disaster and make their misfortune the greater. When once this idea was firmly implanted in his mind, he preached it openly and defended it with spirit. On this occasion too he kept on asking awkward questions and made sarcastic comments which greatly disconcerted the 
mufti. 
Thus unintentionally he sustained among the people of Višegrad, who in any case would not have been so swift to battle or much inclined to make sacrifices, a spirit of open resistance against the 
mufti's 
warlike intentions.

When Osman Effendi Karamanli remained in the town to continue his discussions with the people, he found himself faced with Alihodja. Those few begs and agas who swallowed their words and measured their phrases and who in fact were in complete agreement with Alihodja left it to the sincere and ebullient 
hodja 
to come into the open and enter into conflict with Karamanli.

Thus early one evening the leading Višegrad Turks were sitting on the 
kapia, 
cross-legged in a circle. In the centre was Osman Effendi, a tall thin pale man. Every muscle of his face was unnaturally set, his eyes were feverish and his forehead and cheeks marked all over with scars like an epileptic. Before him stood the 
hodja, 
reddish in face and small in stature, yet somehow impressive, asking more and more questions in his thin reedy voice. What forces had they? Where were they to go? With what means? How? What for? What will happen in case of failure? The cold and almost mischievous pedantry with which the 
hodja 
treated the matter only served to conceal his own anxiety and bitterness at the Christian superiority and the evident weakness and disorder of the Turks. But the hot-headed and sombre Osman Effendi was not the man to notice or understand such things. Of violent and uncontrolled temper, a fanatic with overstrung nerves, he quickly lost patience and control and attacked the 
hodja 
at every sign of doubt or wavering as if he were a Schwabe. This 
hodja 
irritated him and he replied to him only with generalities and big words. The main thing was not to allow the foe to enter the country without resistance, and whoever asked too many questions only hindered the good work and aided the enemy. In the end, completely beside himself, he replied with scarcely concealed disdain to every question of the 
hodja: 
'The time has come to die', 'We will lay down our lives', 'We shall all die to the last man'.

'But,' broke in the 
hodja, 
'I understood that you wanted to drive the Schwabes out of Bosnia and that was the reason why you were collecting us. If it is only a question of dying, then we too know how to die, Effendi, even without your assistance. There is nothing easier than to die.'

'Ama, 
I can see that you will not be one of those who die,' broke in Karamanli, harshly.

'I can see that you will be one,' answered the 
hodja 
sarcastically, 'only I do not see why you ask for our company in this senseless attempt.'

The conversation then degenerated into an open quarrel in which Osman Effendi referred to Alihodja as a renegade, one of those traitors whose heads, like the Serbs', should be exposed on the 
kapia, 
while the 
hodja 
imperturbably went on splitting hairs and demanding proofs and reasons, as if he had not even heard those threats and insults.

Indeed it would have been hard to find two worse negotiators or more unsuited contestants. Nothing more could have been expected of them than increasing general anxiety and the creation of one quarrel the more. That was to be regretted, but there was nothing to be done about it, for such moments of social upset and great inevitable change usually throw up just such men, unbalanced and incomplete, to turn things inside out or lead them astray. That is one of the signs of times of disorder.

None the less this barren quarrel was a boon to the begs and agas for the question of their participation in the insurrection remained unanswered and they themselves were not compelled to take sides at once. Quivering with rage and shouting insults at the top of his voice, Osman Effendi left the next day with a few of his men to follow the 
mufti 
to Sarajevo.

The news which arrived in the course of the month only served to confirm the agas and begs in their opportunist view that it would be better to preserve their town and their homes. By mid-August the Austrians entered Sarajevo. A little later there was a disastrous clash on Glasinac, which was also the end of all resistance. Remnants of the routed Turkish bands began to descend the steep road from Lijeska through Okolište. Amongst them were some regular soldiers who despite the Sultan's order had joined the resistance movement
of the local insurgents on their own account. The soldiers only asked for bread and water and the way on to Uvac, but the insurgents were bitter and angry men whom the rout had not broken. Blackened, dusty and in rags, they replied curtly to the questions of the peaceable Višegrad Turks and made ready to dig trenches and defend the bridge.

Alihodja was again to the fore; he pointed out indefatigably and regardless of consequences that the town could not be defended and that resistance was senseless since the 'Schwabes had already swept through Bosnia from end to end'. The insurgents knew that well enough themselves but did not want to acknowledge it, for these well-fed and well-clothed men who had saved their houses and properties by keeping wisely and cravenly far from the revolt irritated and provoked them. With them came that same Osman Effendi Karamanli, as if out of his mind, paler and thinner than ever, even more frenzied and warlike. He was one of those men for whom failure has no meaning. He spoke of resistance in any place and at any price and continually of the need to die. Before his furious ardour everyone retreated or withdrew, save only Alihodja. He proved to the aggressive Osman Effendi, without the slightest malice, coldly and brutally, that what had happened to the revolt was exactly what he had foreseen a month ago on this very 
kapia. 
He recommended him to leave with his men as quickly as possible for Plevlje and not to make bad worse. The 
hodja 
was now less aggressive, even to a certain extent compassionate towards this Karamanli as towards a sick man. For within himself, beneath all his outward obstinacy the 
hodja 
was greatly shaken by the approaching misfortune. He was unhappy and embittered as only a true-believing Moslem could be who sees that a foreign force is approaching inexorably, before whose onslaught the ancient order of Islam could not long survive. That hidden rancour could be felt in his own words even against his will. To all Karamanli's insults he replied almost sadly: 'Do you think, Effendi, that it is easy for me to be alive to await the coming of the Schwabes to our land? As if we did not know what is in store for us in the times to come? We know where it hurts us and what we are losing; we know it only too well. If you came here to tell us this, you should not have returned here. Indeed there was no need for you to come from Plevlje at all. For, as I see, you do not understand matters. Had you done so, you would not have done what you have done or said what you have said. This is a worse torment, Effendi, than you can think; nor do I know a remedy for it, but I know that what you suggest is not a remedy.'
But Osman Effendi was deaf to everything that did not accord with his deep and sincere passion for resistance and he hated this 
hodja 
as much as the Schwabes against whom he had revolted. So is it always when an overwhelming enemy is near and a great defeat certain. In every society appear fratricidal hatreds and mutual quarrels. Not finding anything fresh to say, he went on calling Alihodja a traitor, ironically recommending him to get baptized before the Schwabes came.

'My ancestors were not baptized, nor will I be. I, Effendi, have no wish either to be baptized with a Schwabe or to go to war with an idiot,' the 
hodja 
replied calmly.

All the leading Višegrad Turks were of the same opinion as Alihodja, but all did not think it discreet to say so, especially so harshly and uncompromisingly. They were afraid of the Austrians who were coming but they were also afraid of Karamanli who with his men had taken over control of the town. Therefore they shut themselves up in their houses or withdrew to their properties outside the town, and when they could not avoid meeting Karamanli and his men they looked away or replied with equivocal phrases looking for the most convenient pretext and the safest way of extricating themselves.

On the level space in front of the ruins of the caravanserai Karamanli held open court from morning to evening. A motley crowd was always about him, his own men, chance passers-by, those who came to beg something from the new master of the town and travellers whom the insurgents brought more or less by force in front of their leader. And Karamanli talked incessantly. Even when he was talking to one man he shouted as if he were addressing hundreds. Still paler, he rolled his eyes, in which the whites had noticeably yellowed, and white foam gathered at the corners of his lips. One of the townsmen had told him of the Moslem tradition about Sheik Turhania who had died there long ago defending the passage of the Drina against an infidel army and now rested in his grave on the farther bank just above the bridge, but who without doubt would rise again the moment the first infidel soldier stepped on to the bridge. He seized on this legend, feverishly and passionately, expounding it to the people as a real and unexpected aid.

'Brothers, this bridge was a Vezir's bequest. It is written that an infidel force shall never cross it. It is not we alone who are to defend it but also this "holy one" whom rifles cannot hit nor swords cut. Should the foe come, he will rise from his grave and will stand in the centre of the bridge with outstretched arms; and when the Schwabes see him their knees will tremble, and their hearts fail so that they will
not even be able to run away. Turkish brothers, do not disperse but all follow me to the bridge.'

So Karamanli shouted to the crowd. Standing stiffly in his black shabby cloak, stretching out his arms and showing how the 'holy one' would stand, he looked exactly like a tall thin black cross with a turban on top.

This the Višegrad Turks knew even better than Karamanli, for every one of them had heard and told this legend countless times in his childhood, but they none the less showed not the least desire to mingle fact with legend or reckon on the help of the dead since nothing could be expected of the living. Alihodja, who had not moved far from his shop, but to whom the people told all that was said or done before the Stone Han, only waved his arms sorrowfully and compassionately.

'I knew that that idiot would not leave either the living or the dead in peace. 
Allah selamet olsun! 
May God help us!'

But Karamanli, helpless before the real enemy, turned all his fury against Alihodja. He threatened, he shouted and swore that before he was forced to leave the town he would nail the obstinate 
hodja 
to the 
kapia 
like a badger to await the Schwabes in that way, since he did not want to fight or to allow others to do so.

All this bickering was cut short by the appearance of the Austrians on the Lijeska slopes. Then it was seen that the town really could not be defended. Karamanli was the last to leave the town, abandoning on the raised level space before the caravanserai both the iron cannons that he had dragged there. But before he left he carried out his threat. He ordered his servant, a smith by profession, a man of giant size but with the brain of a bird, to bind Alihodja and to nail him by the right ear to that oak beam wedged between two stone steps on the 
kapia, 
which was all that remained of the former blockhouse.

In the general crush and confusion which reigned in the marketplace and around the bridge, all heard that order given in a loud voice but no one even dreamed that it would be carried out in the form in which it was given. In such circumstances all sorts of things, brave words and loud curses, can be heard. So too it was in this case. At first sight the thing seemed inconceivable. It was to be considered a threat or an insult or something of the sort. Nor did Alihodja himself take the matter very seriously. Even the smith himself who had been ordered to carry it out and who was busy spiking the guns hesitated and seemed to think it over. But the thought that the 
hodja 
must be nailed to the 
kapia 
was in the air and the suspicious and embittered townsmen turned over in their minds the prospects and
probabilities of such a crime being carried out or not carried out. Would it be, or would it not be? At first the majority of them thought the affair to be, as indeed it was, senseless, ugly and impossible. But in moments of general excitement, something has to be done, something big and unusual, and that was the only thing to be done. Would it be—or would it not be? The possibility seemed stronger and became every moment and with every movement more probable and more natural. Why not? Two men already held the 
hodja 
who did not defend himself overmuch. They bound his hands behind his back. But all this was still far from so mad and terrible a reality. But it was coming nearer and nearer. The smith, as if suddenly ashamed of his weakness and indecision, produced from somewhere or other the hammer with which a short time before he had been spiking the guns. The thought that the Schwabes were so to speak already here, half an hour's march from the town, gave him the resolution to bring the matter to a head. And with this same painful thought the 
hodja 
obstinately maintained his indifference to everything, even towards that mad, undeserved and shameful punishment to which they had condemned him.