I was riding with a soldier. It was one of those summer days when one
would fight his best friend who had said that the hottest summer is
preferable to the coldest winter. The sun poured down heat in a way to
burst one’s brain.
Across the fields of ripening wheat heat vibrated and trembled, and rose
in waves toward the sun. The trees with their dry and withered leaves
looked like sick people who were longing for a drink of water. The
cattle in the fields were suffering and seeking the shade of the old
apple trees. Not a bird moved; exhaustion lay upon nature, which seemed
herself to have lost consciousness.
In the brain there was a hideous emptiness--a Sahara! One felt heavy and
weary. It was not easy to breathe. I began to fear that I should never
reach the little village alive.
But when at length I did get there I was like a gourmand who salts and
peppers his soup before he tastes of it; so I wished a place of rest and
comfort before eating. I was also concerned not to neglect my business,
and I made haste to attend to my duties, and while I was thus engaged I
was enjoying in prospect the rest that would be mine in the evening, and
sleep.
Who has not ridden a day in the heat without water, and then rested at
night in a pleasant place, does not know what enjoyment is. I could not,
of course, foresee that that night I was not to close an eye. But that
is the way it happened.
The inn was a poor, tumble down, dirty place in which the “room for
gentlemen” was painted in such a manner that it looked like a coffin.
All the rooms smelled of stale fish and poor brandy. So you can
understand the pleasure with which I accepted the invitation of Ugricic
to stay all night with him. That very day his brother’s son--who had
finished his time of service in the army--returned. It was a large
peasant house. The owner was well to do; the family was merry and good
natured and they treated me royally. Most of all I enjoyed the good
appearance of Ugricic’s brother’s daughter. A fresh colored, handsome
peasant, vibrating with life and strength. She walked gracefully and
firmly, and she was shapely.
We ate supper out of doors under the nut tree. She waited on us
throughout the evening without speaking a word. She ushered me into the
house, in the middle of which was the living room, in which there was a
large fire place. Opening out of this room were two bed rooms. The one
to the right was given to me. It was furnished with a wooden bed strewn
with fresh hay, on top of which a sheet was spread and a pillow placed.
Beside the bed was a small table, and under the window a bench. On the
wall hung a Turkish scimiter suspended by a strap that was torn and old.
Beside the scimiter were two flint-stone pistols. This completed the
furnishing.
I cannot accustom myself to the unlovely Serbian custom of having a
young girl pull off one’s dirty boots. I did not permit her to do it and
called the soldier.
She looked down at my boots and then she looked at me. Should I ask her
to take a seat? She had not done so. What should I say to her? I made an
attempt at conversation.
“Have you eaten your supper, Stana?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Well--!”
“Do you always eat so late?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of the work.”
“You have to wait on the older people first while they eat?”
“Yes.”
“And then comes your turn?”
“Yes!”
“Did you know that in the city the women-servants and men-servants eat
together?”
She covered her mouth with her hand, and one half her nose, turned her
head to one side, smiled shamefacedly and shrugged her shoulders.
“Isn’t it better that way?”
She still held one hand to her face, and again lifted her shoulders.
“I advise you to marry a boy from the city.”
She dropped her hand, seized one side of her skirt and shook it to and
fro. Then she turned her face completely away and spoke as if she were
addressing the wall.
“Do you want to wash your feet?”
“No, I do not. Go now and eat your supper. You have worked enough for
one day.”
“Then God be with you,” going out without looking in my direction. I
told the soldier to go to bed. I proceeded to hang my revolver upon the
bed-post. Then I undressed, opened the window, and lighted a cigarette.
At last I blew out the candle and stretched myself, wearily, upon the
bed. Ah--what happiness was this!
Through the window the warm wind of summer refreshed me, and the
new-mown hay I lay upon was sweet to smell. A cricket chirruped--for the
rest there was silence. But I could not sleep.
Thoughts persecuted me, they were not exactly unpleasant thoughts, and I
gave myself up to them, although the night was growing late.
It pleased me, too, to call up the picture of Stana. To be sure there
was nothing romantic about her, but I was delighted with her vitality
and her blooming youth.
Gradually pictures and thoughts grew dim. I saw Trifors, the coachman,
riding upon a pump handle, and then he spread a cow’s skin out. Behind
a door something rattled. I turn my head to see Stana carrying a cluster
of ripe wheat heads. Just at this moment a wagon shaft hits me and
pierces my body. I jump, strike my head against the bed-post, and sleep
is all over for me.
I do not wish to light the candle, but it must be near midnight. Then
the outer door opened softly, and I heard an indistinct noise. Through
the crack of my door I can see the fire still burning in the kitchen
hearth. By degrees the noise grows loud. The first words I heard were:
“_He--in there_, sleeps.”
That was a man’s voice. A woman replied:
“Of course!”
As God is good to me that is Stana.
I consider a moment whether to get up and join them. My hand was even
reaching toward the door latch, when it occurred to me that I would
probably be in the way.
Should I look and find out who it was? I peered through the crack in the
door. She was evidently sitting there with her brother.
“Now you see, sister, I have served in the army and been about in the
world. Now I’m through with it--it is behind me. Now I have something
different to see to--if God is good, I will marry you off and then take
a wife for myself--I--”
She was silent.
“Do you know something? Look here--I know all about it. I wish you had
told me yourself instead of making me hear it from other people. And
then--besides--you know I hate him.”
She was still silent.
“I--I want you to know--I know him well. He better get it out of his
head. I will not let you marry any one poorer than I am. I’ll find a
fellow for you myself--and a fine one!”
She got up, went to the wood basket, took a piece and threw it upon the
fire. He, likewise, turned his back to me. He spoke slowly then as if he
were weighing each word: “I’m next to him--that fellow--that Trino. He
needn’t run about my house--and my sister--I won’t put up with any
tricks from him.”
Then he went on, his voice rising higher in anger: “Who is he and what
is he? _A German!_ That’s what he is, sister. He came from Germany. I--I
know all about it. When he first came he had some papers--dirty and
worn--about as large as your hand. He took them to Jews in the village
and they gave him money for them. Now he hasn’t even any more of them.
He is as poor and as bare as a stone. Just has that little farm. Who
knows where he found money to pay for it? Yes, yes! And what kind of
papers are they? I know that--too! Once he had a piece of writing from
the German Emperor--to our head officer. It said to seize Trino. But
no!--he sold some more papers--and got some money and he gave the money
to the officer, who said to him: ‘Go home. Behave yourself well. You are
a Serbian, and a Hungarian is no better than a Turk. He does not believe
in God or the Mother of God.’ Now--how’s that! And how does it happen
that the officer says to him--whenever he is in the village, he slaps
him on the back and calls: ‘How are you, my hero?’ There’s a brave one
for you! He bullies all the small fellows. But he don’t dare touch a
good strong one! That’s a fact! Once--before I was a soldier--I got
drunk and cursed his German mother. He didn’t say a word. _Not one word!
Only_--‘Why do you do that?’
“I reply:
“‘Oh--just because!’
“Then he--‘Let up! Let up!’
“I replied: ‘You just come over here if you dare!’ and to that he
answered:
“‘I don’t want to, Zivko--don’t want to.’
“And I--‘You don’t dare to, you big blunderer--’ When Radojka Milicie
called him a German, he wanted to beat her, and then he began to cry,
when the teacher began to explain that he wasn’t a German but a good
Serbian. He cursed the village people when they called him a German. And
how he looks. Don’t know how to cross his trouser straps like us--goes
around like a cripple. And his mother _is_ a German, even if she wears a
done-up braid. That don’t prove anything. And I know, too, that Germans
worship holy St. Martin! He does. Don’t that prove it? More than that he
cuts grain _with a scythe_! That’s the truth. And I know all about the
way you flirted with him the day all the peasants helped Stoyevic! I
tell you not to look at Trino again. I’ll curse his German mother
tomorrow again--and then you’ll see. He’s a coward. He does not dare do
a thing!”
Some one knocked softly and the two jumped up. Three men entered. I
could only see one. He was young, handsome, and wore silver buckles on
his coat. The face was blackened with powder, weapons were stuck in his
belt, in his hand he carried a pistol.
“Good evening,” he said harshly.
The girl was afraid but Zivko replied:
“Bad luck to you if it is God’s will.”
I saw no more for the three men had closed the door behind them, they
came nearer and leaned against the very crack through which I was
looking. I heard noise--then groans--and the suppressed cry of
Stana:--“Robbers!”
I was terrified. I procured my revolver and went back to the door again.
Just at this moment I heard at my window--“_Pst pst!_” and I turned.
“Sir, give me Zivko’s pistol from the wall there, quickly! Do not
hesitate. I am Trino Trifunov. Quick--there are robbers here! Quick,
quick!”
The danger was urgent. I understood and concluded that this man must be
Trino, the German, Stana’s weapon. I did not delay but handed him the
pistol. Would a robber ask me to lend him a pistol?
Now it was my turn. I saw that my revolver was in condition. And while I
did it I trembled like an aspen leaf. For the first time in my life I
realized that I did not carry this weapon about with me in vain; but I
confess I was a good deal more afraid of my own revolver than of the
robbers. How could I kill a human being! On the contrary--I would sooner
have died myself.
“Hands up! Surrender!” they thundered by the outer door. That was
enlightening to me. I opened my door, stepped to the threshold holding
my revolver and began to holler:
“Surrender! Surrender!”
Outside I saw a man who held a pistol, aimed at the robbers, one of whom
held Stana’s mouth so she could not call, while the other was strangling
Zivko, who was beginning to turn blue.
For a second the robbers hesitated in their work. One fired toward the
rescuer in the door; the second struck with his yatagan the chain that
held the iron kettle over the hearth, and it fell, putting out the fire.
Then two shots were fired. Darkness reigned.
I began to fire at the ceiling to give myself courage. I was very
careful not to hit anyone.
Then there was confusion. Suddenly someone was shoved into the room
which was mine. I could not see who it was. Then I heard some one slip
up to a door and shove the bolt.
Now an alarm had been given outside. Evidently two of them were here.
The fire flickered up for a moment.
“Let me alone, Trino,” called Zivko, and threw himself upon the floor.
He felt a hand clutch his throat.
Outside there were shrieks and sounds of loud voices. Old Ugricic was
making his way along, carrying a hatchet, and the younger fellows with
anything they could pick up. One carried a candle. All were frightened.
It was just as if a wild animal had broken loose, and everyone was
saying:
“What’s the trouble? What’s the trouble? Where is it?”
At length the neighbors came hurrying in and then there was noise and
confusion. House and yard were filled with people, moving about and
asking questions.
In the middle of the kitchen, or rather the living room, stood a young,
vigorous man, with the belt and head-covering such as are worn here. He
wore very wide trousers, and shoes. That was Trino. Around him the crowd
surged. He did not speak and seemed greatly excited. Zivko, covered
with blood and wounds, was rubbing his neck. Stana, white as a piece of
linen, was standing in one corner. She evidently could not pull herself
together from the fright.
Then the head man of the village arrived, the clerk with a gun and a
bottle of ink, and the school master with the broken leg of a chair.
“What’s the trouble?”
Zivko was scratching his back.
“This is it--that criminal Nicodemus has fallen upon the village--and
our house. And if it had not been for him--he points to Trino--I would
have lost my head and God only knows what would have happened.”
“Where are they? Follow me, people, with your weapons! Let’s pursue
them. Quick! Catch them!” shrieked the town clerk.
“They have escaped,” was the reply.
“By the devil’s mother one escaped--the others were caught,” explained
Trino.
He pointed to the door of my room.
“My dear little brother, they have jumped out through the window,” I
answered.
“Yes, by the devil’s mother. Isn’t your soldier under the window?”
We were all amazed.
“Take your weapons! Surround the house! Be careful all of you--they’ll
defend themselves!” commanded the head of the village.
“Give me the ax!” suggested Trino. “Here are your pistols lying on the
floor.”
In fact on the floor were three, four pistols. Trino tried to open the
door but it did not yield. He lifted the ax, and struck with the back of
it against the door, which fell open. At that instant a shot came from
there, grazing his head, taking away his cap, and then hitting the
ceiling. We had completely forgotten the two pistols belonging to Zivko
which hung on the walls of that room.
“Now go ahead, brothers!” commanded the head man of the village. “Go
ahead! City clerk, have you a weapon?”
Despite the city clerk, the robbers showed an inclination to defend
themselves, but when Trino threatened with the ax they threw away their
yatagans and surrendered.
They had already made a hole in the wall with their knives, and if we
had delayed they would have escaped. We captured them. We found we had
the robber chief Nicodemus and one companion.
“Now bring the third, Andrew! Bring him here!” commanded Trino.
“What third do you mean?”
“The one who kept watch,” replied Trino. “I tied him to a plum tree
under the window, and the soldier who is with the gentleman guarded
him,” declared he, turning to me.
“You are another Kraljevic Marko.”[5]
While this was going on Zivko stood lost in thought, without paying any
attention to anyone. Then he looked at Trino, dropped his eyes and
walked up to him.
“Trino, brother, do not be angry. I thank you like a brother. That--you
know!”
His eyes were wet.
“If you like, we will be brothers--we will kiss.”
Trino did not answer. He wiped his mouth with the skirt of his shirt,
and then they kissed. Everyone praised Trino and wondered at his
bravery. Zivko dug around on the hearth for ashes to put on the wound on
Trino’s head.
“Now,” said the city clerk to Trino, “you will receive the two hundred
ducats reward for the capture of Nicodemus.”
Trino started in surprise. Quickly he looked across at Stana, who
blushed to the ears, and who wished to run away.
“Wait! Where are you going?” called Zivko, who was still by the hearth
and had overheard the village clerk’s words. “Will you desert my house
like this?”
Day was coming. They tied the robbers still more securely. Brandy was
brought in and Trino and Zivko kept embracing each other.
And Stana?
She was waiting like a child who cries for a plaything, and then at
length gets it. Her cheeks were like ripe peaches, and laughingly she
turned her eyes from time to time upon Zivko.
* * * * *
On the day of the Assumption of the Virgin, I saw in the market square,
Trino and Zivko, Stana and her mother. Stana wore the headdress of
married women.
I met there, too, the head man of the village. I remembered the
adventure and said to him:
“Tell me--who is this Trino. What kind of a fellow is he?”
“An honest, hardworking fellow. He was not born here, and once he served
in the army. But once when an Hungarian officer cursed his saint he ran
a bayonet through him. And then he made his escape to Serbia.”
Twilight came on. The dancing grew merrier. Trino’s shoe strings and
leggings were worn just like those of Zivko. He flung his legs and
leaped about merrily in the dance. People crowded about, called,
shrieked and drank. The dust was so thick one could not breathe. Roast
meats were served, guns roared, glasses were broken, bag-pipes shrilled;
the scent of food floated about. The gayly decorated Zivko boasted about
his new brother: “No one born is strong enough to wrestle with him.
There isn’t any other Trino--he is a genuine Serb!”