“What will you do there among the drunkards? Sit here, wait, half an hour, my darling, be brave.” “Ah, if only you’d take your revolver with you…” “I’m not going to war… I’m going to talk, no need!” he said. And with a nervous haste (or impatience) he went outside. Magda remained at the door. The darkness was so black and dense that it could be touched and felt. Her husband was lost in this darkness. The terrifying darkness of this black, windy night, which resembled non-existence and warned of death, was entering her body, her veins, through her eyes, mixing with her blood, and permeating her soul. Her head spun. She choked on sobs and tears. She collapsed where she stood. With her eyes fixed on the wild and black night, she was crying beneath the black and cold wind, writhing with ceaseless sobs.
Baba İstoyan always went to bed after sunset, fell asleep immediately, and woke up two hours before morning. Tying his sash, he opened the door. He was astonished to see his daughter-in-law stretched out on the threshold of the garden gate. “What are you doing there?” he asked. As soon as Magda heard her father-in-law’s voice, she got up. She collected herself. “Nothing!” she replied, “I was going to go outside, I just stretched out.” The old man walked toward the hearth. Magda pushed the door. And ran to the hearth. She threw wood, began to light it. The old man was filling his pipe. After Magda lit the fire, she sat on a chair next to the coarse and thick-legged table in the middle. She rested her elbows on it. She held her head in her hands. It had already been half an hour. Boris had not come yet. Why was he so late? Her heart ached, and she wanted to scream and cry as loud as she could, throw herself on the ground, run to Melina’s house, find Boris, and throw herself into his arms. Baba İstoyan, hunched over, calmly and gloomily was puffing on his pipe and scratching his nose with the middle finger of his left hand. Just as the ruined and old clock had stopped and seemed to have started working again by itself, it made its sorrowful tick-tocks heard once more. The burning logs were again filling the room with red shadows and red visions, and the cold wind was howling more wildly, more treacherously, and shaking the window shutter.
Magda was thinking of Boris and secretly sobbing. Her heart was swelling, hurting her chest. Distant dog sounds were heard from outside. These must have been the neighbors’ dogs. Suddenly, she lifted her head. Boris must have come out. The dogs were barking. She listened. Oh! Boris was coming… She remained motionless like that for a few minutes. Now the dog sounds were approaching. Their own dogs were barking too. But why?… Why were they barking at Boris? Could there be a stranger with him? The dog sounds got closer. Magda stood up. She went to the window. She did not dare to open the shutter, an unknown fear left her motionless… The dogs were very close. Footsteps were heard. Magda’s heart stopped. Her breath was cut off. She fainted (or was beside herself). The door was suddenly struck. Baba İstoyan jumped and dropped his pipe. Magda put her hand on her heart. She raised her shoulders. She pulled her neck in. The door was knocked again, and more violently. Baba İstoyan got up. He walked toward the window. With a weak voice, he said, “Who is it?” A disharmonious voice from outside answered: “Open up, Baba İstoyan, it’s us. We came to talk. Don’t be afraid!” The old man, hesitant and fearful, asked again: “Who are you?” “Captain Raçof, Pançe, Sandre…” The old man was frozen as if struck by lightning. These were the most terrible, the most bloodthirsty, the most merciless, the most cruel komitajis (or irregulars/bands). Their names made all the village in the plains tremble. The old man walked to the door like a ghost. He opened it. A tall man, dressed in brown clothes, with a Mannlicher on his shoulder, appeared. His eyes were small and bloodshot. He had a thin and very ugly neck. Baba İstoyan bowed with that submissive and oppressed manner peculiar only to Bulgarian peasants, and greeted the Voyvoda with that clumsy and false salutation peculiar to these villagers. “Welcome, Gospodin!” he said. Behind Raçof were two more people. They were also armed with Mannlicher rifles. They had cartridge belts across their waists and chests. One of them was short and dark-skinned. The other was blonde like Raçof, but younger and less ugly. Magda’s eyes had opened and her face was snow-white. She ran. She hugged Raçof’s feet. She began to kiss them. Crying, she was begging: “Gospodin! Where is Boris? Ah, where is Boris?” Raçof stroked the beautiful woman’s hair, which resembled inflamed and muddy snakes, with his dirty and broken fingers, and said, “Get up, socialist teacher, get up,” he said, “Boris will come soon. Let’s talk about our business now…” And he walked. Magda remained on the floor. He sat down uninvited on the chair next to the table. He put his rifle on the table. The others also sat across from him. The short, dark-skinned one had a round object wrapped in a black cloth in his hand. They also put their rifles on the table, and the round object wrapped in black cloth was placed next to the rifles. Raçof turned to Baba İstoyan, “Come here, Çorbacı (or headman/rich man)” he said, “sit across from me. I will talk to you. Magda, you come next to me. If your father acts up, help us so we don’t do any harm.” Neither of them hesitated. Baba İstoyan sat across from Raçof. Magda sat next to him… Baba İstoyan was completely bewildered. He couldn’t understand why his daughter-in-law was asking the komitajis where his son was. Wasn’t Boris at home? Raçof took a tobacco case out of his pocket. He placed it on the table. He rolled a cigarette. Magda, with a quick movement, got up and took a light from the hearth. She lit the brigand’s cigarette. Then she threw the fire back into the hearth. She sat back down where she had been sitting. Raçof took a few puffs from his cigarette. And watching the smoke, he said, “Hey, Baba İstoyan,” he said, “first promise us that you won’t give us too much trouble. To make a long story short! Let’s not waste time. Bring the eight hundred liras…” The old man trembled. The fruit of an asset accumulated with so much saving and hardship for sixty years… the total… the sum… was now being demanded in such a moment. He was going crazy. He denied it: “How eight hundred liras?…” The Voyvoda smiled. His dirty and broken teeth appeared. He took another drag from his cigarette. He shook his head. “Understood. So you’re going to cause trouble. You won’t speak without being beaten, without your feet being burned, without your nails being pulled out? If you still don’t tell us, your son Boris is our prisoner. We will cut him up. We will also burn your house. We still won’t leave you alone…” Baba İstoyan was looking down. They had even sold the house they lived in. If he gave this eight hundred liras, he would surely die of hunger. He didn’t even have a donkey left. When Magda heard that Boris would be cut up, she started to cry. She again fell at Captain Raçof’s feet. “Forgive, Gospodin, forgive Boris…” she said. Raçof answered, laughing: “Beautiful teacher! You, too, missed the point (or were irrelevant). Instead of both of you working for us here, you wanted to make your father sell his assets and run away. You wanted to steal the money the nation gave. Well, we don’t allow that. We will take the money from you. You won’t be able to go anywhere from here. You will work for us.” And he added:”Come on, if you love Boris, bring the money. If Baba İstoyan is stubborn, your darling’s head will be cut off. You will never see him again in your life.” Magda would go crazy thinking about the possibility of Boris being killed. She got up, crying, and hugged Baba İstoyan: “Give it, father, give it, we are young. Boris and I will work and earn again. Tell me where it is, let me go and get it.” Raçof and his companions were watching Magda’s pleading and laughing. Baba İstoyan was completely bewildered. It was as if he didn’t hear the words at all, didn’t understand their meaning. For the stingy peasant, dying was more preferable than giving this money. Magda was pleading. Suddenly, Baba İstoyan lifted his head. He said to Raçof: “Captain, at least leave me a hundred liras to buy a house. Let me not be homeless in my old age.” Raçof refused: “No, I won’t leave a hundred liras. Your son is young, he’ll work. He will take care of you. Come on, bring it, I say. Time is passing.” The old man hesitated, Magda was pleading. Raçof made a sign. The short, dark-skinned man took the rifle. He brought a terrible blow with the butt to the old man’s back. Raçof also stood up. He asked fiercely: “Come on, Baba İstoyan, we are going to start the beating. We will put your feet in the fire. Time is passing. Will you bring the money?” Magda was struggling in tears and hugging the old man. The old man said nothing. He nodded. He went to the door of the room where he slept. He went inside. A minute later, he came out with a red and heavy bundle. He put it on the table. The brigands were delighted to have obtained the money so quickly. Raçof immediately opened the bundle. He began to count. “Well done, Baba İstoyan,” he was saying, “you didn’t give us trouble. Now bring us wine, let’s have fun…” The counting of the money was finished. Raçof divided the liras into three. They put them in their bags with his companions. “Where’s the wine, where’s the wine?” they shouted. Magda stood up. She ran to the small door of the barn. She opened it and went inside. She brought a jug of wine with three glasses. She put it in front of the brigands. Then she entered the barn again. She brought pickled peppers and pickles as appetizers. The komitajis were drinking hastily over one another. Raçof said, “We don’t need such an appetizer.” “We don’t want a lifeless appetizer…” He grabbed Magda, who didn’t understand a thing from this word, by the waist and tried to kiss her. Magda resisted and began to cry. Raçof kept hold of the young woman and was saying: “I’ll take the appetizer from your cheeks. Aren’t you a socialist? Socialists want to share everything. I’m also a partner with Boris in your cheeks!…” Magda was struggling. Raçof said with his ugly and hoarse voice: “If you act so ridiculously, you won’t see Boris. We will cut him up…” When Magda heard this word, she started sobbing again and pleading with Raçof. Raçof was now kissing her fresh cheeks profusely. He drank glass after glass and kissed her again and again. He said to his friends, “You take an appetizer too, hey!…” He threw Magda, like a lifeless ball of yarn, into their laps. These two strong men pounced on this delicious woman. One of them wanted to lift her skirts. The other was more horribly drunk. He bit the cheek of this beautiful head he held in his palm with his teeth. Magda suddenly screamed. And she broke free from their arms. Blood was flowing profusely from two places on her right cheek. To avoid seeing this scene, Baba İstoyan squatted down by the hearth and held his head in his hands. He fixed his eyes on the fire. Magda had her hand on her cheek. Blood was oozing profusely from between her fingers, and she was crying. The brigands seemed to enjoy watching this beautiful woman crying in this blood. They were all silent. The old clock, as if affected by this assault and defilement, was again making its tick-tocks heard, and the sounds of roosters were mixing with the noise of the wind. Raçof pretended to take pity: “Don’t cry, Magda,” he said, “Boris will come soon. He will kiss that spot. The pain will be gone. Come on, let me play the mandolin, dance a little for us…” And taking the mandolin from next to the hearth, he began to play a polka. Magda was crying, “I don’t know how to dance, Captain!” she said. Raçof got up. He went next to Magda. In a touching (or affecting) and savage voice, he whispered in her ear: “If you don’t dance and ruin our mood, you won’t see Boris, we’ll go and cut him up…” Magda’s whole body shook. Her tears stopped. And with a resigned voice, she said, “I’ll dance, ah Boris…” Raçof sat down. He began to play the mandolin. The other two brigands were drinking non-stop and watching Magda’s dancing, laughing. The blood flowing from her cheek was going down her white neck, giving her the appearance of a martyr who had come back to life. The brigand who bit her expressed another desire. “Captain,” he said, “she should lift her skirts and dance like that. Let’s see her legs…” Raçof turned to Magda: “Come on, Magda, do this too! Let them see your legs! Let’s go now. Let’s send Boris to you…” The young woman paused for a moment. She looked at Baba İstoyan. With his face fixed on the fire, he wasn’t looking at them at all. Now these men were also insulting her honor. But Boris was in danger. If she didn’t fulfill their wishes, her beloved Boris would be cut up. She would never see his light brown and abundant hair, his blue eyes, his small and red lips, his sweet smile again. She closed her eyes and lifted her skirts. She began to jump, matching her steps to the polka being played. The brigands got excited. The Captain began to play with more intensity and eagerness. The others couldn’t sit still, looking at these white and plump legs, the attractive, provocative movements in their throws, they were hugging each other’s necks, pushing, shoving. They got up, went next to Raçof. They whispered something in his ear. Raçof said, “It’s possible, but time has passed! It’s morning! We’re late!” And with a deep, bestial, and passionate lust, he looked at the beautiful woman and regretted, “Ah, if there was time…” They stood up. They put their rifles over their shoulders. They were drunk. Their steps were stumbling. Raçof said, “Goodbye, Baba İstoyan!…” The old peasant was as if dead. He didn’t answer at all. Magda again fell at the brigand’s feet. “Please, Captain, send Boris. You took everything we have. If he doesn’t come, we will die of hunger and despair. Pity us. Have mercy on us.” Raçof laughed: “He will definitely come, definitely… If you want him to come faster, give me a kiss on that bloody cheek.” Magda fearfully drew back. The brigand grabbed the woman again. He forcibly kissed her bloody cheek. He licked it. They were going out. The short, dark-skinned man remembered the object wrapped in black cloth they had brought with them. “Captain,” he said, “what are we going to do with the bomb?” Raçof thought for a moment. He turned back. “Look at me, Magda!” he said. Magda trembled, thinking she was going to be assaulted again. But this time the brigand was polite and benevolent. “Do you see this, Magda? This is a bomb. If you had caused trouble and not given the money, we would have still taken it by force and, as a punishment, we would have tied the two of you together and thrown this bomb at you. But you acted wisely. You didn’t give us trouble. There is no need for punishment. Now I have a request for you, you will keep this bomb for me. Don’t ever give it to the gendarmes or anyone else. Do you promise? I will go and immediately release Boris.” Magda answered with hope and eagerness: “I promise, Gospodin! For God’s sake, send Boris immediately.” Raçof asked again: “I will send him, but will you faithfully keep this bomb?” “I will keep it.” “Where?” “In my hope chest! In the most secret, most sacred place!” “Brava! … I am pleased. In that case, goodbye!” They all shook the beautiful woman’s hand forcefully and left the door. Outside was lightly brightening, darkening. The dogs started barking. They were walking between the distant buildings, which stood like dense shadows, and were singing a song. Ah, now Boris would come. The young woman was looking at the gradually opening night, and she heard all the roosters in the village crowing as if answering each other. Her heart was beating violently, she was waiting for Boris. One of the brigands in the distance shouted. This was like an ominous and illusory threat of a nightmare. “Hey Magda, be careful, the bomb will explode!” The young woman strained her ears. This threat repeated, as if echoing from unknown and wild abysses, from the voids of non-existence. “Hey Magda, be careful, the bomb will explode!” The general crowing of the roosters seemed to have extinguished the wind. In the distance, a false dawn was opening its purple eyes over the haystacks. The young woman thought with an unconscious contemplation. These brigands could do anything, even unthinkable cruelties. It was possible that they had set the timed fuse on this bomb for it to catch fire and had left it like that. Now it would suddenly explode, and when her poor Boris came, he would find nothing but shattered house and unrecognizable, bloody pieces of flesh and bone. With a mechanical urgency, she ran to pick up this toy of disaster. It was right in the middle of the table. She reached out her hand. She picked it up. She held it from underneath with her other hand. She felt a warm wetness. She looked at her hand: It was bloody. Blood?… Then she put this dangerous bomb, which was not as heavy as she had estimated, in front of her. She wanted to see its dial, its fuse. She slowly untied the black cloth. There was a second cloth. This cloth was crimson with blood. She untied that cloth too. Light brown hair appeared. She looked, she looked, she looked carefully… And suddenly she let out such a terrible, such a sharp, such a tragic, such a horrific scream that Baba İstoyan by the hearth jumped and ran to his daughter-in-law. The poor woman’s eyes were popping out of their sockets, her messy hair was standing on end, her shoulders were taut, and she was looking at the thing she held with both hands with awe and terror. He looked closely… That thing she was holding was the severed and bloody head of his son, the beautiful and light brown Boris, cut from his body…
Ömer Seyfettin
