Three Arched Bridge

14

WHEN THE HEAT tightened its hold and the Ujana e Keqe subsided considerably, work suddenly intensified around the collection of ditches flanking the river. The laborers extended the trenches one by one as far as the bank itself, and then joined them to the river, whose water now began to flow into them. Seen from above, the channels resembled great leeches, sucking the water from the already enfeebled river.

It took less than two days for the appearance of the Ujana e Keqe to change completely. In place of the gentle play of the waters, thick mud spread everywhere, with a few dull glimmers squinting here and there.

Farther downstream the channels led the water back to the river again, but on the site of the bridge everything was disfigured and bedraggled. Dead fish lay scattered in the mud. Turtles and diver-birds gave a final glimmer before perishing. Wandering bards, arriving from nobody knew where, looked glumly at the wretched spectacle of the river and muttered, “What if some naiad or river nymph has died? What will happen then?”

The old raft was moved a short distance downstream, and the hunchbacked ferryman cursed the newcomers all day.

These new arrivals crossed ceaselessly to and fro through the bog with buckets packed with mud, which so dirtied them that they resembled ghosts. Now not only the river but the whole surrounding area became smeared with mud. Its traces extended as far as the main road, or even farther still, as far as the Inn of the Two Roberts,

The lugubrious, unsociable master-in-chief wandered to and fro amid the tumult of the building site. To protect himself from the sun, he had placed on his head not a straw hat, like the rest of the world, but a visor that only shielded his eyes. Sometimes, against the general muddiness, the rays of the evening sun seemed to strike devilish sparks from his reddish poll People no longer said he was mad; now he was the sole sane exception in the crowd of strangers, and the question was whether he would be able to keep this demented throng in harness.

As time passed, the river became an eyesore. It looked like a squashed eel, and you could almost imagine that it would shortly begin to stink. Regardless of all the damage it had caused, people began to feel pity for it.

Old Ajkuna wept to see it. “How could they kill the river?” she cried. “How could they cut it up, oy, oy!’ She wept for it as if it had been a living person. “Killed in its sleep, poor creature! Caught defenseless and cut to pieces, oy oy!”

She climbed down into the mud to seek out the master-in-chief. “The day will come when the river takes its revenge,” she muttered, “It will fill with water and be strong again. It will swell and roar. And where will you hide then? Where?”

Whenever she thought she spied the builder in the distance, she would raise her stick threateningly: “Where will you hide then, Antichrist!”