Three Arched Bridge

41

SPRING WAS EXCEPTIONALLY CLEAR. The Ujana e Keqe brimmed with melted snow, Though full and renewed, the river mounted no attack on the bridge. It seemed not to notice it anymore. It foamed and roared around the stone piers and under the feet of the dead, but as it flowed on it spread out again, as if pacified by the sight of the victim. A wicked, mocking glint remained only in the cold crests of the waves.

All spring and at the beginning of summer, work continued busily. The third arch was almost finished, and work began on the right-hand approach arch,

Throughout its length the bridge echoed to the sounds of masons’ hammers, chisels, picks, and the creaking of the carts. Amid the constant din of the building work and the roaring of the river, Murrash Zenebisha stood, coated as ever with plaster, solitary, white, and alien. Whether the flesh of his face had decayed under his plaster mask, or whether it had hardened like mortar, nobody could tell

His family came as always, but gradually reduced the length of their visits. Some days after his immurement, stunned by everything that had happened, they remembered that they had not even managed to weep for him according to custom. They tried to do so later, but it was impossible. Their laments stuck in their throats, and the words that should have accompanied their weeping somehow would not come. Then they tried hiring professional mourners, but these women too, although practiced in weeping under all kinds of circumstances, could not mourn, try as they might. He does not want to be wept for, his parents said*

Some time had passed since his death, and at times it seemed a source of joy to his family that they would have his living form in front of their eyes, but sometimes this seemed the worst curse of all Now they no longer came together, His wife would come alone with her baby in her arms and, when she saw the others approaching, would leave, People said that they had quietly begun to quarrel over sharing the compensation,

The investigators also came less frequently. It seems that the count had other worries and would have liked to close the inquiry. However, this did not prevent the fame of Murrash Zenebisha from spreading farther every day* It was said that he had become the conversational topic of the day in large towns, and that the grand ladies of Dürres asked each other about him, as about the other novelties of the season.

Many people set off from distant parts with the sole object of seeing him. Sometimes they — came with their wives, or even made the journey a second time. This was no doubt why the Inn of the Two Roberts had recently doubled its business.