Doruntine by Ismaíl Kadaré

I repeated to you yesterday,” he began, “my research in these archives has led me to a conclusion about this disturbing incident quite different from those commonly held.”
    I never would have imagined that prolonged contact with archives could give anyone that papier-mâché expression, Stres said to himself.
    â€œAnd,” the deputy went on, “the explanation I have come to is also very different from what you yourself think.”
    Stres raised his eyebrows in mock astonishment.
    â€œI’m listening,” he said as his aide seemed to hesitate.
    â€œThis is not a figment of my imagination,” the deputy went on. “It is a truth that became clear to me once I had scrupulously examined the Vranaj archives, especially the correspondence between the old woman and Count Thopia.”
    He opened the folder he was holding and took out a packet of large sheets of paper yellowed by time.
    â€œAnd just what do these letters amount to?” Stres asked impatiently.
    His deputy took a deep breath.
    â€œFrom time to time the old woman told her friend her troubles, or asked his advice about family affairs. She had the habit of making copies of her own letters.”
    â€œI see,” said Stres. “But please, try to keep it short.”
    â€œYes,” replied his deputy, “I’ll try.”
    He took another breath, scratched his forehead.
    â€œIn certain letters, one in particular, written long ago, the old woman alludes to an unnatural feeling on the part of her son Constantine for his sister, Doruntine.”
    â€œReally?” said Stres. “What sort of unnatural feeling? Can you be more specific?”
    â€œThis letter gives no details, but bearing in mind other things mentioned in later letters, particularly Count Thopia’s reply, it is clear that it was an incestuous feeling.”
    â€œWell, well.”
    Thick drops of sweat stood out on the deputy’s forehead. He continued, pretending not to notice his chief’s ironic tone.
    â€œIn fact, the count immediately understood what she meant, and in his reply,” said the aide, slipping a sheet of paper across the table to Stres, “he tells her not to worry, for these were temporary things, common at their ages. He even mentions two orthree similar examples in families of his acquaintance, emphasizing that it happens particularly in families in which there is but one daughter, as was the case with Doruntine. However, it takes attention and care to bring this somewhat perverse feeling back to normal. In any event, we’ll talk about this at length when we see each other again.”
    The deputy looked up to see what impression the reading had had on his chief, but Stres was staring at the tabletop, tapping his fingers nervously.
    â€œTheir subsequent letters make no further mention of the matter,” the aide went on. “One has the impression that, as the count predicted, the brother’s unhealthy feeling for his sister had become a thing of the past. But in another letter, written several years later, when Doruntine was of marriageable age, the old woman tells the count that Constantine is unable to conceal his jealousy of any prospective fiancé. On his account, she says, we have had to reject several excellent matches.”
    â€œAnd what about Doruntine?” Stres interrupted.
    â€œNot a word about her attitude.”
    â€œAnd then what?”
    â€œLater, when the old woman told the count of the far-away marriage that had just been arranged, she wrote that she herself, Doruntine, and most of her sons had long hesitated, concerned that the distance was too great, but that this time it was Constantine who argued vigorously for the prospective marriage. In his letter of congratulation,the count tells the old woman, in particular, that Constantine’s attitude toward the marriage is not at all surprising, that on the contrary, in view of what she had told him it was