Doruntine by Ismaíl Kadaré Page A

understandable that Constantine, angered by the possibility of any local marriage which would have forced him to see his sister united with a man he knew, could more easily resign himself to her marriage to an unknown suitor, preferably a foreigner as far out of his sight as possible. It is a very good thing, the count wrote, that this marriage has been agreed upon, if only for that reason.”
    The deputy leafed through his folder for a few moments. Stres’s eyes were fixed on the floor.
    â€œFinally,” the aide continued, “we have here the letter in which the old woman described the wedding to her correspondent, and, among other things, the incident that took place there.”
    â€œAh yes, the incident,” said Stres, as if torn from his somnolence.
    â€œThough this incident passed largely unnoticed, or in any event was considered natural enough in the circumstances, it was only because people were unaware of those other elements I have just told you about. The Lady Mother, on the other hand, who was well acquainted with these elements, offers the proper explanation of the event. Having written to the count that after the church ceremony Constantine paced back and forth like a madman, that when they had accompanied the groom’s kinsmenas far as the highway, he accosted his sister’s husband, saying to him: ‘She is still mine, do you understand, mine!’ the old woman tells her friend that this, thank God, was the last disgrace she would have to bear in the course of this long story.”
    Stres’s subordinate, apparently fatigued by his long explanation, paused and swallowed.
    â€œThat’s what these letters come to,” he said. “In the last two or three, written after her bereavement, the old woman complains of her loneliness and bitterly regrets having married her daughter to a man so far away. There’s nothing else. That’s it.”
    The man fell silent. For a moment the only sound came from Stres’s fingers tapping on the tabletop.
    â€œAnd what does all this have to do with our case?”
    His deputy looked up.
    â€œThere is an obvious, even direct, connection.”
    Stres looked at him with a questioning air.
    â€œI think you will agree that there is no denying Constantine’s incestuous feelings.”
    â€œIt’s not surprising,” Stres said. “These things happen.”
    â€œYou will also admit, I imagine, that his stubborn desire to have his sister marry so far away is evidence of his struggle to overcome that perverse impulse. In other words, he wanted his sister to have a husband as far from his sight as possible, so as to remove any possibility of incest.”
    â€œThat seems clear enough,” said Stres. “Go on.”
    â€œThe incident at the wedding marks the last torment he was to suffer in his life.”
    â€œIn his life?” Stres asked.
    â€œYes,” said the deputy, raising his voice for no apparent reason. “I am convinced that Constantine’s unslaked incestuous desire was so strong that death itself could not still it.”
    â€œHm,” Stres said.
    â€œIncest unrealized survived death,” his aide went on. “Constantine believed that his sister’s distant marriage would enable him to escape his yearning, but, as we shall see, neither distance nor even death itself could deliver him from it.”
    â€œGo on,” Stres said drily.
    His aide hesitated for a moment. His eyes, burning with an inner flame, stared at his chief, as if to make sure that he had leave to continue.
    â€œGo on,” said Stres a second time.
    But his deputy was still staring, still hesitating.
    â€œAre you trying to suggest that his unsated incestuous desire for his sister lifted the dead man from his grave?” asked Stres, his voice icy.
    â€œPrecisely!” his aide cried out. “That macabre escapade was their honeymoon.”
    â€œEnough!” Stres bellowed.