Doruntine by Ismaíl Kadaré Page B

“You’re talking nonsense!”
    â€œI suspected, of course, that you would not share my view, but that is no reason to insult me, sir.”
    â€œYou’re out of your mind,” Stres said. “Completelyout of your mind.”
    â€œNo, sir, I am not out of my mind. You are my superior. You have the right to punish me, to dismiss me, even to arrest me, but not to insult me. I, I—”
    â€œYou, you, you what?”
    â€œI have my own view of this matter, and I believe it to be no more than a case of incest, for Constantine’s actions can be explained in no other way. As for the theory, which I have lately heard expressed, that he insisted that his sister marry into a distant family because he had some inkling of the calamity that was soon to befall the family and did not wish to see her so cruelly hurt, I consider it absurd. It is true that Constantine harbored dark forebodings, but it was the threat of incest that tormented him, and if he sent his sister away, it was to remove her from this danger rather than to ensure that she would escape a calamity of some other kind. . . .”
    The deputy spoke rapidly, not even pausing for breath, lest he be forbidden to continue.
    â€œBut as I said, neither distance nor death itself allowed him to escape incest. Thus it was that one stifling night he rose from his grave to do what he had dreamed of doing all his life—let me speak, please, do not interrupt—he rose from the earth on that wet and sultry October night and, mounting his gravestone become a horse, set out to live his life’s dream. And thus did that sinister honeymoonjourney come about, the girl riding from inn to inn, just as you said, not with a living lover but with a dead one. And it was just that heinous fact that her aged mother discovered before she opened the door. Yes, she saw Doruntine kiss someone in the shadows, not the lover or impostor you believed, but her dead brother. What the old woman had feared all her life had finally happened. That was the disaster she discovered, and that was what brought her to her grave—”
    â€œMadman,” said Stres, more softly this time, as though murmuring the word to himself. “I forbid you to continue,” he said evenly.
    His aide opened his mouth, but Stres leapt to his feet and, leaning close to the man’s face, shouted:
    â€œI forbid you to speak, do you hear? Stop or I’ll arrest you, here and now. Do you understand?”
    â€œI have spoken my mind,” the man replied, breathing with difficulty. “Now I shall obey.”
    â€œIt’s you who are sick,” Stres said. “You’re the one who’s sick, poor man.”
    He looked a long moment at his deputy’s face, pale with insomnia, and suddenly felt keenly sorry for him.
    â€œI was wrong to assign you to all that research in the family archives. So many long hours of reading, for someone unused to books—”
    The man’s feverish eyes remained fixed on his chief.
    â€œYou may go now,” said Stres, his tone indulgent.“Get some rest. You need rest, do you hear? I am prepared to forget all this nonsense, provided you forget it too, do you follow me? You may go.”
    His aide rose and left. Stres, smiling stiffly, watched the man’s unsteady gait.
    I must find that adventurer right away, he said to himself. The archbishop was right, the whole business should have been nipped in the bud to avoid the dangerous consequences it will surely lead to.
    He began to pace the room. He would tighten precautions at every crossing point, assign all his men to the task, suspend all other activity to mobilize them for this one case. He would set everything in motion, he would spare no effort until the mystery was cleared up. I must find the truth, he told himself, as soon as possible. Or else we’ll all go mad.
    Despite the efforts of Stres’s men, acting in concert with Church