I realized they were talking about Docho Mihaylov. During our run-in with him as well as at those village meetings, he had said the exact opposite – that we wouldn’t get anywhere with personal vendettas and banditry. We would liberate Dobruja only if we worked together and organized the population to rise up in revolt. Some folks say one thing, others – the exact opposite, so just go and try to figure out who’s telling the truth. Besides, what did I care about their truth, let them gouge each other’s eyes out, as long as they don’t drag us into their squabbles. But stabbing Docho and the Doctor in the back – I didn’t like that business one bit. No matter what they might have been, they were Bulgarians. And they were strong to boot. If they found out afterward that we were in cahoots with the police against them, they wouldn’t forgive us. I tried to talk them out of it, but those folks from the IDRO didn’t stand on ceremony at all. They told us flat out that if we didn’t help, they’d turn us over to authorities. I was between a rock and a hard place, with no way forward and no way back.
In the end, I accepted the IDRO’s conditions. First, because a person thinks above all about himself, and second, because I didn’t believe they would catch Docho and the Doctor. They were seasoned fighters and wouldn’t let themselves get caught so easily by the police. In late August the IDRO sent word for us to report to the village of Gyulleri. They put us up in a house there and told us to wait until they called us. As we later learned, around that time Docho’s band had come back from Dobruja and had stopped to rest in Dzhivel. The forester gave them away. I remember him, he was the IDRO’s man, but I’ve forgotten his name. Fifty policemen arrived that very same day and attacked. The band retreated to the woods. That’s when they called the five of us in as backup. They wanted to take us down to the chief of police so he could assign us positions along the cordon, but I refused. The police were also after Karademirev, and we often hid under his name, so along with this raid they could very well catch us in a trap too. I told them that we knew the woods better than the police and we would take up positions there ourselves.
We kept watch for two days and two nights, the police scoured the woods – nothing. On the third day, a man came by and told us to lift the watch at dusk and to wait for further orders. They had information that the band had retreated to the neighboring village of Beshtepe, so at night we should lie in wait for them at the border. The five of us gathered together to figure out what we should do when we heard rifles crackling behind us. About five hundred yards away was a small stand of trees, surrounded by fields. It seemed that Docho and the Doctor, realizing that they would be discovered in the big forest, had gone into that little grove. They wouldn’t have been found if Petko Mutafa hadn’t betrayed them. He was from Dzhivel, I knew him, too. He had been cutting corn that day, and around noontime the Doctor had come to him asking for water. They had known each other a long time. The Doctor took a drink of water, brought the flask to his comrades so they could drink as well, and went back to Petko. He asked him to go back to the village right away and tell their man to meet them later that evening. Mutafa hitched up his cart, went to the village, found the man and gave him the message, then went to the police sergeant and told him some people were hiding in the little grove.
The shoot-out lasted two hours. We were standing on the edge of the big forest and had no idea what was going on. At one point we caught a glimpse of a man in the corn. He was barreling straight down the row, making a beeline for us without seeing us at all. He came out of the cornfield and ran right into us. The Doctor. Bareheaded, his shirt bloodied, with a grenade in one hand, a rifle in the other, white as a sheet. When he saw us five feet in front of him, he went to set off the grenade, but I shouted out to him: “Doctor, our rifles are on our shoulders, we’re not going to shoot. Don’t you recognize me?” He looked at me and kept silent. He didn’t recognize me, and even if he did, would he trust me at a moment like that? Go on your way, I told him, as if we’re not here. He kept silent, not moving. He was holding the grenade’s fuse in his hand, all he needed to do was pull it and he was done for, we were done for too. Since you don’t believe us, I said, we’ll leave our guns here on the ground and go with you, we’ll escort you wherever you want. We took off our guns and grenades and hid them in the underbrush. Now, he said, you go on ahead of me. We walked half a mile or so, then he stopped us and said: “I recognized you, how could I not! After all, I came over to see who you were. We thought you were Romanian gendarmes, so we caught you in a trap. But now you’re free. You have our comrades’ gratitude, now farewell!” He went on ahead, while we turned back to get our weapons. It would’ve been a cinch to put a bullet in him, but I didn’t have the heart. I remember how Docho had wanted to disarm us that night, but the Doctor told him: “Docho, we’ve scolded these boys enough, let them decide for themselves whether they want to work with us or go back home. And we can’t let them go bare-handed, the Vlachs might slaughter them.” The man did us a good deed and we repaid him with goodness in turn. That very same night we learned that Docho and one other member of the band had been killed, while the other two had surrendered.
So anyway, I had started telling you how we robbed the mayor of Eni Cheshme. We knew that he’d be at his brother’s son’s wedding that night. We caught the village patrols, then went up to the house. The windows barred, two padlocks on each of the doors. Delcho was a big, husky fellow, first he rammed one door, then the other, and tore them off their hinges. We went inside and started ransacking the place. Two men went into the living rooms, another two went up to the attic, while the bedroom fell to me. I dug around, searching and searching – nothing. I felt something hard inside one of the pillows, sliced it open with a knife and pulled out a thick stack of bills. How much it was exactly, we couldn’t tell, but it had to be at least twenty thousand.
It took all of half an hour, we regrouped and were on our way out of the village. As we passed the last house, someone shouted: “Halt, put your hands up!” We hit the deck, trying to figure out if we’d been ambushed. Zhelyo knew Romanian, he asked who was there, nobody answered. Later we found out what had happened and who was hollering at us. While we were ransacking the mayor’s house, one of the patrolmen had gotten loose and had run to tell him. And wouldn’t you know, that very same night Karademirev had come to visit the mayor and he had taken him along to the wedding. Karademirev jumped up from the banquet table fit to be tied and ordered all the men at the wedding to make a cordon around the village immediately. If we had known we were dealing with Karademirev, we would’ve tried to sneak out of the village some other way and give him the slip, but no, we jumped up and stormed ahead, firing away and making a run for the fields. Whoever had hollered at us to stop didn’t pipe up again. Only when we got two or three hundred feet further on and rifles started crackling at us did we realize that we were surrounded by plenty of people. They came after us hot on our trail and chased us rat-a-tat-tat for a good half an hour before falling silent. We took to the woods, walking twenty feet apart. As soon as we got to the other side, we regrouped and took off straight through the fields. We walked for about an hour and suddenly another forest was blocking our way. We went into it, now taking this path, now that one, till we found ourselves stuck in some thick undergrowth. We thought we’d been following the stars, but here we were walking around in a circle. When we finally made it into the clear, the stars were fading and it was getting light over in the east. It was only a little ways to the border, the two posts were gleaming up on the hill, ours and the Romanians’. We split into two groups. Delcho and me would pass by on one side of the post, while the other three would go around the other.
We were tired, so when we crossed the border, we stopped by a sunflower field to rest. Delcho ducked into the sunflowers to heed the call of nature, while I took off my coat, spread it on the ground, and lay down. And then I heard heavy footsteps, so I sat up and what did I see – a man on horseback galloping through the sunflowers straight at me. When he came closer I saw h
e was holding a rifle, so I jumped to my feet. I noticed he had a moustache and a black Vlach-style bowler on his head. His horse was black too. As I reached for my rifle, something burned through my chest, knocked me down hard, and I fell flat on my back. I remember as if in a dream how he leaned down over me and I felt a terrible pain in my left side. He was struggling to free the bag of money I’d slung over my left shoulder. Delcho heard the shot but by the time he came back, the horseman had already galloped back across the border. He saw the wound to my heart and ran to the village for a cart. Along the way I came to and told him to go straight to the city for a doctor.
We reached Varna after midday. Delcho asked around and they told him about some Dr. Stamatov or other, a real expert surgeon. He had a private hospital. They cleaned my wound, bandaged me up, and said I had to stay in the hospital. I spent a whole month there. Doc, I’d ask every time he examined me, can you patch me up good as new? I’ll shower you with gold, if only you heal me. He kept silent. Finally on the twentieth day he said: “Young man, you’ve got a strong soul. The bullet passed just half an inch below your heart, without touching anything else. In all my years as a doctor, I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it.” At the end of the month, they discharged me fit as a fiddle, as if nothing had ever happened. I repaid him hand over fist and then some. I gave him pure gold from what I’d stashed away. And every year I made a blood sacrifice on that day. I would bring him a slaughtered lamb or piglet. No matter where I found myself at that time of year, I hitched up my horses and went straight to him. Until the day he died.
For a long time we racked our brains trying to figure out who’d shot me and taken the money. We finally found out that it was Karademirev. He himself admitted it, so all folks like us would know and stay out of his way. That night, as soon as he realized that we’d slipped out of the village on him, he took the Aromanian’s horse and headed straight for the border with a dozen men to lie in wait for us. He left his men near the border posts where he expected us to cross, on the other side, our side, no less. Once a man has crossed the border, he gets as careless as if he’s in his own home, which is what we did too. Karademirev had given his word to that mayor to catch all of us sooner or later. I’ll slaughter them down to the last man, he said, so I know who my true comrades and backers are. And he was right. That Aromanian would’ve lost faith in him and his cronies. He comes to visit you, eats and drinks at your table, while his men ransack your house in the meantime. So that’s why Karademirev was foaming at the mouth with rage that night. And he was a man who always settled the score. Once he’d fixed someone in his sights, there was no stopping him. One time one of his men got a little greedy, helped himself to the common cache, and then disappeared somewhere in Bulgaria or Romania. Karademirev looked for him under hill and dale for three years and finally found him all the way in Sofia. The fellow had bought himself a big house, set up a store on the town square, and started trading to beat the band. One day at noon there was a knock on his door, he opened up and that was the last thing he ever did. One of Karademirev’s men put a bullet in him and that was it for him.
When I was fully recovered, I bought an intizap from the town hall. An intizap is a tax paid to town hall when cattle are bought and sold. If the buyer or the seller dodges the tax or tries to cover up the sale, I would hit them with a fine three times the intizap itself, then I’d hit them with another fine in town hall’s name. Around that time they caught Karademirev. Who gave him away and how they caught him, I don’t know. One day they were taking him through our village on the way to the city. I had gone down to town hall to look for the mayor. I went into his office, he wasn’t there, only his assistant and some old man. I sat down with them, we chatted a bit when all of a sudden a cart came clattering down the street. Soon the door opened, a head guardsman came in and said they were bringing Karademirev through. They hadn’t told the local mayors in advance, as they were afraid his backers in the villages might organize an attack on the convoy. When I heard that, my blood ran cold and I was thinking to slip out, but two guards brought in Karademirev. We had all jumped to our feet. He came in and said: “Good day, people,” and sat down in a chair. His hands were tied, heavy shackles hung from one leg. Grandfather, take a seat, why are you standing up, he told the old man, and chatted with him a bit. Finally he looked at the deputy mayor and asked him who he was and let out a laugh. He turned to me as well, looked at me and didn’t say a thing. At one point he seemed to smile, and my legs all but gave out. If he were to up and say that he recognized me, that he’d shot me and taken the mayor of Eni Cheshme’s money from me, they would’ve arrested me on the spot and carted me off along with him. But instead he said: “Boy, go get me some water!”
I took the empty bottle off the table and went out. There was a fountain behind town hall, I looked around – a dozen or so guards lapping at the spout. So I waited for them to drink their fill, trying to reckon what to do all the while. If I ran for it, I’d give myself away, if I went back to him, he could give me away. Both regular folks and the authorities knew what we’d been up to, only they didn’t have any proof. Word had gotten around of a man killed near the border, but no one had figured out it was me. No, I told myself, I’m not going to run. I rose up from the grave, if I take to my heels and run now, everything will crumble to pieces, it’ll all be shot to hell. If he’s recognized me and gives me away, I’ll deny it. They won’t easily believe a man like him. I set the bottle on the table, but since his hands were tied, right, he said: “Lift it up, boy, to my lips.” I pressed the bottle to his lips, he drank and kept looking at me. Looking from my face to my chest and back again. He gave me a sign, I pulled the bottle away, water spilled down his beard and chest. Boy, he said, your hand’s shaking so badly you nearly broke my teeth. Don’t worry, my hands are tied now. When he said “My hands are tied now,” I knew that he’d recognized me.
A short while later they made him get up, the shackles rattled and he left. The others went out into the yard, I stayed in the room and watched the guards helping him into the cart through the window. After the cart took off, the guards and the other folks stayed in the yard watching after it, while I thought to myself that in life things happen that you couldn’t imagine even in your wildest dreams. Karademirev had well nigh killed me, and it worked out that we met again and I gave him water to drink like a little child. He didn’t give me away, but when I went home, I thought it over and got scared again. In court they would accuse him of a murder he had committed on this side of the border, in Bulgarian territory, because he himself had admitted to that murder. They would ask him who the dead man was, where the body was, and he would say there was no dead man. Only a wounded one, but he had recovered and is now living in such-and-such a village. He might even demand a face-to-face meeting.
I spent the whole month on tenterhooks, always waiting to be arrested and taken to the city. I had a mind to leave our village and move to another, farther-off one. I’d thought this up already back in the hospital, when my life was hanging by a thread. When I went around to the villages looking for a place, I came by here as well. They told me there was an empty house. It was an inherited place, the heirs were looking to sell. I looked it over and put down a deposit there and then. This very house here. That’s all well and good, but my brother started carping at me. Go wherever you like, he said, just don’t leave me empty-handed. It’s true when they say your nearest cost you dearest. When I was out roaming around here and there, I would always give him something, I didn’t leave him high and dry. He was a bachelor then, so I let him choose for himself – whether he’d live in the old house or build himself a new one when he got married. He got married and decided to stay in the old house, but he also wanted the money I’d promised him for a new one. Said he wanted to buy himself a little land. I gave it to him, but right when I was ready to up and move, he started bellyaching for more. You’ll haul off all your hidden gold, he said, you’ll buy yourself some nice big chunk of land somew
here, while I’ll be here sweating over these measly five acres. You may have risked your life, but I took plenty of risks too, that whole time I lived in fear and shame on your account, I took care of your family. If they’d ratted you out, who would’ve looked after your wife and child? If I let just one word slip, you’ll be sent to keep Karademirev company, so we’ll split everything fair and square. Lord knows I didn’t have all that much hidden away. I’d given to my backers, to my mates, to doctors. I had enough left to patch things up and buy myself a small place. So I gave some of it to my brother and moved here with your auntie Kita. You don’t remember, how could you remember? Koycho was four, you were three. You were always playing together, heck, you even slept in the same bed. One night at our place, the next at yours. I fixed up the house, bought a dozen acres of land, livestock, this and that, and that’s how I got started.
Say what you will, those were good times. What’ve we got now? Justice, order, freedom – horsefeathers. Again, there’s freedom for one man, but not for the others. Let slip a single word and it’s either the cudgel or the clink. Whatever so-and-so tells you, that’s what you’ll do. You’ve got a voice, but you’ll say whatever suits him best. You don’t have your own eyes, your own mouth, your own mind. You’re just like everybody else. Fine, so maybe you’re not like them on the surface, but you are. You know your place – in the pond with all the other frogs. Back in the day, I was my own lord, my own master. I slip my own neck in the noose and I’m off. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me an hour from now, but I keep going straight ahead. Whatever happens, I’ve made it happen. The important thing is that the world is mine. Maybe only for one day or one night, but it’s mine. It might cost you your life, but the important thing is you’re going someplace where you don’t know what awaits you, what you’ll see there, or how you’ll get out of that jam. “But it’s not legal,” they say. Come on now, everything in this world is legal and nothing is legal. It all depends on how you look at it. If it suits you, then it’s legal, if it doesn’t suit you, then it’s illegal. Life’s such that every man has his own law. And every man robs every other. The stronger robs the weaker, the richer robs the poorer, the smarter robs the dumber. And the handsomer robs the uglier, even though he may not want to. ’Cause people aren’t made alike. If they were to become exactly alike, there’d be no life, there’d be nobody to bake you a loaf of bread to eat.
Wolf Hunt Page 9
