Free Broken April by Ismaíl Kadaré

surmounted the stone belfry. The church rose up from a rocky height, and since the road descended very steeply, or perhaps because of the grey background of the sky, the black cross seemed to rise up and sway threateningly among the clouds. The church was still far off, but as they drew closer, they could make out the bell and its bronze shimmer spreading abroad like a smile beneath that black cross-shaped menace.
    â€œHow beautiful!” Diana exclaimed.
    Bessian nodded, but did not speak. The dark shadow of the cross and the pleasant gleam of the bell soared aloft in every direction and must have been visible, one and inseparable, for miles around.
    â€œOh, look. There are the
kullas
of the mountains,” he said.
    With difficulty, she turned her eyes from the church to look for the high stone dwellings.
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œLook up there on that slope,” he said, pointing. “And there, there’s another farther on, on that other hill.”
    â€œAh, yes!”
    Suddenly he came to life, and his eyes began to search the horizon avidly.
    â€œMountaineers,” he said, his hand stretched out towards the little window in front.
    The mountaineers were coming towards them, but they were still a long way off and you could hardly see them.
    â€œThere must be a big village somewhere near.”
    The carriage drew nearer to them, and Diana guessed at her husband’s sense of strain.
    â€œThey have rifles slung on their shoulders,” she said.
    â€œYes,” he said, relieved, not taking his eyes from the window. He was looking for something else. The mountaineers were now no more than twenty paces away.
    â€œThere,” he called out at last, seizing Diana by the shoulder. “You see the black ribbon on his right sleeve. Do you see?”
    â€œYes, yes,” she said.
    â€œThere’s another mark of death. And there’s another.”
    Excitement made his breathing irregular.
    â€œHow terrible!” The words had escaped her.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI meant to say that it’s beautiful and terrible at the same time.”
    â€œYes, it’s true. It’s tragically beautiful, or wonderfully tragic, if you will.”
    He turned towards her, suddenly, with an odd light in his eye, as if to say: Admit it. You never believed all this. As it happened, she had never mentioned any such doubt.
    The carriage had left the mountaineers behind, and Bessian,his face lit with a smile now, had thrown himself back in his seat.
    â€œWe are entering the shadow-land,” he said, as if talking to himself, “the place where the laws of death prevail over the laws of life.”
    â€œBut how does one tell the difference between those whose duty it is to avenge a killing and those from whom vengeance is sought?” she asked. “The black ribbon is the same for everyone, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes, it’s the same. The mark of death is exactly the same for those who mean to kill and those who are being hunted.”
    â€œHow horrible,” she said.
    â€œIn no other country in the world can one see people on the road who bear the mark of death, like trees marked for felling.”
    She looked at him kindly. Bessian’s eyes shone with the deep brilliance that bursts out after unbearable waiting. Now, those other mountain folk, with their ridiculous ramshackle umbrellas, their prosaic sacks of corn on their backs, seemed never to have been.
    â€œLook, there are still some more of them,” he said.
    This time she was the one who first saw the black ribbon on the sleeve of one among them.
    â€œYes, now I can say that we are well within death’s kingdom,” Bessian said, never turning his eyes from the window. Outside, the rain was still falling, a fine rain, as if diluted with mist.
    Diana started to smile.
    â€œYes,” he said, “we have entered death’s kingdom like Ulysses, with this difference—Ulysses had to