“I’m going to upper Thethis myself,” said Perolli, at length. “Like to come along? We’ve been invited to visit Sadiri Luka, the richest man in the Five Tribes.”
We roused ourselves with some little effort, for the grayness of the day, the chill, and the ceaseless sound of pouring water were like an actual weight on muscles. We swept the floor painstakingly and long, with the pine bough. We went down the draughty stairs and out into the downpour to bring back a wooden bucket of water; we tried to stir the sullen embers into a blaze to warm it; we gave up in despair and washed the coffee cups in water cold and sooty. We made the beds; we went up and down the stairs, bringing water, emptying wash basins, carrying ashes and wet wood. Our admiration and reverence for Padre Marjan grew like Jonah’s gourd while we did these things, which he does every day before beginning his work. At last we set out, opangi laced and staffs in hand, to go to upper Thethis.
A day of comparative dryness had broken our fishlike habits, and water seemed again an unkind element in which to be moving. Crossing the flat valley in single file, accompanied by the sucking, slushy sound of water-filled stockings, we said little. The sheets of rain blurred our sight, and the sound of it dulled our hearing. But when we began cautiously to climb the slippery trail that edged up the mountain side, exercise had begun to warm us, and we escaped from the silence which is to human beings a more unfamiliar element than water.
“How can he be the richest man in the Five Tribes? I thought these people were communistic,” said Alex.
“The tribes own only lands and houses and most of the forests,” said Perolli. “A man or a family can own flocks, or buy and sell when they go down to the cities. Sadiri Luka’s the richest man because he went down to Ipek. He was a merchant there, and everyone is rich in Ipek. How I wish I might show you that valley, my own valley—it is more beautiful than you can imagine. There are such rich fields—the cows stand knee deep there in greenness like a carpet—and the best fruits of all the Balkans grow there. And butter, and honey, and fine flour, and quantities of the finest wool that makes the beautiful rugs of my people—there is everything in Ipek that you could wish to have, and both hands running over. I mean,” he added, grimly, “there was. Yes, Ipek was a rich and happy place before the Serbs came. And if Sadiri Luka——” He broke off, on such a savage note that we were startled.
“You see,” he resumed with a note of eagerness, stopping to point with his staff, “just over that mountain—no, that one, farthest east—well, just over that mountain, and down through a little gorge where there will be violets soon, and then around the curve of the hills, there begins my valley of Ipek. In four hours I could go there. I know every step of the way. My father and my mother are there, and I am the only son, and I have not seen them for two years, nor my houses, nor my fields. And I could go there in four hours.”
“Do you suppose,” said Frances, nervously, “that the Serbs have field-glasses? If they had, Rrok, they could recognize you from their lines up there. They might be looking at you right now.”
“If they even had any code of honor,” he continued, not heeding her, “if they had any proper respect for women, I could go straight through their lines with you girls beside me, and I could go to see my people, and I could show you what a country Albanians make when they only have land to work, and we could come back again—we could do it all in one day. There is not a tribe in our mountains who would not let a Serb come and go in safety, with a woman beside him. But the Serbs—— And Christ tells us to love our enemies! How can we? How can we?”
It was the unanswerable passionate question, and we did not try to answer it. We went on, the little valley of Thethis narrowing below us, till mountain overlapped mountain, and the gorge between was filled with a foam-white green river. From time to time we struggled through a waterfall, and there was one huge torrent that, leaping from a cliff above the trail, arched over it in a curve that seemed solid as glass, and we passed beneath it. Then, descending, we came to the little valley of upper Thethis. Perhaps six or ten houses were scattered there, among broken-off fragments of cliff as large as they, and between them all the level land was glistening with water at the grass roots.
The house of Sadiri Luka was notable for its stone-walled courtyard and its broad balcony. The heavy arch of the gateway was mediæval in its grim solidity; we escaped from the rain to the peace of its shelter, and there were welcomed by Sadiri Luka. He was middle-aged, sturdy, even a little stodgy of figure, among the lithe mountaineers, and this appearance suggested the successful business man—a suggestion incongruous with his picturesque clothes. His trousers were the purest white that new wool can be, his fringed jacket the densest black, the colors of his sash were clear and gay, and his silver chains were massive. There was even a heavy silver ring on his finger. And there was no rifle on his back.