Читать книгу Hamam Balkania - Vladislav Bajac - Страница 12

By moving his family from the small town to his brother’s place in the village, his father thought that they were saved from the Turkish menace; that gathering up of small Serbian children to send to various parts of Turkey, and even to the court, in order to make elite soldiers of the Empire out of them. However, he did not know that the Herzegovinian, Sandžakbey Skender Ornosović, had been given orders from Constan -tinople that every few years he was to trawl Bosnia and Herzegovina and ‘to collect a thousand children in the ‘blood tribute’ and take them to the palaces…’¹ And that had meant an additional problem: in order to fulfil such a high quota of specially gifted children, which had been increased after the capture of Belgrade in 1521 due to heavy losses in the siege, the bey had to gather up older children as well, which had not been usual practice before that time. Just how strictly this duty was being enforced could be seen by the persistence with which, this time, he did not pardon the parents who hid their children in the forests, or even those who intentionally maimed their offspring because they thought that the Empire would not need them that way. Even in these drastic cases, the agas did not desist. They even visited the monasteries and took young men who were preparing for monkhood away from their books. Among them was Bajo Sokolović, taken by force back to the village of Sokolovići from the monastery of Mileševa; an Orthodox theologian far from being a child, a tall young man almost eighteen years old. In addition to his learnedness, there was a single factor that also went in his favour: he came from a noble family and therefore especially desirable for the tribute in blood. The fact that he had studied the Christian word of God was also not a barrier for the Ottomans. At one moment his Father Dimitrije found out just how special his case was: the head captain, Mehmed-bey, admitted that a special order had been given so that his Bajica would be taken by the tribute to the capital of the empire. Comforting him by saying that his son was destined for an important place and even more important works, he told him that the proof of that was that Bajica had been asked for by a certain Sokolović who had been taken away in an Imperial caravan some twenty years before. That man’s name was now Deli Husrev-pasha. His younger brother had also gone not long ago, and was now called Mustafa. Husrev had advanced very quickly at the sultan’s court, arriving at a position where, as a pasha, he could make important decisions as well.

All of these were additional reasons why his father and his cousin – a monk of Mileševo – together with the leader of that monastery, Božidar Goraždanin, could convince none of the agas not to take Bajica away, not even with their pleas or their money. In the end, he had to comfort himself as a parent with the fact that they left his two younger sons with him: the Turks kept firmly to their own rule that only one male child could be taken from a given home.

Though nothing, of course, could lessen the pain of their parting, it might be said that it was hardest for Bajica. He was the only one leaving, everyone dear to him was remaining together, so that they were at least partially protected from the heavy weight of loneliness that he was carrying as they said their good-byes. In addition, being forced to leave his home, he was driven into the unknown while his entire family remained where they belonged.

On the long journey through Serbia and Bulgaria, he was only able to think about all that he was leaving behind, and of all the things that yet awaited him. The first drove him to tears, the second caused him to be afraid.

Completely exhausted by his continual crying that occasionally broke into wailing, and then into sighs, deep and loud, at one point he finally ran out of tears – there simply were no more. He could go on crying only within himself.

If he only knew then what a huge part of his life he would actually spend like that – within himself – perhaps it would have comforted him. If he had perchance said publicly and out loud at the end of his life that he had spent the largest part of his life within himself – no one would have believed him. And why would they? His life was an example of living to a ripe old age, despite being cut short. At the same time, his life was so public and important that any other life, or anyone else’s life, could not even draw close in comparison.

The ruler’s every move was so highly visible to the general public and to every individual in the empire that the regularity of making public decrees, acts and appearances, the making of proclamations, travelling, going to war, receiving high dignitaries, punishing the disobedient, frequent hunting trips and Lord knows what else, all made it seem that the great vizier had no time to do anything for himself, much the less to have a private life. Yet, of course, he had more than enough time to be his own person. The frequency of his public duties (of which, in truth, a large part was done by the servile apparatus of the empire, and not by him personally), and especially the constant linking of his name to everyone and everything, made it seem that each time his name was mentioned he was actually physically present there as well and built the illusion that he was omnipresent. If such a thing were allowed, probably some of his loyal subjects would even have felt sorry for him. Yet this omnipresence fuelled stories about the ruler’s doubles: the high visibility of a single person could only be created by replicating him, and since that was not possible, stories were invented that the ruler had doubles. Later, the reasons for the ruler’s simultaneous appearance in several places at once were expanded to include his avoidance of assassination.

Yet on his journey, the pack train of horses and people that drew out in front and behind him to the horizon helped him to begin to gather his thoughts. In the first place, it was clear that he could never return again. Escape was hardly feasible, and even if he managed, he wondered what he would do with that kind of freedom. The new masters of his fate knew who he was; he had not reached this place as a child found by accident, but rather as a carefully selected young man, with a name, a surname and a pedigree. His departure for the Turkish Empire was actually decreed. He was indeed taken abroad, not to vanish but rather to vanquish. He needed to be smart and practical. His own father had advised him to make the best of the whole situation, and to even try to profit from it.

He prayed that God would not forsake him. He prayed that his memory would not betray him. At this moment, ‘being his own man’ meant ‘remember everything’. As time went by, his memories slipped from his conscious into his physical self and thus built the organic memory that makes one what one actually is – in truth, the stuff one is made of. He had to be afraid of forgetting. He thought that if he forgot, he would cease to exist. He did not know that the body is able to read like the mind does: at that moment, in order to defend him from the new, it was actually reading through his entire childhood, his language, his faith, his parents, his brothers and sisters, his time in the monastery cell, and storing all of that in the farthest reaches of his body, preparing the messages of that language for a kind of hibernation, however long it might take. In that way, his memory could last with certainty.

It was only with the passing of time that he began to understand why his new hosts, at the same time masters and owners – did not have to worry about how much he and the other children with him would forget or not forget of what they had left behind. The tempo of events that followed and the sheer volume of new commitments would resolve that problem all by themselves.