METAPHYSICS OF THE BRIDGE

FROM THE COLLECTION At 22 (2004)

• The road traveled will be beaten further; myfeet get weaker, shortening the steps and lengthening the time, which may soon run out on me.Farewellbruises stretch the skin, and mark the road for my next return -- one of many over the decades. I try not to step on the bruises: they remind me that I was the one who left them.

• At twenty-two, they say, he reached the river.At thirty-three he finally managed to cross it-- overthe bridge, which--so they say-- he built, using his only arm and many river stones. "My missing arm's a bridge," he used to say. And then he used to stand right on the edge, staring at the other side: Next to his only arm, he felt the strainingmuscles of the other.

• We are having a physics lesson. My arm is going numb. “If an object is in a state of equilibrium, and--when disturbed-- returns to that state without the intervention of other forces, then its equilibrium is stable.” I manage to copy this down. The chalk is the point where the writing on the board converges with the lines inscribed upon my palm, and with my fixed stare. I imagine that the teacher--her equilibrium disturbed, and without the intervention of other forces--is returning to her desk.

  With every step her complexion gets swarthier and then, right behind my back, I hear the voice of the Gypsy: “Little will I take from you, much you will learn!” And she glances furtively at the chalk. Then --taking into account the difference in the relative mass of the chalk before and after the writing on the board, the intensity of my stare, and the palm in my pocket--she quickly calculates that the old man has at least sixteen more minutes left.

• They say that he repeated the words about the bridge to himself every day.He used to live between the bridge and the village closest to it. The villagers knew that he managed to cross the river at thirty-three. They did not know when he took to the road, nor where he started from; how he lost his arm, or why he had farewell bruises, (and) whether his one hand knew about the other.

• No wonder they are asking so many questions about the old man. They are puzzled by his abandon(and also perhaps by the bruises).His straining muscles and his restraint are puzzling. Imagine for a moment forcing someone to live for years on end between the bridge and the village closest to it. 

  I am erasing “without the intervention of other forces”. One feels the restraint, the straining muscles, and the intervention of other forces.

• “As for the bridge. God gave the bridge the purest of shadows. And gave a river to the bridge. And to the river--a bridge. Then He took some of the shadow of the bridge, and gave it to the river. In the name of God, most benevolent, ever merciful.”

  God makes the heavenly bodies move. The shadow of the bridge moved with them also: the bridge caressed the waters of the river.God created the heavenly bodies to deepen the shadows. And to the river he gave the shadow of the bridge. Before that shadow, the waters felt impure. They kept passing under its veil, and--seeing the wedding ring placed there by the old man--they sped on with the hope that some day, after a torrent upstream, they'll stop parting with the bridge before they depart. On that day, theywould reach the shadow purified and heavy with the greetings of all waters unable to attend.

• And also: What makes him set out, every morning, after the communal prayer, towards the river (with the words): “In the name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful, if you see me coming back again-- if you see me coming back without having crossed the bridge-- then kill me with the stones.” And--so they say-- he would point to the pile of river stones, heaped in the middle of the village. By these stones the villagers kept track of the days. Each stone marked a day after the building of the bridge.The villagers measured by them the passage of time, while the old man measured by them his powerlessness.At twenty-two --they say -- he reached the river.

  At thirty-three he finally managed to cross it, over the bridge, which he built with his only arm, and with many river stones.

  The bridge itself, however, he failed to cross. Because the road ends with a bridge; because that road ended with the bridge. So when he crossed, he reached the opposite bank.But then the opposite bank was not the opposite side.

8. “In the beginning were the prayers for rain. Thus they hoped to shorten the distance between them, and how could one know what the river and the bridge knew? After some torrent, she could ask the bridge: ‘Do you take me to be your river?’And if the bridge nods--a nod would be enough-- the two would set out together. And people would say: ‘The river swept away the bridge.’
“Somewhere along the way, the river would cross the bridge for the first time, would cross its bridge for the first time, would cross my bridge for the first time. And on the next day, people would say: ‘Damn the rains, and damn that river.’ And God would send them twenty-two years of drought.”

9. The teacher puts her hand in my pocket, and the Gypsy puts her hand in my pocket. Then she repeats: “Little will I takefrom you, much you will learn!”

The sixteen minutes have long since elapsed, but that physics lesson is far from over. The Gypsy squints and stares fixedly at something on my hand: “Little will I take from you, much you will learn!”But instead of the formulas, penned surreptitiously on my palm, her lips utter (the lines read by her swarthy fingers): “The pile is growing. Your feet grow weaker, shortening the steps and lengthening the time, which may soon run out on you. The trees by the road are growing taller. On the way back you go down to the water, bend your back to shoulder the next stone, cup your hand, and take a scoop of river-water and bridge-shadow. Sometimes the stone falls, marking the road with yet another bruise. But your outstretched hand remains steadfast. And every day, the water cupped in its palm nourishes the roots of the roadside trees. The pile grows. So do the trees, and the shadows upon the road. Because the shadows are dissolved in the river-water, and pour out along with it from the cupped hand of the old man. And the old man bends his back again to shoulder the fallen river stone: The village is expecting the next stone.”

10. “An arch he ordered, raised above the river like the vault of heaven (.) Out of gratitude, he built a lofty bridge, and freed from hardship and travail rich and poor. The world is a bridge; the roads of kings and beggars pass across that bridge. And those who tread the just and righteous path, will find their salvation with God Most High (.) And when I saw the bridge completed, I (the poet) offered a prayer to the almighty God, and uttered the words inscribed herewith.” (An inscription on an Ottoman bridge from the end of the 16th c.)

11. And yet again he headed for the bridge, talking to the trees along the road. And yet again he headed for the bridge. I was telling them when and where I started on my way, what happened to my missing arm, and why trees are good listeners.

You don't remember this, but long ago, when I first met you and your shadows were still untamed, I did not know yet how to walk the road.

Tomorrow the bruises will start to disappear. The road (stretched between you), though, must never disappear. That was what I taught you, for years on end: a tree should never ever fall upon the road. And let your shadows be with you: for they will help you mark the passage of time.

12. They say the pool under the bridge was deep: yes, deeper still for those with only one arm. Till that day, the bridge had stood between them. Till that day, fear held the old man back. But on that day he stood right on the edge, and--a step or two before departing--said, “My missing arm, my missing arm's a bridge.” And--so they say-- he started walking lightly upon the waters.Next to his outstretched arm, he felt the straining muscles of the bridge. The river, the old man, and the bridge.

The missing bridge was now his missing arm. The river slowly drew the contours of the-man-and-bridge. “The river slowly draws the contours of the old man and the bridge.”

13. The villagers expected him to return with yet another river stone. And often, every now and then, they’d say: “The old man's missing.” They gathered, all of them, and set out for the bridge. But when they reached the river, the bridge was gone.“The river has swept away the bridge,” they kept repeating.And seldom, only now and then, they’d add: “The old man's missing.” One of the villagers suddenly proposed, that on the way back each should take a stone.

The following night, they say, the pile disappeared. One single stone remained in the middle of the village. A rumor spread among the villagers that--one by one--the old man had returned the stones to the river. With each stone--so they say--he got younger. At thirty-three he managed to go across: to cross the bridge which he had built with his only arms [sic.], and with all river stones, carried from the village. He did not set foot on the shore across, but went his way upon the road beyond.

14.When he started out and where to--ask the trees along the road. But if someone doesn't know yet how to walk the road, better come and find me. Little I will take from him, much you will learn.

Translation from Bulgarian:Michael Beard with Aziz Tash,and with Marta Simidchieva