Gibran Stories Omnibus

talk; so I resorted to silence, the only language of the heart, but I
felt that Selma was listening to my wordless call and watching the
ghost of my soul in my eyes.
      In a few minutes the old man came out and greeted me as usual. When
he stretched his hand toward me, I felt as if he were blessing the
secrets that united me and his daughter. Then he said, “Dinner is
ready, my children; let us eat. “We rose and followed him, and Selma's
eyes brightened; for a new sentiment had been added to her love by her
father's calling us his children.
      We sat at the table enjoying the food and sipping the old wine, but
our souls were living in a world far away. We were dreaming of the
future and its hardships.
      Three persons were separated in thoughts, but united in love; three
innocent people with much feeling but little knowledge; a drama was
being performed by an old man who loved his daughter and cared for her
happiness, a young woman of twenty looking into the future with
anxiety, and a young man, dreaming and worrying, who had tasted neither
the wine of life nor its vinegar, and trying to reach the height of
love and knowledge but unable to life himself up. We three sitting in
twilight were eating and drinking in that solitary home, guarded by
Heaven's eyes, but at the bottoms of our glasses were hidden bitterness
and anguish.
      As we finished eating, one of the maids announced the presence of a
man at the door who wished to see Farris Effandi. “Who is he?” asked
the old man. “The Bishop's messenger,” said the maid. There was a
moment of silence during which Farris Effandi stared at his daughter
like a prophet who gazes at Heaven to divine its secret. Then he said
to the maid, “Let the man in.”
      As the maid left, a man, dressed in oriental uniform and with big
moustache curled at the ends, entered and greeted the old man, saying
“His Grace, the Bishop, has sent me for you with his private carriage;
he wishes to discuss important business with you.” The old man's face
clouded and his smile disappeared. After a moment of deep thought he
came close to me and said in a friendly voice, “I hope to find you here
when I come back, for Selma will enjoy your company in this solitary
place.”
      Saying this, he turned to Selma and, smiling, asked if she agreed.
She nodded her head, but her cheeks became red, and with a voice
sweeter than the music of the lyre she said, “I will do my best,
Father, to make our guest happy.”
      Selma watched the carriage that had taken her father and the
Bishop's messenger until it disappeared. Then she came and sat opposite
me on a divan covered with green silk. She looked like a lily bent to
the carpet of green grass by the breeze of dawn. It was the will of
Heaven that I should be with Selma alone, at night, in her beautiful
home surrounded by trees, where silence, love, beauty and virtue dwelt
together.
      We were both silent, each waiting for the other to speak, but speech
is not the only means of understanding between two souls. It is not the
syllables that come from the lips and tongues that bring hearts
together.
      There is something greater and purer than what the mouth utters.
Silence illuminates our souls, whispers to our hearts, and brings them
together. Silence separates us from ourselves, makes us sail the
firmament of spirit, and brings us closer to Heaven; it makes us feel
that bodies are no more than prisons and that this world is only a
place of exile.
      Selma looked at me and her eyes revealed the secret of her heart.
Then she quietly said, “Let us go to the garden and sit under the trees
and watch the moon come up behind the mountains.” Obediently I rose
from my seat, but I hesitated.
      Don't you think we had better stay here until the moon has risen and
illuminates the garden?” And I continued, “The darkness hides the trees
and flowers. We can see nothing.”
      Then she said, “If darkness hides the trees and flowers from our
eyes, it will not hide love from our hearts.”
      Uttering these words in a strange tone, she turned her eyes and
looked through the window. I remained silent, pondering her words,
weighing the true meaning of each syllable. Then she looked at me as if
she regretted what she had said and tried to take away those words from
my ears by the magic of her eyes.