Gibran Stories Omnibus

thwarted love which leads a woman to the grave is like the despair
which pervades the people of the earth? A woman is to a nation as light
is to a lamp. Will not the light be dim if the oil in the lamp is low?
      Autumn passed, and the wind blew the yellow leaves form the trees,
making way for winter, which came howling and crying. I was still in
the City of Beirut without a companion save my dreams, which would lift
my spirit to the sky and then bury it deep in the bosom of the earth.
      The sorrowful spirit finds relaxation in solitude. It abhors people,
as a wounded deer deserts the herd and lives in a cave until it is
healed or dead.
      One day I heard Farris Effandi was ill. I left my solitary abode and
walked to his home, taking a new route, a lonely path between olive
trees, avoiding the main road with its rattling carriage wheels.
      Arriving at the old man's house, I entered and found Farris Effandi
lying on his bed, weak and pale. His eyes were sunken and looked like
two deep, dark valleys haunted by the ghosts of pain. The smile which
had always enlivened his face was choked with pain and agony; and the
bones of his gentle hands looked like naked branches trembling before
the tempest. As I approached him and inquired as to his health, he
turned his pale face toward me, and on his trembling lips appeared a
smile, and he said in a weak voice, “Go —go, my son, to the other room
and comfort Selma and bring her to sit by the side of my bed.”
      I entered the adjacent room and found Selma lying on a divan,
covering her head with her arms and burying her face in a pillow so
that her father would not hear her weeping. Approaching slowly, I
pronounced her name in a voice that seemed more like sighing than
whispering. She moved fearfully, as if she had been interrupted in a
terrible dream, and sat up, looking at me with glazed eyes, doubting
whether I was a ghost or a living being. After a deep silence which
took us back on the wings of memory to that hour when we were
intoxicated with wine of love, Selma wiped away her tears and said,
“See how time has changed us! See how time has changed the course of
our lives and left us in these ruins. In this place spring united us in
a bond of love, and in this place has brought us together before the
throne of death. How beautiful was spring, and how terrible is this
winter!”
      Speaking thus, she covered her face again with her hands as if she
were shielding her eyes from the spectre of the past standing before
her. I put my hand on her head and said, “Come, Selma, come and let us
be as strong towers before the tempest. Let us stand like brave
soldiers before the enemy and face his weapons. If we are killed, we
shall die as martyrs; and if we win, we shall live as heroes. Braving
obstacles and hardships is nobler than retreat to tranquillity. The
butterfly that hovers around the lamp until it dies is more admirable
than the mole that lives in a dark tunnel. Come, Selma, let us walk
this rough path firmly, with our eyes toward the sun so that we may not
see the skulls and serpents among the rocks and thorns. if fear should
stop us in middle of the road, we would hear only ridicule from the
voices of the night, but if we reach the mountain peak bravely we shall
join the heavenly spirits in songs of triumph and joy. Cheer up, Selma,
wipe away your tears and remove the sorrow from your face. Rise, and
let us sit by the bed of your father, because his life depends on your
life, and your smile is his only cure.”
      Kindly and affectionately she looked at me and said, “Are you asking
me to have patience, while you are in need of it yourself? Will a
hungry man give his bread to another hungry man? Or will sick man give
medicine to another which he himself needs badly?”
      She rose, her head bent slightly forward and we walked to the old
man's room and sat by the side of his bed. Selma forced a smile and
pretended to be patient, and her father tried to make her believe that
he was feeling better and getting stronger; but both father and
daughter were aware of each other's sorrow and heard the unvoiced
sighs. They were like two equal forces, wearing each other away
silently. The father's heart was melting because of his daughter's
plight. They were two pure souls, one departing and the other agonized
with grief, embracing in love and death; and I