Gibran Stories Omnibus

melted; then Selma
would print a pure kiss on my forehead and fill my heart with ecstasy;
I would return the kiss as she bent her ivory neck while her cheeks
became gently red like the first ray of dawn on the forehead of hills.
We silently looked at the distant horizon where the clouds were
coloured with the orange ray of sunset.
      Our conversation was not limited to love; every now and then we
drifted on to current topics and exchanged ideas. During the course of
conversation Selma spoke of woman's place in society, the imprint that
the past generation had left on her character, the relationship between
husband and wife, and the spiritual diseases and corruption which
threatened married life. I remember her saying: “The poets and writers
are trying to understand the reality of woman, but up to this day they
have not understood the hidden secrets of her heart, because they look
upon her from behind the sexual veil and see nothing but externals;
they look upon her through the magnifying glass of hatefulness and find
nothing except weakness and submission.
      In another occasion she said, pointing to the carved pictures on the
walls of the temple, “In the heart of this rock there are two symbols
depicting the essence of a woman's desires and revealing the hidden
secrets of her soul, moving between love and sorrow —between affection
and sacrifice, between Ishtar sitting on the throne and Mary standing
by the cross. The man buys glory and reputation, but the woman pays the
price.”
      No one knew about our secret meetings except God and the flock of
birds which flew over the temple. Selma used to come in her carriage to
a place named Pasha park and from there she walked to the temple, where
she found me anxiously waiting for her.
      We feared not the observer's eyes, neither did our consciences
bother us; the spirit which is purified by fire and washed by tears is
higher than what the people call shame and disgrace; it is free from
the laws of slavery and old customs against the affections of the human
heart. That spirit can proudly stand unashamed before the throne of
God.
      Human society has yielded for seventy centuries to corrupted laws
until it cannot understand the meaning of the superior and eternal
laws. A man's eyes have become accustomed to the dim light of candles
and cannot see the sunlight. Spiritual disease is inherited from one
generation to another until it has become a part of people, who look
upon it, not as a disease, but as a natural gift, showered by God upon
Adam. If those people found someone free from the germs of this
disease, they would think of him with shame and disgrace.
      Those who think evil of Selma Karamy because she left her husband's
home and met me in the temple are the diseased and weak-minded kind who
look upon the healthy and sound as rebels. They are like insects
crawling in the dark for fear of being stepped upon by the passer-by.
      The oppressed prisoners, who can break away from his jail and does
not do so, is a coward. Selma, an innocent and oppressed prisoner, was
unable to free herself from slavery. Was she to blame because she
looked through the jail window upon the green fields and spacious sky?
Will the people count her as being untruthful to her husband because
she came from his home to sit by me between Christ and Ishtar? Let the
people say what they please; Selma had passed the marshes which
submerge other spirits and had landed in a world that could not be
reached by the howling of wolves and rattling of snakes. People may say
what they want about me, for the spirit who has seen the spectre of
death cannot be scared by the faces of thieves; the soldier who has
seen the swords glittering over his head and streams of blood under his
feet does not care about rocks thrown at him by the children on the
streets.

THE SACRIFICE
         
      One day in the late part of June, as the people left the city for
the mountain to avoid the heat of summer, I went as usual to the temple
to meet Selma, carrying with me a little book of Andalusian poems. As I
reached the temple I sat there waiting for Selma, glancing at intervals
at the pages of my book, reciting those verses which filled my heart
with ecstasy and brought to my soul the memory of the kings, poets, and
knights who bade farewell to Granada, and left, with tears in their
eyes and sorrow in