Alone..

A Christmas story by Miss Najwa Qa'war

It is Christmas Eve! I looked at the bare walls of my room, then turned my gaze to the chair with its worn cover, then to the table over which a few books and papers lay scattered, and after that to the bed covered with an old blanket which, with time, had become a thin and gentle companion — and when the turn came of the mirror with its peeling wooden frame, it too reflected a pale, tired face.

And the gloating voice came back, ringing in my ears: "You are alone... alone! Do not try to contemplate the old furniture of your room in order to forget your loneliness."

At that I checked my tears with violence and force, and resolved to face the voice. "Yes, I am alone. But is it a sin or a wrong for a person to be alone? In any case, solitude is nothing new to me. Here is the second year about to run out, and with its passing two whole years will have passed over my solitude. Why, then, do you find your voice so loud, O truth, on Christmas Eve?

"I have told you again and again that I do not mind solitude — indeed it pleases me, and as I storm its silent kingdom I feel something of heroism and adventure. I do not deny there is in it something of gloom and despair, but it is a beautiful gloom, like the moonbeam that breaks into the darkness of the forests."

And the voice said to me: "Yes! That is bold and sensible talk. But on Christmas Eve the matter is otherwise. What family does not gather at the feast to share out and distribute presents to the children? And what heart, whatever its creed, is not taken hold of by the feeling of the feast and the air of the feast — nay, the very scent of the feast? And there in the grand hotels the music plays, the lights sparkle, perfumes hang in the air, and the people dance. Look, rather, from the window, and you will see the lighted streets, the decorated shops, and the fine motorcars gliding along them.

"And in the churches the prayers rise, and the choirs of chant, and people feel the greatness of the memorial and the joy of salvation; and with the Christmas carols drift old memories and old airs of peoples who once, in days gone by, chanted and sang these very carols. I told you the feast has a fragrance of its own, an old fragrance mingled with the scent of pine and candles; and it has, too, an air of its own, marked out by falling snows, storming winds, and streaming rains — and all of this takes possession of people on Christmas Eve, and they yield with gladness and delight to the feast's dominion; even the angels in heaven hold their rejoicings and send forth their lovely singing. And you... and you are alone."

And I said to the voice: "You know quite well that none of this matters to me; but you strike a tender chord when you point to family life. My heart flames when I remember my parents, who lie now in the distant cemetery outside the city; my very soul trembles when I remember the wind that blows at the grave, so that the mighty trees bend with violence and force, as though bowing tenderly over the grave I loved with all the power of love in my soul. But listen, O voice! You shall not get the better of me for all that; for my mother taught me that pity for oneself is the worst kind of pity... it is a negative selfishness... And I shall not weep, I shall not wail, though I feel a strong inclination to tears." And there came a knock at the door...

When I opened the door, my neighbor Jamila stood before me, as if she were a very model of one of the feast's displays:
"Who is it? Jamila — come in!"

And in glided my neighbor in her evening gown and her coat of costly fur, escorted by the strong scent of "Joya." She said in astonishment: "What? You are not dressed yet? Are you not going anywhere?" And I do not know what drove me to say, "I came back late from the office and haven't begun dressing yet."

"And where will you be going?"
"Oh... some of the club girls will be calling for me, and we shall go together to the club hall, where a simple party is to be held under the patronage of Reverend Salim and his wife."

My neighbor stood before my old mirror and studied her face, and I noticed in my turn the extraordinary care my friend had spent on adorning herself. Then she turned and said fretfully: "Why is my brother As'ad so late? The Hotel al-Amal will be at its most splendid tonight.

"But... Nadia, shall I let you into a secret? Do you know who has lately come back from America?"
"Who?"
"Dr. Kamal al-Sa'id."

And when my face showed no stir of feeling at this thrilling piece of news, my neighbor added:
"You don't know Dr. Kamal?"
"No."

"Ah... what a calamity! Rich... of good family... exceedingly clever. Two years ago he went off to America to specialize in nervous diseases, and one of my friends told me he may well attend the dance at the Hotel al-Amal. But there — I hear the horn of my brother's car. Goodbye, my dear! I wish you a pleasant time."

"Goodbye." And the door closed, and the last wafts of the scent of Joya trailed away.

And I sat down. Ah! Why did she come? To trouble the calm of my memories?? And here the phantom of my mother took hold of me, chiding me for clinging so hard to sorrow and gloom. A few moments later I found myself putting on my clothes and going down into the street. The lights blazed there as though it were broad day; as for the weather, it was bitterly cold, though the sky was clear.

Where shall I go? I walked along the main road until I came to the crossroads, hearing the Christmas carols echo and answer everywhere from the broadcasting stations. And I remembered an aged old woman who lives at the turn of the street opposite which I had stopped. "Ah... I remember her from Sunday-school days: she used to come every Sunday carrying a cane and a bag of figured green velvet, a cap of thick lace set upon her head — how often she stirred our laughter when we were small. But with time the old lady could no longer teach in the Sunday school, and I would do the teaching in her stead; yet the school board remembered her on occasions, and the teacher would choose a boy and a girl to go with the pastor and the teacher to present a gift to Mrs. Hanneh." I asked once about the story of her life, and they told me she had married long ago, and God had not blessed her with a child; then her husband died, and she lived alone.

"Alone." And I shuddered at the word as I walked toward her house.

I knocked at the door, and heard her lovely voice:
"Who is it?"
"Nadia." And a long while passed before she opened the door to me. "Who?"
And I said again, "It is I — Nadia."

"Ah... Nadia. How kind of you to visit me on Christmas Eve — truly, I did not expect it of you."

Mrs. Hanneh was seated near a glowing fire, at her right a small radio which one of her near relations had given her, to be an amusement to her since she cannot go out; over her shoulders she had laid a great shawl of dark red wool. I said to myself: "Loneliness and old age weave together most beautifully. When shall I become an old woman?" And Mrs. Hanneh pushed a hymnbook toward me, that I might join with the wireless in singing "In the Darkness and the Stillness," and I began to sing with her, hearing her thin, far-away voice like a faint creaking. When the hymn ended Mrs. Hanneh said to me: "I feel a great displeasure at the conduct of the girls of today: they spend the night of the feast in dancing and singing, while the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ means nothing at all to them... But you, Nadia, do not belong to that tribe, for I know you are a good girl, from Sunday-school days."

And I did not wish to disappoint Mrs. Hanneh's good opinion of me, so I kept silent, listening to the pastor's sermon over the wireless, and the words began to sink into my heart little by little — "the new life... and what the message of Christmas carries of spiritual birth, and renewal in the building of the human soul" — and the pastor ended his sermon while I remained sunk in a sea of thoughts — the bitterness in which I live — the trust I have lost in the justice of life... Then the thin voice roused me: "My child, this cake has come to me, and I should like to make us two cups of tea." I hastened to say: "No! Upon your life, Sitt Hanneh! If there must be tea, then allow me to make it."

"I should be thankful to you for that."

And I hurried to the part of the room which Sitt Hanneh had made into a kind of little kitchen, and how quickly I busied myself preparing the tea! It was easy for me to find where the things were kept, for everything is in order in Sitt Hanneh's kitchen. I set the water on the primus and went back to my seat to wait for the water to boil. And then there came a knock at the door.

***

I hurried to open it — astonishment had shown on Mrs. Hanneh's face at her door being knocked twice. And there before me stood a tall young man with a dark complexion.

"Good evening. Is Mrs. Hanneh here?"

"Yes." And the young man came in behind me and made toward Mrs. Hanneh, who stared at him as though she wished to make certain who he was. He walked on, smiling, until he reached her seat, and as he drew near she cried out in her thin voice, choked with surprise: "Kamal!.."

"Yes! The very same."

Mrs. Hanneh rose from her seat and stretched out her arms to embrace the young man who had entered the room, and I could not help noticing the great effort the young man made as he let the old lady kiss him and press him to her. "What a lovely surprise, Kamal! When did you come back, my dear?" But Kamal turned to her and said: "You have not introduced me to the young lady."

"Ah... true! This is Nadia Salameh. She came to keep me company in my loneliness." And she turned to me: "This is my sister's son, Dr. Kamal al-Sa'id."

Here the young man held out his hand in greeting, expressing his thanks that I should visit his aunt on Christmas Eve. And I remained silent, without confessing that I had come to lighten a gloom of my own. Then I heard the voice of the boiling water calling me, and found that the best way out of my awkward position was to hurry to the tea and finish making it. I heard Mrs. Hanneh's voice praising me handsomely — but I! I remembered the beautiful gown, the dressed hair, even the scent of Joya... and the three words rang in my ears: "well-born, clever, rich." And I felt as though I were committing some fault, chance having thrown me together with this young man for whom certain people were waiting at the Hotel al-Amal. I began to say to myself: "Jamila will never believe it was the work of blind chance. Why did I lie to Jamila and tell her I was going to the sports club?"

After we had drunk the tea and eaten of Mrs. Hanneh's cake and the sweets Dr. Kamal had brought, I resolved to go home, and thanked Mrs. Hanneh for her kind hospitality; whereupon the young man expressed his wish to see me home, as the night had grown late. On the way back the young man talked to me of Christmas in America, and of the enormous interest people take in it there. Then suddenly he said that he ought to make the acquaintance of the members of my family, if I had no objection.

I froze where I stood, and felt it impossible to tell him that I am alone; by doing so I would be pointing to a very private side of my life, and there was no cause to stir up feelings of pity in a strange young man at such a moment. Ah... when shall I reach my room and go back to my solitude? I shall not run away from it again; however harsh it may be, at least it does not wound me with a situation like this. I answered with some unclear words, and at the lower gate I said to the young man: "Won't you come in?"

"No, thank you! I am very glad indeed to have made your acquaintance." And the young man walked away. I began to climb the stairs, my heart full of a keen longing for my modest room; and when I had wrapped myself in my thin blanket, and drowsiness began to steal into my eyes, I began to feel something like peace of mind, as though my solitude were an impregnable fortress. An impregnable fortress against what? Against what? Ah... I do not know... rather, I do not dare to know.

But I remember quite well now that before I wandered off into the kingdom of sleep I heard the lower gate opening, and the voices of my neighbor Jamila and her brother As'ad coming home from the party at the "Amal."

***

In the morning my neighbor Jamila came and told me of the splendid party, attended by a number of consuls and well-known personalities; and hardly had she gone out when there came another knock at the door of my room, and the Doctor told me that his aunt had sent him to bring me a small present from her. I was at a loss, and invited the young man into my room. He came in, and I took courage and asked him to sit on my worn chair, which he did. I opened his aunt's present, and when I saw it I was quite certain it had not come from his aunt: a purse and a pair of gloves of costly leather... and made in America. And I was praying in my heart of hearts that he would not ask me about the members of my family; and so as not to be drawn into any such thing, I began asking him about his work, and he began telling me with relish about nervous diseases and the great attention paid to them in the New World.

When he left I thanked him warmly, and thanked his aunt for her kindness in sending me the present, with my deep appreciation; whereupon he asked me to favor her now and then with a visit, and I promised him I would.

When he had vanished from my sight I went into my room, hearing the old voice... "He knows you are alone... and the greatest proof of it is that he did not repeat his expressed wish to make the acquaintance of the members of your family." And a shiver of pain ran through me as I felt how the fire was kindling in my heart... Why?... I do not know... rather, I am afraid to face the truth.

***

Ah... I am alone; but since that day my loneliness has been dispelled by beautiful colored rays, like those that trim the edges of the clouds. What is it that has filled my loneliness and made it like a tree heavy with fruit?... Can it be that I do not know? But no! For these words have left no room for that:

"A joy and a rapture take hold of me when I remember you — and I remember you always."

Nazareth — Palestine