Story of the Month: Take Me with You

– 1 –

Hardly had she drawn the ragged cover back from her dust-gray hair, her frozen, mournful brow, and her eyes in which the ember of life was dying down, than she felt a strange wakefulness such as she had not enjoyed since a far, far distant time. When she raised her head a little from the pillow, the farm appeared to her bathed in the shadows of sunset: the huts scattered on the slopes of the valley, the clouds racing across the expanse of the sky, and the blackbird flitting from cloud to cloud and from hut to hut, as though with every flight it dyed its wings a new color, and as though its wings furnished the breeze with song — all the confidings, all the words it held — until the murmur in the hut that sheltered her became murmurs, and the whisper in her wandering depths became whispers, and her lips parted in something like lament or song, her head grown heavy and sinking back upon the pillow:

"O bird..."

She wished her lips would obey her, to sing or to lament; but she left that to two eyes that began melting down her withered cheeks, and to a heart that went on beating in her broken breast:

– 2 –

"O bird... O blackbird... dearest of all blackbirds and birds! Why do you call at every hut but my wretched hut?!...

Is this the faithfulness of friends, that you pass me by only as the clouds pass across the expanse of the sky, when I have known you to hover about the hut, and peer in at the little window, and warble every evening?!...

Have you forgotten what there was between us in days gone by? Have you forgotten our evening walks to the field and our morning walks back from the field?! Have you forgotten my songs for you and your warblings for me?

Have you forgotten that day... those days, rather... Have you forgotten?.. Have you forgotten?!...

Forget, if you will, blackbird, or do not forget; but I, for all that, remember everything, my old friend:

It is as though I see you now, circling in the sky of this farm as you used to circle in the sky of the village years and years ago, your warbling tinted with the tint of your wings — in it the blue of the sky, the red of the twilight, and the green of the field, just as they are in those wings — so that I seem now to be in the field, the world at day's end and night's beginning, the village looming from afar behind the furrows and the grasses and the trees, while I tramp barefoot along the parting of the grass, my hair bound up and my sleeves rolled back, the sickle in my right hand, my loose apron gathered over some greens with my left, calling out to you and listening for your warbling, almost flying to you for lightness — but I fell near the river, and my feet sank in the mud, and my dress got wet, and my hands were soiled, and the sickle went down into the water, and the greens went off with the current, until my eyes swam and the world nearly spun around me, and I heard a voice calling me:

'Rabab...'

I turned, and there was my cousin dismounting from his beast; then he came near me and lifted me up to him, saying:

'You nearly drowned, Rabab!...'

'And what brings you here now, Shawqi?...'

'Say rather, why are you so late? And you alone... in this field?...'

'Do you suppose I was alone... or in the field?...'

'Where were you, then?...'

'In the company of a friend... the dearest of friends...'

'What are you saying?... What friend?...'

'Do you see that blackbird... that bird soaring in the sky?...'

'You were up there, I suppose, but you tumbled to earth and nearly drowned in the running water... You soar too much, cousin, and I fear this sky for you!...'

'Have no fear, cousin: if I fell once, I shall not fall every time... I am light, lighter than the breeze... and I have a wing... two wings, rather...'

'And have you not also a beak and a tail... or... beaks and tails...'

He said this laughing, then mounted his beast, set me up behind him, and off we trotted swiftly toward the village...

*

"And oh, this village, blackbird — how it looks now, with its scattered huts, its narrow winding lanes, its pastures sloping down behind the vineyards and the fields, where the shepherds go down with their flocks, and the watchmen go with their beasts, and the plowmen walk with their yokes of oxen, their chants mingling with the fall of hooves and the jingle of bells and the strains of the reed pipes... and the world at dawn and at midmorning and at dusk... and we in the field sowing the seed, and on the threshing floor heaping the sheaves, and at the press emptying the baskets, and around the hearth telling tales and eating walnuts and almonds with figs and raisins; then our eyelids grow drowsy, and we quiet down and sleep, and dream — what dreams!...

And how many those dreams were, and how sweet they would have been, but for one dream that troubled me more than one night and more than one day: I would see myself walking half naked in a desolate, faraway place, with two wings grown upon me that beat without my being able to fly; and when I woke I would find myself trembling, the darkness all around me... a darkness that followed me in my childhood, and pursued me in my girlhood, and came upon me most of all on winter nights.

Then when spring came, and I was returning from the field one evening, gathering flowers and singing, I heard a sound blaring in those parts, and there was a gleaming black automobile drawing near me and then stopping, and a young man, handsome of face and dress, greeting me with a smile and saying:

'Are these flowers for sale, pretty one?...'

I answered at once:

'They are not for sale... but since they have caught your eye, they are yours...'

And I offered them to him. He said, drawing a silver coin from his pocket and placing it in my palm:

'This is not for the flowers... it is for your melodious voice... and your sweet, comely face. I heard you from afar, and here I am, seeing you from near... So sing me something... sing that song you were repeating a few moments ago... Come... shall I begin it?...'

And he began humming a tune off key, spoiling the words and losing the notes; but I could not bear that from him, and I found myself setting the tune right without knowing it and without wanting to, while he came toward me uneasily, studying my face in confusion, until, when I let myself go in song, he cried out at me:

'A shame... a shame... that this voice should be lost, that this beauty should wither... in these dunghills... these refuse heaps!!... A girl like you... in our country...'

'Your country?!...'

'Yes... the one spread out on the other side of the mountain, where you would find a thousand and one girls who wear silk dresses and live in lofty houses and drive splendid automobiles, and who would envy you this tan that darkens your face, and this lilt that mingles with your voice, and this delight that hovers about you... Ah, if only you were in our country... if only you went there for a single night... Will you go with me... will you go?...'

'Go with you?...'

'And why not?!... Only one night, and you return before morning... Listen to me, and learn how far this earth is from that sky...'

The words caught in my mouth and I stammered, but I know not how I said:

'And my people... what would they say if they knew?! They would never allow it.'

'And what are your people to it? We shall not let them know... Listen... go home now... and do not come out until they are asleep... I shall wait for you here... by the river... at midnight... here... do you understand?...'

He said this, and reached out his hand and pinched my cheek; then he got into his automobile and went on his way, even as my legs carried me off on mine, as though something like magic had touched me; as though that accent ringing in my ears, and that pinch smoldering on my cheek, and that trembling coming over me — as though all of these were driving me by force to go on; and so I hurried every step and every moment, and longed for the river and the night, until, when the steps were spent and the moments turned and the night grew deep, I heard my father say to my mother — my brothers asleep, and the lamp put out:

'What do you think, wife?... I see none fitter for Rabab than he...'

'Shawqi is our son, husband... our foster-child and our darling... his age is her age, and his mind is her mind, and his body is her body; and there is none fitter for Rabab...'

'Shall we broach the matter to her?...'

'And why not?! As soon as may be...'

"And that was all — save the call of the river, which began to roar and clamor in my depths. I rose from among my sleeping brothers, stealing my steps, wrapped in an old shawl, carrying my shoes in my hand, and ran quickly to the automobile that waited for me in the dark of night... that night of which I remember nothing but that I drank in it a delicious cup and fell into slumber; and when I came to, I found myself in a desolate, faraway wood, while two figures were moving away from me, laughing together with something like the howling of wolves; then they got into a gleaming black automobile and sped away...

How I wished you would lend me your wings, blackbird, that I might overtake it... How I wished I could bury myself in that wood forever... that the earth would split open and swallow me, or the sky part and snatch me away... that my father and my mother would come, and my people and my uncle's household, and stone me, and then tear me to pieces and burn me and scatter my ashes to the winds... But I threw myself upon the ground, weeping over my folly and my rashness, mourning my mother and my shame; and it was as though you had heard my weeping and my mourning, for you came hopping around me and warbling to me, as though you grieved for my state and shared my affliction and would make light for me what had befallen me... Yet nothing of my torment was made light — and how could it be, when I had forsaken my green paradise, and deprived myself of family and friends, and become an outcast in my own eyes and in the eyes of the people, so that I no longer deserved to live? But you were all that remained to me still in that life, so I clung to you, and went moving with you from village to village, from hamlet to hamlet, from farm to farm, wishing I might move to the ends of the earth, that perhaps I might be rid of my pains, or forget the memory of the past, or atone in some small part for my sin... So it went, while I toiled for a drink of water and a morsel of bread and a night's sleep, having on that road nothing but the sweat of my brow, which began to dry up, and the blood of my heart, which began to run dry, and the strength of my arm, which began to weaken and wither; until one day I fell from sheer exhaustion, and knew nothing more until I found myself laid out in a hut... in this wretched hut, with a peasant woman sitting beside me while a peasant whispered in her ear:

'Who can this girl be?... And what brought her to the valley?...'

'Say rather, what would have become of her had we not passed that way...'

'Her baby has died... and perhaps it is a mercy that it died before she saw it... Enough that she is well now... and let us leave everything to tomorrow.'

"And there was a tomorrow, blackbird, and a day after tomorrow; and the days passed, and the years passed... and I lived in the keeping of these two peasants, eating of what they ate, and wearing of what they wore, and sleeping where they slept, and working at all they worked at — thus... while you were far from me and I saw you not; until that day came when you appeared in the blue vault, and went hovering about the hut, and peering in at the little window, and warbling the songs of evening. And when night fell, a wayfarer passed by the door and asked my uncle the peasant to let him spend the night until morning rose and the road showed clear. He welcomed him, and told his wife to prepare a bed for him in the other room of the hut; and when everything was ready he sat down to supper, and when he had finished, the two peasants went to their rest and he rose to sleep. But I did not go to my bed then; something had come over me and driven sleep from me — something like a dim memory, or an obscure glad tiding — until, when a part of the night had passed, I heard him cry out in a low, tormented voice:

'Rabab...'

I thought I was dreaming, had the voice not reached me a second time:

'Alas, Rabab... alas...'

So I rose and went to him and asked:

'Did you call, sir?!'

He said, starting up in alarm:

'I?!... Not at all... not at all... Perhaps I was... forgive me... I have disturbed you, sister.'

'But who is this Rabab?...'

'Rabab?!... Did I speak her name?... Perhaps I was... raving... or talking in my sleep... I do that at times...'

'Who is this Rabab?...'

'A cousin of mine... she was the companion of my childhood and the intimate of my youth... but...'

'But what?... Where is she now?...'

'I do not know... would that I knew... She vanished one night... The village folk claimed she had fallen prey to a specter that appears every ten years and carries off a girl; her family and mine said she had drowned in the river; others whispered, and still others winked... And yet, for all that, I believe she is a good girl, just as I believe she is still alive; I do not know whence that belief comes, nor do I know why she crosses my mind tonight... She is alive... in my heart... and before my eyes... and on my lips... Forgive me, sister, I have disturbed you... It is an old story... and a painful one.'

And I could not believe my eyes, and could not trust my ears, and I nearly cried out to this wayfarer — cried out to Shawqi... Shawqi my cousin, reared with me, my beloved — cried out from the depths of my heart, which was breaking open upon an old anguish and a buried misery... But I turned back the way I had come, stifling that anguish, lulling that misery!...

"And there was a morning, blackbird, and there was an evening, and there were a thousand mornings and a thousand evenings; and my hair began to gray, and my face to wrinkle and darken with grief, and the ember of life began to die down in my eyes; and now I lie bedridden, unable to stir, my head cast back upon the pillow; and I sank into fever and stupor, then woke to your sweet, tender voice, as you flitted from cloud to cloud, calling at every hut but my wretched hut!...

"Come, if you will, blackbird, or do not come — yet, for all that, you remain dear to me, the dearest of all blackbirds and birds. Come, if you will, blackbird, or do not come... It is enough for me that you make me remember and make me forget, that you gladden me and grieve me... enough for me that you are circling now above our farm, or that you have come out of the air of our village, or that you are a bird of our country's birds... enough for me that you warble me your sweet song, the one I used to listen for in the field, calling out to you and almost flying to you for lightness... enough for me that you... Ah, blackbird... gently... do not go far off... do not go far off and leave me alone here... I still have need of you... Will you not wait for me a moment, while I clean off the mud that clings to my dress, and what has soiled my hands and dirtied my feet? Wait for me... or else tell Shawqi, if you catch sight of him in the quarter... tell him to hurry and come to me at once... tell him that I fell by the river... and that I am alone in the field... and that the world is at day's end and night's beginning... tell him that I am afraid of my people — afraid of them if I return... and that I will not go home without him... tell him... that I am his, and that I... Ah, blackbird... it is all over now... So stretch out your wings to me, and take me, blackbird, take me with you..."

– 3 –

And in that moment, the two eyes ceased their melting, and the heart stopped its beating; and the old peasant and the old peasant woman, returning from the valley, saw a blackbird peer in at the little window, and hover over the hut, and then wing away toward the far-off, setting light.