The Caves of Emerald and Ruby

... A marvelous tale, told once by this sea to sailors from these shores, on its way back from the far islands, the day it returned with the tide... of sweet young girls beyond the sea, guarding the spellbound caves of emerald and ruby... the like of which no eye has ever seen, nor any ear on earth heard!

Treasures upon treasures... laid under a spell in the seas by beautiful maidens, to be unbound by an Eastern sailor from the land of Lebanon.
And he shall have, after that, mountains of emerald and ruby, heaped-up mountains, to carry home on the sea's return to Lebanon — and to carry with him the sweet maidens, guardians of the treasures spellbound in the sea!
... And one night, the youth of the mountains came down, chasing the sweet tale — and the tale, upon the sea, stretches and stretches, its letters growing long, until every letter in it is a jinniyeh striking the sea with her magic wand, and the sea splits open upon caves and mountains, of the heaped-up piles, of the spellbound bounties of the seas... gold upon gold, gold of dust, dust of gold... piles upon piles, one atop the other... treasures upon treasures, laid under a spell in the seas by beautiful maidens, to be unbound by an Eastern sailor from the land of Lebanon!

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— Where to, my precious charge, where to?! Stay upon my heart... warm my old age in the springtime of your youth; my heart warms itself in your eyes. With tears I raised your youth... Where to, my dear treasure, where to?!
— In the sea, Mother, there is a marvelous tale... mountains of rubies, spellbound and waiting for me; tomorrow I shall come back to your heart with heaps of them, and with sweet maidens!

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— Where to, good farmer, you who pour blessings into my breast — where to? My soil is kindly and tender... and my vineyard generous and open-handed!
And the earth, your earth, is bountiful — her breast never stints; why then should your breast stint its love, good farmer?
— In the sea, O earth, in the sea there is a marvelous tale: mountains of rubies, spellbound and waiting for me...
Vineyards of emerald, with the clusters hanging in them... tomorrow I shall come back with clusters of emerald and hang them on your trellises...
In the sea, O earth, in the sea..?!

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... And the nights fall desolate... the hearth-fires amid the snows are cold to freezing; the embers in them die out upon the palms of an old woman and an old man whose veins have withered... alone, alone... but for the picture hanging on the wall, and this letter sleeping under the pillow, holding the scent of a boy lost at sea.

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The village squares are deserted; the warm ray of sunlight dies there alone, and rises no more upon a sinewy forearm.

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The grape clusters in the vineyards hang dried where they were left, a sucked-dry skin no mouth craves and no mind recalls.

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The great church bell at the feast, head bowed, mournful, rings out no peals!
For the young men have cut its ropes and gone...

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The silk looms in the house — song chokes in them, and nothing rises to their mind but lament!
The silkworm dies of hunger, for the earth puts forth no mulberry leaf any more...!

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On the threshing floors of wheat, life flickers dimly, upon gaunt cows and gaunt grains that cannot fill the beloved house sparrow.

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The red, red tiled houses stand darkened, living in the gloom of loneliness and the darkness of desertion... on their red tiles a crow... and in their broken-down windows an owl. The paths — no husky murmur in them, no ringing song of a strong lad surging with love as the evenings come home to the beloved's house.
The young girls droop broken at the windows, their eyes on the sea, behind the tale.

And their feet were torn from walking night and day, and their shoulders were flayed, deep gashes carved into the flesh.

Bring them back from the coal mines, from the tunnels of the earth, from the underground vaults, for their consciences and their hearts and their faces have gone black, and pains have furrowed their brows.

Bring them back, O sea — your waves, which visit every shore, know that they are only digging their own graves as they dig for the caves of emerald and ruby. Your waves have seen them on all the shores of the earth, emaciated, their forearms yellowed, the black forests devouring them. The slaves of night hunt them down, sucked dry by pains and weariness... care drives them from door to door, and behind every door they imagine they will find it — that marvelous tale, that marvelous lie among your lies, O sea.

Bring them back, O sea, to the sunlight in their country... to the fields of flowers in their villages... to the clear springs where they may drink deep of health and well-being... to the vineyards they deserted, so that the blessings and the bounties deserted them. To the houses they built on the hills and the slopes, and then went away... To their land, O sea, bring them back, for in their land are the spellbound treasures. In their land are emerald and ruby and carnelian and coral and grains of gold, and all the blessings of heaven are in their land.

And on your way back to them, tell them that you lied to them. And beg their forgiveness, O sea...

Tell them that the caves you told them of are caves of serpents and vipers, spellbound by jinn and demons, with pools of blood in them and pools of flame.

And set, O sea, between yourself and those who still venture their youth here, chasing the tale — set between you and them a wall of iron, that no boat may cross it after this day, striking out into the deep in the name of the spellbound treasures...

When will my beloved return? When will my brother return... when... when.

No mother has ever choked with grief as the mothers of my country's young men have choked, casting them onto the palm of the demons, onto the waves, beyond the sun, upon the seven seas, where no eye can reach.

O Lord. O Lord. Who taught the people of this land the letters of that tale, so that in one hour of time it became a tragedy dyed with blood and tears, a long tragedy of pains with no beginning and no end... and never ending...

Nay — its beginning is here, on these shores, and its end is there, in 'the caves of emerald and ruby.' Would that it had remained in the tales, a legend for the mountain youth to while away the hours with, by the hearth-fires in the snows, and for the shepherds of the plains to sing behind their flocks in the pastures.

But in the tales it is a marvelous lie, told once by the sea to sailors from here — a deep, great lie among the lies of this deep, great sea!

Would that the first Lebanese plank that pushed into the sea had shattered in the sea's bosom, in the wind and the waves, and its waters had never heard the creaking of her ribs!

Would that your road, O sea, had never lain before us — for we built upon your roads palaces with gilded domes, and your waves swallowed our palaces and our huts...

And nothing is left to us but these far horizons, at which we gaze, hoping there may be in them a boat coming back to us with one returned from the caves of emerald and rubies.

Bring them back, O sea — bring them back from this long, bitter exile. Bring them back from the trackless forests, for their skins have dried from the blaze of heat and the sting of cold