Fate's Gift

The horizon began to breathe slowly as the darkness stole in, seeping down between the folds of the dusky clouds; the red twilight faded away little by little, and there settled over the world a desolate stillness, like the stillness of death when it touches tired eyelids.

And behold, everything was silent and still, save the rustle of the leaves of those little shrubs with their supple branches and diffusing fragrance — planted in order along the two sides of the walk stretching to the courtyard of the quiet house — which swayed one against another as if talking over the confidences of the past, the present, and what is to come; save that, and the cries of the playful little girl, who never left off chasing a beautiful butterfly to toy with its soft, dusty wings.

The little one gave up her play after despairing of catching the butterfly, which had slipped at last into a thorny bush. With her light steps she came up to the abstracted mother, who sat carrying her head in her hands, and asked her in a soft voice, her gaze fastened on the beautiful face and on the two sad eyes she loved so much:

— Mama... isn't it time we had our supper? — and there flashed in her innocent eyes a fleeting light of mingled meanings, having nothing to do with that coquetry which usually sparkles out of children's eyes.

And it seemed to the mother that she saw in that fleeting gleam, in those two eyes, an image very dear to her — how happy she would have been in it, had not criminal civilization, or rather the sinful hand of war, reached out to snatch it away and sacrifice it, together with all that was sacrificed, for the sake of pulling down the pillars of the present world, that upon its ruins another world might rise — so they claim — fit for life and truer in its devotion to it. O life... and O tyrants!

And to drag her troubled soul up from the depths of dreams, to face the present truth anew, the mother answered her daughter — her tearful gaze fixed on the two questioning eyes, while her hand came softly down to caress the small fingers resting trustfully in her lap: — Yes, my daughter... come along.

And she sprang to her feet, staring into the distance with an absent air. Then, with a sudden movement, she bent toward the little one and clasped her in her arms, a violent embrace full of scattered meanings, and fell to hugging and kissing her over and over.

Then she ran with her to the dining room, where she seated her on one of the chairs at the table, and in something between gaiety and frenzy began setting before her what food and fruit she had made ready during the day.

But... with eyes full of questioning and pleading, the little one addressed her, her gaze traveling between the table and the beloved face:
— You told me, Mother, that today you would fix us fish. Why didn't you?!

And without noticing the flush that passed over the brooding face, and without making out the somber signs that were drawn upon it, she heard her say, in a voice full of gentleness:

— This food is no doubt more suitable than fish, my little one.
And the little one saw on her mother's lips a smile whose meaning she could not fathom.
.. The little one had her limited understanding and discernment, and she had her intense love for the tender mother; yet artless childhood, with its peremptory judgments and rights, soon burst out in these words shaken with sobbing:
I don't like this food, and I will never eat it... I want fish.
Her voice rose in weeping, and the hot drops began to fall in bursts from the two broken eyes, and the food seemed to dance before her through the tears. And she wished she could ask a second question, and a third — a tenth, even... about the reason that had driven the tender mother to thwart her and mock her, after promising her what she had asked.
Then she felt a mad need to fill the house with clamor and protest; she even wished she could smash all the dishes and china in it... But one unintended glance at her mother — whose face had put on a holy raiment, tenderness mingled with pain, while a great tear trembled slowly down the smooth cheek — nailed her to her place, and her childish vehemence subsided on the instant, while the mother, coming close until her fingers touched the golden hair, said to her:
— Don't you know, my little one, that we have come to need money very badly, and that your father... is far away from us... and that we have no help in life but God?
The little one answered not a word, and did not know what she ought to say... though she understood everything — even that tear...
Yes, she said nothing. But she raised her small hand with utter tenderness, took the hand playing with her hair, and pressed upon it a brief kiss.
Then she set about eating her food, her mouth parting in a smile that was virtue in its cradle — or the Creator's wisdom when it passes, like a flash of lightning, through great souls — or innocent humanity in its spotless robe, not yet soiled by the mires of the world.
An hour later... the shadow of night had thickened, the movement of the passers-by had quieted, and the crescent moon showed from behind the mist at the western horizon, then soon vanished into it a second time, never to return.
And the wick of the little dim-lighted lamp,

swaying on the breaths of the air, went on sinking and flaring... then went out at last, and pitch darkness settled over the cold room.

The mother was still bent over the bed, warming the tender body with the remnant of youth still burning within her breast; and the going-out of the lamp changed nothing in the blackness of her imaginings...

How silly life seemed to her... how silly and how worthless, were she alone in it; how she would mock at it and scoff, and how fit she would have been to storm all its roads, unafraid and untrembling — had this angel never seen the light... this dark light!

— And yet...

And the mother went on uttering this word — now with the rage of a rebel, then with the surrender of one who weeps, then without consciousness or feeling. And at last... the darkness began to draw before her eyes strange, frightening pictures, and soon she was staring long at one of them... There was a great fish swimming in the calm sea, and behind it two small hands, stretched open, reaching for it with the eagerness of one crying for help and the yearning of one in anguish.

Then there came to her ear the repeated mewing of a cat, as if from behind the great door. She listened with all her being, striving to wipe that fantastic image from her frightened eyes.

Oh... that sound is like a scream for refuge or supplication; perhaps this cat is a kitten that has lost its mother in the desolate night... perhaps it is frightened and anxious, or hungry and begging for food, or...

And with all the powers hidden in the core of motherhood she leapt from the bed, hurried to the lamp and lit it quickly, and made for the door and opened it — and the pale ray fell on the cat as it fled at a run, and then on a small object — tightly wrapped — lying at the threshold

near the feet of the astonished mother. With trembling hands she lifted that object between her hands and began to strip off the wrappings — or rather to tear them — until there appeared from within them a fish, still keeping the warmth and the smell of the grill!

— O God!!

She does not know how she flew and woke the sleeping child. She does not know why she woke her, nor does she remember how she began to feed her while the little one could hardly even open her heavy-lidded eyes. All that stayed fixed in her memory is that she passed that night on her knees, in a kind of trance... kneeling not only to pray, but also to confess the wisdom from on high which has baffled the understanding of philosophers and sages, and which now showed itself in this artless shape.

And when the dawn looked out with its radiant face, the mother held new views, on new principles, on a philosophy which is courage and steadfastness wedded to faith — a faith the hand of life can never touch.