wins liras by the hundreds, even by the thousands, she is losing dignity and honor and exposing herself to suspicions — and how plentiful they are in a country among whose traditions it is that a woman guard her dignity and her honor...
A country in which the woman bends over the gambling tables, night and day — her eyes straying among the wheels and the spotted cards, to return at the end of the night broken, drowned in anxieties, and find a child's bed with a maid or a nursemaid bending over it — is a country marching toward ruin...
And what a betrayal of hopes, the day the woman in Lebanon
becomes an element of corruption and of corrupting!!
*
And what will history say, on the day history records against the Lebanese woman this social collapse? And what will the woman herself say when her society confronts her with this bitter reality? The reality, as I have insisted, is very bitter and very grave, and the matter may appall us when we know that a large portion of the body of womanhood in Lebanon is going wholly astray in gambling — a portion whose energies could be invested in works of charity, benevolence, and love. And it is emptiness — emptiness within the self, and emptiness of love, and
emptiness of life — that drives the woman to kill her hours at the green tables... If the woman were conscious of her true nature and of her true position in her family, her society, and her homeland, she could fill her days and her months, and go about doing good — good in abundance...
... And if the woman realized that the money she squanders here and there, on what avails nothing and profits nothing, could find its way to an orphan's heart, to the eye of one wronged, to a sick man's complaint,
then the woman could set a stone in the beautiful, clean edifice she is preparing in this homeland... And then, too, the woman could
...Who said, my friend, that the wounds which pierced to the depths of your depths have not left my heart quivering with blood and pain?... With insistent yearning I catch news of you from those who come and go, like one who does not care! And how can brevity satisfy me when I — always, in my silence and my suppression — hunger for more?!... Why, I wonder, were my breaths so stifled? Why was my tongue tied, so that no abundant flood flowed over it of all that surges and clamors in the revolt of my heart — in my revolt against the unjust human being who stripped himself of his humanity? ...And who said, my friend, that the wounds which made your heart bleed have not left my heart choking on its own blood?...
*
I have kept my feelings hidden in the folds of my transparent soul, as in the folds of silk and rose petals, pure and unstained, beyond the reach of any shadow of suspicion... And I — I have never once looked at a human being with anything but a pure and chaste look, and you — you know well the truth of what I say! I never wished for you, my friend, this bitter choking, this cup of gall which I drained before you; it was not meant for your lips — so I feel, so I believe. And who said that the wounds which struck your great, merciful heart have not left my heart quivering with blood and pain?
*
How my heart swelled at your noble stand toward your small enemies — that stand which is a signal victory for you, and a shining face among the faces of your soul, laden with goodness and pride... And how I wished I could have been at your side, soothing the pains of your soul, lulling its wounds, taking you by the hand; but you needed no one, and you stood firm, alone, in the face of the storm, your wings spread wide, and there lived in your eyes the lofty gaze of the great human being through all the trials of life... So permit me to clasp your hand in congratulation... ...And who said, my friend, that the bleeding wounds of your heart have not left my heart folded in upon itself, moaning its aching moan?!
Tangee
never betrays the secret of a kiss...
Tangee
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52-15E