and stood hesitating, not knowing whether to take the basket to the market or carry it back to the vineyard. But I looked about me, and there I was in front of the police station, and Fawwaz came to my mind...

And I said: this basket is his, and he deserves it more than anyone. So I went up to a policeman who was there, asking to see a relative of mine; he directed me to ask the officer, so I went to the officer and asked him. At first he objected; then, after preambles and postscripts, and the gift of half the apples — red as girls' cheeks — he gave me leave, and I followed the jailer from passage to passage, from corridor to corridor, from vault to vault, until we reached Fawwaz's cell...

She interrupted him, wiping away tears that had started from her eyes:

— Woe is me!... Where have they put him!!...

— All cells are like that!!... And if only you had seen him, snatching up an apple — and gladly would he have snatched them all!... But I put him on oath, saying: "Have you ever tasted, Fawwaz, anything finer than Abu Mus'ab's apples?..."... And he answered me... do you know what he answered me?!...: "Your apples are fine, Abu Mus'ab... but our apples are finer!..."

She laughed along at Abu Mus'ab's laughter, then said, wiping her wet cheeks:

— That is he!... Always just as he is!...

— And how much he asked me, after that, about the vineyard and the season, about the folk of the shanties and tents, about your father and your mother and Nahla... yes... Nahla of the heart and the eye and the lips!... Then he said he would not stay a single day in this country when they release him, as they promised him, soon — nay... and I do not know what he wished to say, for the jailer's patience gave out and he began taking me back the way he had come... And when I passed the officer and repeated my thanks, he

told me, as I crossed the doorway — guess what he told me!...

— What?!...

— He will be out of prison within these two days!...

— Is it true?!...

— On condition that he leave the country within twenty-four hours... or less!...

Scarcely had she heard this from Abu Mus'ab when she fell upon his hands, kissing them, weeping for joy; then she sprang up from her place, wanting to dash off. He said to her, rising and pulling at her hands:

— And where to?!...

— To my family!... I must go back!... I have not yet filled my jar... and perhaps... perhaps he is coming now!...

— God willing!... But... let me pick you an apple... two apples...

He said this, then hurried toward the orchard, just as Mus'ab's shout reached her as he came down from the hut:

— Look!!!...

She looked to where he was pointing with his finger and with every limb of his body, and there was Fawwaz coming up the path... yes... Fawwaz... in his flesh and blood... with that countenance of his like a gush of morning!... And there she was going down the path... yes... going down it... light as wind and cloud and mist, so that she fancied she was in a dream, or that his phantom had visited her as it used to visit whether she slept or did not sleep — had she not seen him running to her as she was run-ning to him. And when she opened her arms to him and vanished into his arms, she buried her face against his chest, breathing in the scent of his clothes, then gazed up at him with longing and eagerness and tenderness, murmuring in laughter, murmuring in tears:

— Fawwaz!... Fawwaz!... Fawwaz!...

And when she felt his lips setting fire to her lips, then soothing her cheeks and lulling her eyes and her brow and her hair, she heard them whispering at her ear, his eyelids brushing her face:

— I came straight to the shanty... and found your parents asleep... so I thought you were at the spring... then I said, perhaps she...

His words were cut short by Abu Mus'ab's call from above:

— You forgot your apples, Nahla!... Has your taste become like his... so that you no longer find them fine?!...

She answered him, laughing up at him, then stirring in Fawwaz's embrace:

— Your apples are fine, uncle, fine!... But our apples are finer!...

And Fawwaz said, drawing her to him, turning toward the countryside rich with the shadows of sunrise:

— The morning has broken, Nahla... and I have no more than hours!...

She answered, turning to where his soul clung to the cloud pouring in from the South, as if in it there were something like wounds, or something like leaping and lofti-ness, or something like defiance, revolt, and agitation:

I know!... Abu Mus'ab has told me everything!...

— This corner of the world is narrow, Nahla!... I am departing... will you come with me?!...

— To the ends of the earth!...

— Nay, to our earth!... That other corner of our country!... Rise, let us set out, Nahla... rise, let us set out from here!...