The Chinese say in one of their proverbs: “Every stranger is a thief.” They believe that every strange face constitutes a danger to be guarded against. My son is one of those who strike up friendships quicker than the twinkling of an eye; he had not reached his sixth year before he had companions all over the
neighborhood, of every face and every age. I felt that this was right so long as we live in a city of wide expanses, and I tried, in vain, to convince him of the error of his theory; but he would always answer me: “But these are my friends, Mama...”
Once I decided to paint the kitchen myself; so I rose early and set to work. I toiled until near noon, when I felt distress and exhaustion; my limbs
were nearly torn apart with fatigue, made all the worse by the paint smeared over my dress. At that moment Sami came in, announcing the glad tidings that he had brought along yet another friend, and he went on with his chatter while I was far from listening: “My friend is thirsty, and the ground is nearly aflame with the heat—may I take him something to drink?”
I answered him crossly: “Leave me be, for heaven's sake, and stop picking up companions from every quarter; I am tired and busy. That sandwich in the refrigerator—take it and be off.” And I added, when I noticed despair tracing itself on the features of his face: “There is some juice too, so take what
you need.” He mumbled some unintelligible words of thanks and went out carrying the jug of juice and the glasses.
A few minutes later I heard a light knocking at the back door. I turned from the ladder, asking who was there, and a strange face confronted me, holding the
empty jug in one hand and the glasses in the other. He explained to me that he had been painting an advertising board at the corner of the street when Sami came to him—“He's a fine boy: he saved my life with that drink”—and he looked up at the ceiling, then added: “It seems to me you are not practiced in this art.” I shook my head in answer, and he would not let me finish the painting, but said kindly: “Allow me to show you a few strokes with my
brush.” And so the work went forward quietly; he would pass the brush over the wall with a gentle sweep, confidence showing in his movements. Not twenty minutes had gone by before he had finished the ceiling, and he cut short my thanks with a laugh, saying: “I have heard that there are three kinds of people: strangers, acquaintances, and friends. I do not like to be a stranger, nor have I any acquaintances—and Sami is my dear friend.” A stranger may be a thief, but if you should meet him he may turn into a friend; and in the light of this saying we can alter the Chinese proverb to read:
“A stranger is a friend you have not met.”