A cry in the face of time! A victory! A revolution in deep silence! This is woman, and other than this we will not have! —

One day they said: she is weak; long ago they whispered: poor thing, she is a woman; and they forgot that she is the mother of giving, the mistress of creation and invention!

The man will cry out, knitting his brows: And where is my place in existence? Here, sir, at her side, and on one and the same plane! And my reader will curl her lips: Whence should I have this strength? Is this really myself?

Come with me, madam; let us stroll a while in the heart of this garden. Here the flowers strut with coquetry, and the pines swagger with grace, and clusters of young girls are scattered about its corners, defying the enchantment of May! — One band is what I mean, one small company is what I want: the editorial committee of "Darub"!

And you ask: what is "Darub"?... The editor-in-chief, Mary Fahouli, answers you: "Darub" is our magazine, and the darling of each one of us! And if you ask her for more, she adds: its seed has lain for years in the breasts of our students, but the new birth took place this year, at the hands of Professor Thurayya Malhas, who supervises its publication!...

Dalal Khalif falls silent before my question, and in silence there are a thousand answers: We today are at the summit! Our souls are the movement of generations and the whisper of ages, gazing at us with a thousand eyes...

I try to steal a secret from the lips of the magazine's editorial secretary, for Siham is a very course of motion and life; but she says only: Write for Darub, nothing more... Why does Siham not follow her bent

The Darub editorial committee in session! The editor-in-chief delivers an opinion — it is the deciding of a destiny!...

in the procession of "Her Majesty"? I do not know!

If you enter upon another subject, Mawiya Shoura answers you: It was a victory; with our own hands we raised it, and in our hearts we watered its seeds!

As for Siham Haroun, she lifts her spectacles and says: Do not come near the pocket... So declared the treasurer, for the marketing of literature's merchandise is not without its difficulties... and perhaps this is what led Siham to halt in the middle of the road... Patience, Siham!

Ghada Saab brushes aside a lock in revolt upon her forehead, then whispers the verses of what came to pass: I felt pride and elation when I was asked to take part in editing Darub; it is, upon my life, a great mark of trust, of which a sprinkling fell to me...

And I tried to draw even a single word from the lips of Huda Boutros, but she was lighter than the breeze, and slipped away repeating: I am a modest girl, and busy — leave me be, for heaven's sake... But Huda is never busy when the Darub committee calls her!...

Love, and faith, and awareness — this is what these blossoms breathe upon you, madam; and we come back together, so that I may ask you: did you ever dream of it before? Did your grandmother dream of this?

Thus the magazine begins — thoughts set down in lines... The inner editorial board in extraordinary session!

What dream tickles these faces?... The magazine in their hands at last?...