A Glass of Juice

She stole from the heart of summer a handful of days, which she spent in Europe... and on her way to Marseille, aboard the steamer "Masson," Miss Nur Salman drew the inspiration for this "childlike" piece...

God! How its air glows with artless merriment and innocent play!!

*

Between sea and sky am I... and with everyone I am alone... at play, and everyone with me makes merry and plays...

I scatter my laughter among the reckless peals — a discordant, evasive tune, but... who knows of that tune's rebellion? Everyone laughs, and I... with everyone I laugh and guffaw!

The circles of evening talkers on the ship never break up, so long as the talk is born of travel... no scowling gloom... no distant shrinking, no prim wariness... And among those laughing circles slip the ones who hover in an empty round... those who come and go with sweet juices in their hands... bitter... intoxicating... carrying them from one table to another... for this man to drink... and that woman to taste... drop after drop... or for another to quench his thirst in greedy gulps you would take for a single draught...

I love these men, and I am not ashamed of my love for them, even if it were pity and tenderness that inclined it... that love!

I do not like to call these men by their unchanging title... Garçon! — so as to drink a glass of juice... for the indifferent command spoils the sweetness of the juice in my mouth...

I saw Ahmad... one of these men... leaning over the ship's rail, as though he wished he could argue with the sea, as though he were hungry for words... for speaking... not like a garçon whose feet are moved by orders... and whose tongue by the "baksheesh" — or does the black suit that forces elegance upon him make him forget that his manhood has a claim on him?

I talked with him while the mocking eyes flared around me... I talked with him and wanted him to teach me something — he for whom travel had become, in his life, a weary shuttling whose joy was lost!

And as to a naive child he began telling me things, explaining the position of every harbor and city along the coast; and from geography-talk he went on scattering upon my ears sundry adventures in which he had been, or had almost been, a surpassing hero... He spoke with delight and ease, in a language of whose words I knew only the least part... but I understood... I understood that he wished he could go on saying... and saying and saying... after he had almost come to doubt his own existence and being...

I have forgotten how Ahmad's talk ended... but I still remember how, on the evening of that same day, he offered me... a glass... of juice — with a hand other than the hired hand that fills the tables with glasses and cups every morning, noon, and evening...

A glass of juice was my portion... and it never crossed my mind to pay its price, or to thank Ahmad for it... except with a kind word and a smile of gratitude... I drank the glass... and savored every drop in it...!

A reward I received that evening... how sweet its sweetness... All the mocking eyes around me talked...

I... after today I shall never see those eyes again... I shall never see them!