Whispers..

The little girl shed a tear; it slid down onto the blue sheet and came to rest near the beloved's name...

By the light of the little torch her gaze passed over the dancing lines; then she closed her eyes and pressed the blue sheets to her breast, and rocked them as though they were the first of her bright toys.

By the light of the pale lamp the child returned to look warily at his beloved name — looking with a cat's eyes: one half on the page, the other on her mother's bed...

And the little one folded the envelope carefully; her thin fingers undertook this artful task, and she felt triumphant when her two sharp ears heard no movement from the bed opposite...

From between our little girl's eyelids a tear stole down.

O my God — I would give her the springtime of my life, if only the child would tell me for whom she shed that tear?!...

Is it a tear of joy at the first letter?..

Is it for a dream that has passed with the beloved?!..

Or is it, I wonder, one of the innocent tears of children?!...

★

You go out early so as to meet him on the sidewalk. And you tell me: "No, I did not go for his sake — this is not love, sister."

You come back late so as to see him leave his daily prison. And you return to me to describe to me the features of his face on that day. And you sigh, as if you were the weariness he keeps in his breast.

Then you whisper in my ear: "No — no, do not be afraid, sister. I do not love him."

You have neglected the light that beckoned to you from the circles of learning. And you say to me: has not his light sufficed me, in the morning and at eventide? What is the torch of learning beside his torch?

And I smile when I glimpse in your cheeks the pallor of regret. And you tilt your head, saying: no, this is not love, sister!

Would that I could believe her, O my God! And how sweet a dream it would be if she spoke truly. For I, poor thing, have taken to going out early and returning when he leaves his daily prison... I recall his description to myself and repeat his name with longing, every time she repeats in my hearing: "No — I do not love him, sister!"