with dismay; so they would leave him, pitying him and grieving for him — above all when the Hajja came at them in anger, scolding them and shouting:

— You have no fear of God!

There is no doubt that this man was not created in this state; rather, events had toyed with him until he became a wanderer in the deep waters of life, drowned in its darkness, lost on its roads.

And yet you found him loving, loyal, truthful, trustworthy. He played with the children tenderly and served the neighbors faith-fully, fetching them from the market the makings of their meals, meat and vegetables. But whoever wanted to send him to buy something had to write what he wanted on a slip of paper; he would take it to the seller, and the seller would read it and give him what was wanted.

And often the children of the alleys would follow him, chanting sing-song phrases at him.

As for him, he loved the little ones and did them no harm. And they likewise loved him and did him no harm. I never once saw him laugh except with a child; but I often saw him motionless, sitting on the edge of his bed, his eyes fixed on the far unknown.

And many times I wondered: was he weeping, as he wiped his eyes and his nose with his palm?

And Hajja Hanifa went on scolding anyone who offered him harm. She was tender with him and gentle: she washed his clothes and his bed-cover; she warmed water for him and urged him to bathe from time to time; she pressed him, sometimes, to eat of her food; and she brought him everything he asked of her without complaint.

Until one night passed, and Khalilo slept and did not rise.

He slept that deep sleep, and a thick curtain fell upon a moving story whose beginning was never known.

And people asked: were his mother and his wife and his sons somewhere, weeping for the poor, stricken outcast? All of them pitied him. But the Hajja wept for him and mourned him as if she were his mother, though he was years older than she.

And she kept recalling incidents of his that had astonished her, and that proved to her the good-ness of his stock, and confirmed that he had been a gentleman, honored and used to comfort.

•

Time passed, after which we left our dwelling for another. So Hajja Hanifa was far from us. How my parents pressed her to move to where we lived! She refused; but she went on visiting us, and often I heard my mother urge her to stay with us. But she would refuse, giving thanks and calling down blessings on us.

As though in her room there were a treasure she stood guard over and could not leave for a single night. Or as though that room were a sanctuary to which hidden, sacred bonds held her fast.

And years passed, after which we rarely saw her. She had grown old, and her condition had wors-ened. She no longer had work.

She had taken to selling lupine seeds at a corner of the road, pre-paring them herself and selling them to the children of the alleys.

Until one day my husband came and said:

— A resolute lady came to the school today with a child she wants to enter in the school so that he may learn. She asked me about you, and said that the boy is an orphan; his mother died

when he was a few months old, and his father is a breadwinner with little work, little livelihood, and many mouths to feed; and that it is she who cares for this child and spends on him. So I entered him in the school free of charge. And I marvel at an old woman, in straitened circumstances, taking charge of an orphan, when she herself has more claim to care.

— Did you learn the name of this lady who knows me?

— Hajja...

— Hajja Hanifa?

— Yes. How did you know?

After that the Hajja began to visit me from time to time, bringing with her flowers and thin flat bread. That was to return kindness for kindness.

God, how self-denying that soul was! When she came to me with her gift I was at a loss what to do: she is poor, and I must not take from her what, by taking it, would deprive her of her sustenance.

And this proud soul — I must not wound its pride by refusing its gift.

And how sweet she was, hiding away what was offered to her, to give it to the little orphan.

And time passed, and then her ward knocked at the door of the house, saying — in a state to be pitied:

— I am the Hajja's son.

— And where is the Hajja?

— She died.

— And when did she die?

— A month ago.

God have mercy on you! As you had mercy on a strange, wretched old man, and took charge of a deprived orphan child, and gave them both what you refused yourself and denied your own self. Nay, you gave them of that very soul, and of that very self.