My Village Bell Rang

My village bell rang today, while I was in our vineyard.. and its pealing stirred agitation and questioning within me, for it has become a known thing — to me and to all the people of the village — that the bell rings only for three matters: first, when the soul parts from the body; second, for the tying of a marriage; and third, to call people together to join hands in some piece of work... As for the divine liturgy, it was given up when the village priest departed this world.

I wanted to inquire into the story behind the ringing of the bell, but I found no one in the vineyard, near or far — for the flocks of girls whose laughing voices used to answer one another along the paths in the distant yesterday, and the songs of the young men whose echoes used to ring out in the mountains, repeating the airs of "Abu al-Zuluf" and the "Mijana" — all these have vanished and moved away, either to the city or to the far, far away, beyond the seas.. And for a moment it seemed to me that nothing was left in my village but the desolation of silence and its terror, and deserted houses and stone-strewn paths!!

I came back to my village from our vineyard downcast, the question mark still upon my face, until I reached a house in which a man and a woman still remain.. I asked them the reason for the ringing of the bell, and the woman answered:

— The bell rang to call the people to join hands in roofing the public cemetery... But no one answered the call, because no one is left in the village... they have either emigrated... or moved away...

She said this and turned her face away from me, wiping a tear that rolled down her cheek... As for me, I continued on my way, engulfed in perplexity, and asked myself: — Why do those who remain of my village's people not join hands to build a "latrine" for the village school? That school was built in a far-off age, when the belief prevailed that latrines were among the luxuries!! Why do the people of my village not join hands to bring water to the village... for we have not a drop of water??.

This is a resounding voice of truth... a warm call to understand the problems of the countryside... and a painful survey of a sorrowful reality in some of our villages.

The answer to my first question came from a peasant whose frame the years had worn down. He said: — We built the school with the strength of our arms, and denied ourselves even our necessary food... to educate our children. But what has this school brought forth for us? What results?.. Tell me, for God's sake?! It has produced a young generation that counts the work of the land a punishment and a torment... so they abandoned us and went far away, never to return!!. For their school, among all the lessons it taught, did not teach them to better their surroundings and make their land yield...

Tell me, Miss, who among you got learning and came back to us and guided us to something better? Who among you came back and comforted our hearts — we who gave our blood and our youth to this land, and plowed it into vineyards and olives and orchards?? Those of you who did come back, came back only to grumble at everything — criticizing and never setting right... They map out the politics of the world... but of the governing of themselves they know nothing.. They covet and do not aspire... We heard that learning refines and cultivates; but this learning they acquired has turned their minds to stone and made them scoff at everything... And the result is that a curse has settled upon us instead of a blessing, ever since this generation arose...

Hardly had the peasant reached this point when another woman took up the talk, saying: — Let the waters stay foul, a breeding place of crimes and diseases, for we have come to wish for death... For whose sake do we live? The pick of our young people are gone!.. We channeled the water from the head of the spring so as to drink it pure and clean, and today you come out to the spring in your motorcars "to take the air," and you do not scruple to wash your feet in the spring water, and to fling into it whatever filth your hands can reach — as though you forget that we, like you, are human beings, and drink of these waters!!.

And the peasant went on: — Who among you has done better than we did? Who among you has tried to accomplish anything? Who among you has planted so much as a tree? Who among you has laid a single stone... Do not wonder, Miss, at our call to build the cemetery... We chose to build it in the middle of the village, near the church, because we fear a day — perhaps a near one — when no young man will be left to carry...

The peasant did not finish his words, for tears choked him, and he vanished from before me... with the woman... And I remained where I stood, stunned before a painful reality. Yes! The people of my village are building a public cemetery, and it will stand witness against our generation, which took and did not give, which loved itself and listened to no voice but the voice of itself!.. This cemetery will hold the bones of those good and upright souls who wore out their lives in the service of the land — and their lives went for nothing, and no one ever guided them to anything better...