Three Sundays (A Story)

Why are we given, then deprived?!
Why are we granted happiness, then forced to leave it?!
Why do we glimpse the light, only for it to fade at evening?!

This is my story.. It might be an ordinary story, were there not in my life a thin line along which I walk between life and death, between day and night... between light and darkness.

My life was divided into three Sundays, and I had no hand in the dividing!

I was eleven years old when my tragedy began. It was a Sunday, and I had gone with my parents on our weekly outing.

My father hired a taxi to take us out of the city. When our trip brought us to the narrow roads that separate our village from the city, my mother began singing old songs which I hated for their monotony — though I cannot deny that I learned those songs by heart from hearing them so often; but I never once sang along with her...

Suddenly the singing broke off, and the horn of a great motorcar blared as it drew near us; and in a few short seconds the terrible collision took place, after which all things visible vanished — I could no longer see or feel anything..

I learned afterward that the collision had been so violent that it wiped out the very outlines of the car. And little by little I learned what was worse than this: that I had become an orphan... alone.

To this day I do not know why I shed no tears over the loss of my parents, though I had loved them both. Was it because of my young age, and how little I grasped the truth of things?!

I felt oppressed by myself and by that dark room, and I supposed the blackness around me came from the drawn curtains and from my grief; and I began calling out, at the top of my voice, all the names I knew, hoping thereby to strike upon a name that had some echo in that desolate place.

At last I heard light, quick footsteps drawing near, and knew from them that it was the nurse. I asked her to let the light into my room, but she answered, in a manner full of astonishment, that it was nine in the morning and the curtains of the room were open. I did not want to admit to myself that I could not see.

So I fell to rubbing my eyes, hoping the darkness would depart...

Then I pulled the cover up over my head, as though by that I could hide the painful truth from myself. I felt a violent fear eating away my nerves piece by piece, as though all the devils had gathered in my room and in my body; and I left the bed out of fear of my loneliness and of myself, and began feeling my way along the wall with my hand. In the corner of the room I sat down, and felt my fear ebb away little by little, once I had found something strong to shield my nerves.. And I took the corner for a fortress from which I hurled my wrath at every visitor and at everything my hands could reach.

I would fling the plates of food at the nurse and at the doctor. My wrath against the nurse grew when one day she brought me a cane, meaning to help me walk with it; I flung the cane in her face and fell to cursing her and cursing her calling; and when she had gone out I wept over my loneliness and my insulted dignity. God! How a person changes?! And far be it from my soul to fling anything but wrath.

Six years went by, which I spent in the convent growing used to blindness... The nuns treated me kindly, and I was the youngest blind person in the convent. Then one day little Layla came to our convent, and I hated her the day she came, because after her I was no longer the youngest blind one in the convent. Days passed in which I grew used to her being with me, and my admiration

for the elder nun and for Hassan the cook turned into a vague feeling toward this little Layla. She was four years younger than I. I remember now that I tried, again and again, to feel out her presence and her form with my hand, but I held back, for I knew her to be intensely sensitive; and I envied all who could see. Had I had two eyes, I would not have needed to touch her — a glance would have been enough.

I knew she was plump from her walk... for in our world we know a person's weight from the fall of his footsteps.. As for my dreams, they were the sweetest hours of my life. I dreamed again and again that I could see, and that I was once more leaping from the wall of our house to go to the square of our quarter. When I woke, the dream would melt away, and I would rub my eyes to no avail. I marveled at these dreams in which I lived as a seeing man. And I asked myself, over and over: Is it truly a blessing, my Lord, or a curse, that the blind man should dream he sees?

As for the work we did in the convent, it was astonishing indeed, and I had never dreamed I could do such a thing.

The nun in charge taught us how to paint the walls of the courtyard, and we would draw upon them the religious shapes we imagined — pictures of crosses, and of the steps by which the believer climbs to heaven. The nuns praised these drawings, and I swelled with pride, having proved that I was still able to make something that could seize the admiration of the seeing.

And the second Sunday of my life came..

That Sunday passed more swiftly than the Sunday on which the first tragedy fell.. A foreign doctor came to us that day, and after he had examined us all he asked that I come to him; and I learned from the Mother that he was going to perform an operation on me that would grant me the light.. My joy outran everyone's amazement, for that day I learned the meaning of hope... I spent the whole night dreaming of the sun.. and the moon.. and the stars.. and Layla's face, and I stayed in my room listening to the ticking of the clock telling me the hour...

On Monday morning a successful operation was performed on me, and from it I came out

a sound man, who could see... I found my world, and saw life, and gazed upon the spring as though it were opening for me alone. For me — the blind man!!

Grasping the things I saw was not hard, for I still remembered them. But my feeling toward them had changed: I now contemplated whatever I saw and never wearied of it. I saw beauty in everything: in the sun and its light, in the mountains... in the hills.. in the seas, and in every one of nature's appearances. And I thanked my Lord with every glance I stole from nature... and I found in the fragrance of spring a scent sweeter than what it had been the day before...

Afterward I would shut my eyes and open them again, to savor the grain of happiness I had won after deprivation..

And I woke from my rejoicing to find myself lost in this great city, all of whose windings I had known yesterday, and I fell to asking the passers-by the way to the convent!.. In the past I had walked it with ease; and I began laughing at myself — seeing and blind at the same time. Was this how I lost my way, now that I could see! And I shut my eyes, hoping thus to be guided by memory alone.

I hastened my steps toward the convent — and would that I had not! What my imagination had built in the days of darkness crumbled away. There I searched for Layla, and when the searching had worn me out I began calling her at the top of my voice:

— Layla.. where are you? I have come back.. I can see.. Layla..

At last I found her, hiding in a dark corner... and I gazed at her a long while..

And I felt the pain of disappointment as I buried my dreams. I had found her — alas — an ugly doll.. She was flabby, small of head, and on her narrow forehead were the marks of burns; in short, she was a laughable picture!

I left her, after the room had rung with my mocking laughter, and went to the kitchen, hoping to make good there some of my imaginings. But I found Hassan the cook in a shape that in no way agreed with the picture I had drawn of him. He too was ugly. And I went back to my room dragging disappointment and sorrow behind me, and wondering at this convent that had sheltered nothing but ugliness..

On the morning of the next day I went to the courtyard to look at the drawings I had made while blind.. and I found in those pictures another occasion for mockery: the crosses were crooked and out of proportion. As for the steps of the ladder by which I had once believed I would climb to heaven... they were laughable indeed — more like the rungs of a fire brigade's rope ladder!

Days passed, and I grew used to the sight of things, and became as though another man. Nature no longer astonished me, nor did beauty enchant me... One evening I came to the convent when everyone was asleep.. I slipped into my room, and there upon my pillow I found a letter from Layla, in which she said:

Dear Sami,

I am now farther from you than I have ever been in my life, so I do not fear the effect of my letter upon you...

Yesterday you lifted me out of nothingness, and I am not forgetful of the past nor ungrateful for it. But today you have gone far — very far — from my world..

Your world is a mean one, my dear! Your world is selfishness — I saw that in how you changed when you came to live in it. And, as you see, I contradict myself: I love a human being who lives in a world I hate... You are a piece of that hollow life — would that you had never seen it!

Do not wonder — for in my prayers I asked God to take from you that hideous thing... sight. If you looked at yourself now you would grasp what I mean.. You are the empty life; while we — we see what we wish to see as it truly is. I see you noble, brave, gay; but your judgment of me was upon my shape!! No.. do not tear up this paper yet... I attempted the impossible in order to see, hoping thereby to hate you as you hated me.. but I did not succeed: the doctor denied me my one hope — to look upon you — while he granted you the sight of all existence... And I felt sorrow seeping into my soul.. and afterward I rejoiced at my sickness even as I wept for your life... No! do not object; remember the words of Christ:

"If you were blind, you would have no sin."

As for you — yesterday you were without law, and you lived. And when the commandment came, sin came alive and you died. As for me, God granted me the gift of life, and I fancied it incomplete — so forgive me, my God..

I wept that evening, and my tears were hot, for I had not shed them since I regained the sense of sight... And in the morning

I entered her room, and I did not find her ugly, nor did I find her laughable.. rather I saw her as though, by her death, she were tracing for me the meaning of my life.. She lay stretched upon a white bed.. cold as snow!

And near the convent I built her a tomb of white marble.

As for me, I went back to my first life, but with a certain wariness; and I would coax myself into tenderness toward everyone I saw, hoping thereby to atone for my sin against the departed child... And I took to reading the holy books and praying for her pure soul.

And the third Sunday of my life came.

That day I had resolved to visit Layla's grave, but I found myself unable, because of a headache that had seized me; so I stayed in my room arranging my books and put off my visit until the morrow. With the morning of Monday I felt the same pain, and asked the nun to call the doctor.. When he had finished the medical examination I asked him hotly:

— I am going to lose my sight? Is it not so?

And I repeated the question many times before I heard his voice:

— No... You may keep the sense of sight for the rest of your life, but you will then lose your memory.. If you choose to see, you will remember nothing, afterward, of what you have seen...

My strength gave way, and I no longer heeded what the doctor kept repeating... And in a secluded corner I heard myself say:

Why are we given, then deprived?!

Why are we granted happiness, then forced to leave it?!

... We glimpse the light, only for it to fade at evening?!