wings3

BROKEN WINGS

BEFORE THE THRONE OF DEATH Marriage in thesedays is a mockery whose management is in the hands of
young men and parents. In most countries the young men win while the parents
lose. The woman is looked upon as a commodity, purchased and delivered from
one house to another. In time her beauty fades and she becomes like an old piece
of furniture left in a dark corner.
odern civilization has made woman a little wiser, but it has increased her
suffering because of man's convetousness. The woman of yesterday was a
happy wife, but the woman of today is a miserable mistress. In the past she
walked blindly in the light, but now she walks open-eyed in the dark. She was
beautiful in her ignorance, virtuous in her simplicity, and strong in her weakness.
Today she has become ugly in her ingenuity, superficial and heartless in her
knowledge. Will the day ever come when beauty and knowledge, ingenuity and
virtue, and weakness of body and strength of spirit will be united in a woman?
am one of those who believe that spiritual progress is a rule of human life,
but the approach to perfection is slow and painful. If a woman elevates herself in
one respect and is retarded in another, it is because the rough trail that leads to
the mountain peak is not free of ambushes of thieves and lairs of wolves.
his strange generation exists between sleeping and waking. It holds in its
hands the soil of the past and the seeds of the future. However, we find in every
city a woman who symbolizes the future.
n the city of Beirut, Selma Karamy was the symbol of the future Oriental
woman, but, like many who lie ahead of their time, she became the victim of the
present; and like a flower snatched from its stem and carried away by the current
of a river, she walked in the miserable procession of the defeated.
ansour Bey Galib and Selma were married, and lived together in a beautiful
house at Ras Beyrouth, where all the wealthy dignitaries resided. Farris Effandi
Karamy was left in his solitary home in the midst of his garden and orchards like
a lonely shepherd amid his flock.
he days and merry nights of the wedding passed, but the honeymoon left
memories of times of bitter sorrow, as wars leave skulls and dead bones on the
battlefield. The dignity of an Oriental wedding inspires the hearts of young men
and women, but its termination may drop them like millstones to the bottom of
the sea. Their exhilaration is like footprints on sand which remain only till they are
washed away by the waves.
pring departed, and so did summer and autumn, but my love for Selma
increased day by day until it became a kind of mute worship, the feeling that an
orphan has toward the soul of his mother in Heaven. My yearning was converted
to blind sorrow that could see nothing but itself, and the passion that drew tears
from my eyes was replaced by perlexity that sucked the bolld from my heart, and
my sighs of affection became a constant prayer for the happiness of Selma and
her husband and peace for her father.
y hopes and prayers were in vain, because Selma's misery was an internal
malady that nothing but death could cure.
ansour Bey was a man to whom all the luxuries of life came easily; but, in
spite of that, he was dissatisfied and rapacious. After marrying Selma, he
neglected her father in his loneliness and prayed for his death so that he could
inherit what was left of the old man's wealth.
ansour Bey's character was similar to his uncle's; the only difference
between the two was that the Bishop got everything he wanted secretly, under the
protection of his ecclesiastical robe and the golden cross which he wore on his
chest, while his nephew did everything publicly. The Bishop went to church in
the morning and spent the rest of the day pilfering from the widows, orphans,
and simple minded people. But Mansour Bey spent his days in pursuit of sexual
satisfaction. On sunday, Bishop Bulos Galib preached his Gospel; but during
weekdays he never practiced what he preached, occupying himself with political
intrigues of the locality. And, by means of his uncle's prestige and influence,
Mansour Bey made it his business to secure politcal plums for those who could
offer a sufficient bribe.
ishop Bulos was a thief who hid himself under the cover of night, while his
nephew, Mansour Bey, was a swindler who walked proudly in daylight.
However, the people of Oriental nations place trust in such as they--wolves and
butchers who ruin their country through convetousness and crush their neighbors
with an iron hand.
hy do I occupy these pages with words about the betrayers of poor
nations instead of reserving all the space for the story of a miserable woman with
a broken heart? Why do I shed tears for oppressed peoples rather than keep all
my tears for the memory of a weak woman whose life was snatched by the teeth
of death?
ut my dear readers, dont' you think that such a woman is like a nation that is
oppressed by priests and rulers? Don't you believe that thwarted love which
leads a woman to the grave is like the despair which pervades the people of the
earth? A woman is to a nation as light is to a lamp. Will not the light be dim if the
oil in the lamp is low?
utumn passed, and the wind blew the yellow leaves form the trees, making
way for winter, which came howling and crying. I was still in the City of Beirut
without a companion save my dreams, which would lift my spirit to the sky and
then bury it deep in the bosom of the earth.
he sorrowful spirt finds relaxation in solitude. It abhors people, as a
wounded deer deserts the herd and lives in a cave until it is healed or dead.
ne day I heard Farris Effandi was ill. I left my solitary abode and walked to
his home, taking a new route, a lonely path between olive trees, avoiding the main
road with its rattling carriage wheels.
rriving at the old man's house, I entered and found Farris Effandi lying on
his bed, weak and pale. His eyes were sunken and looked like two deep, dark
valleys haunted by the ghosts of pain. The smile which had always enlivened his
face was choked with pain and agony; and the bones of his gentle hands looked
like naked branches trembling before the tempest. As I appraoched him and
inquired as to his health, he turned his pale face toward me, and on his trembling
lips appeared a smile, and he said in a weak voice, "Go -- go, my son, to the
other room and comfort Selma and bring her to sit by the side of my bed."
entered the adjacent room and found Selma lying on a divan, covering her
head with her arms and burying her face in a pillow so that her father would not
hear her weeping. Approaching slowly, I pronounced her name in a voice that
seemed more like sighing than whispering. She moved fearfully, as if she had
been interrupted in a terrible dream, and sat up, looking at me with glazed eyes,
doubting whether I was a ghost or a living being. After a deep silence which took
us back on the wings of memory to that hour when we were intoxicated with
wine of love, Selma wiped away her tears and said, "See how time has changed
us! See how time has changed the course of our lives and left us in these ruins.
In this place spring united us in a bond of love, and in this place has brought us
together before the throne of death. How beautiful was spring, and how terrible is
this winter!"
peaking thus, she covered her face again with her hands as if she were
shielding her eyes from the spectre of the past standing before her. I put my hand
on her head and said, "Come, Selma, come and let us be as strong towers before
the tempest. Let us stand like brave soldiers before the enemy and face his
wepons. If we are killed, we shall die as martyrs; and if we win, we shall live as
heroes. Braving obstacles and hardships is nobler than retreat to tranquility. The
butteerfly that hovers around the lamp until it dies is more admirable than the
mole that lives in a dark tunnel. Come, Selma, let us walk this rough path firmly,
with our eyes toward the sun so that we may not see the skulls and serpents
among the rocks and thorns. if fear should stop us in middle of the road, we
would hear only ridicule from the voices of the night, but if we reach the
mountain peak bravely we shall join the heavenly spirits in songs of triumph and
joy. Cheer up, Selma, wipe away your tears and remove the sorrow from your
face. Rise, and let us sit by the bed of your father, because his life depends on
your life, and your smile is his only cure."
indly and affectionately she looked at me and said, "Are you asking me to
have patience, while you are in need of it yourself? Will a hungry man give his
bread to another hungry man? Or will sick man give medicine to another which
he himself needs badly?"
he rose, her head bent slightly forward and we walked to the old man's
room and sat by the side of his bed. Selma forced a smile and pretended to be
patient, and her father tried to make her believe that he was feeling better and
getting stronger; but both father and daughter were aware of each other's sorrow
and heard the unvoiced sighs. They were like two equal forces, wearing each
other away silently. The father's heart was melting because of his daughter's
plight. They were two pure souls, one departing and the other agonized with
grief, embracing in love and death; and I was between the two with my own
troubled heart. We were three people, gathered and crushed by the hands of
destiny; an old man like a dwelling ruined by flood, a young woman whose
symbol was a lily beheaded by the sharp edge of a sickle, and a young man who
was a weak sapling, bent by a snowfall; and all of us were toys in the hands of
fate.
arris Effandi moved slowly and stretched his weak hand toward Selma, and
in a loving and tender voice said, "Hold my hand, my beloved." Selma held his
hand; then he said, "I have lived long enough, and I have enjoyed the fruits of
life's seasons. I have experienced all its phases with equanimity. I lost your
mother when you were three years of age, and she left you as a precious treasure
in my lap. I watched you grow, and your face reproduced your mother's features
as stars reflected in a calm pool of water. Your character, intelligence, and beauty
are your mother's, even your manner of speaking and gestures. You hae been my
only consolation in this life because you were the image of your mother in every
deed and word. Now, I grow old, and my only resting place is between the soft
wings of death. Be comforted, my beloved daughter, because I have lived long
enough to see you as a woman. Be happy because I shall live in you after my
death. My departure today would be no different from my going tomorrow or the
day after, for our days are perishing like the leaves of autumn. The hour of my
days are perishing like the leaves of autumn. The hour of my death approaches
rapidly, and my soul is desirous of being united with your mother's."
s he uttered these words sweetly and lovingly, his face was radiant. Then he
put his hand under his pillow and pulled out a small picture in a gold frame. With
his eyes on the little photograph, he said, "Come, Selma, come and see your
mother in this picture."
elma wiped away her tears, and after gazing long at the picture, she kissed
it repeatedly and cried, "Oh, my beloved mother! Oh, mother!" Then she placed
her trembling lips on the picture as if she wished to pour her soul into that image.
he most beautiful word on the lips of mankind is the word "Mother," and
the most beautiful call is the call of "My mother." it is a word full of hope and
love, a sweet and kind word coming from the depths of the heart. The mother is
every thing -- she is our consolation in sorrow, our hope in misery, and our
strength in weakness. She is the source of love, mercy, sympathy, and
forgiveness. He who loses his mother loses a pure soul who blesses and guards
him constantly.
very thing in nature bespeaks the mother. The sun is the mother of earth and
gives it its nourishment of hear; it never leaves the universe at night until it has put
the earth to sleep to the song of the sea and the hymn of birds and brooks. And
this earth is the mother of trees and flowers. It produces them, nurses them, and
weans them. The trees and flowers become kind mothers of their great fruits and
seeds. And the mother, the prototype of all existence, is the eternal spirit, full of
beauty and love.
elma Karamy never knew her mother because she had died when Selma
was an infant, but Selma wept when she saw the picture and cried, "Oh, mother!"
The word mother is hidden in our hearts, and it comes upon our lips in hours of
sorrow and happiness as the perfume comes from the heart of the rose and
mingles with clear and cloudy air.
elma stared at her mother's picture, kissing it repeatedly, until she
collapsed by her father's bed.
he old man placed both hands on her head and said, "I have shown you,
my dear child, a picture of your mother on paper. Now listen to me and I shall let
you hear her words."
he lifted her head like a little bird in the nest that hears its mother's wing,
and looked at him attentively.
arris Effandi opened his mouth and said, 'Your mother was nursing you
when she lost her father; she cried and wept at his going, but she was wise and
patient. She sat by me in this room as soon as the funeral was over and held my
hand and said, 'Farris, my father is dead now and you are my only consolation in
this world. The heart's affections are divided like the branches of the cedar tree;
if the tree loses one strong branch, it will suffer but it does not die. It will pour all
its vitality into the next branch so that it will grow and fill the empty place.' This
is what your mohter told me when her father died, and you should say the same
thing when death takes my body to its resting place and my soul to God's care.'
elma answered him with falling tears and broken heart, "When Mother lost
her father, you took his place; but who is going to take yours when you are
gone? She was left in the care of a loving and truthful husband; she found
consolation in her little daughter, and who will be my consolation when you pass
away? You have been my father and mother and the companion of my youth."
aying these words, she turned and looked at me, and, holding the side of
my garment, said, "This is the only friend I shall have after you are gone, but
how can he console me when he is suffering also? How can a broken heart find
consolation in a disappointed soul? A sorrowful woman cannot be comforted by
her neighbor's sorrow, nor can a bird fly with broken wings. He is the friend of
my soul, but I have already placed a heavy burden of sorrow upon him and
dimmed his eyes with my tears till he can see nothing but darkness. he is a
brother whom I dearly love, but he is like all brothers who share my sorrow and
help me shed tears which increase my bitterness and burn my heart."
elma's words stabbed my heart, and I felt that I could bear no more. The
old man listened to her with depressed spirit. The old man listened to her with
depressed spirit, trembling like the light of a lamp before the wind. Then he
stretched out his hand and said, "Let me go peacefully, my child. I have broken
the bars of this cage; let me fly and do not stop me, for your mother is calling
me. The sky is clear and the sea is calm and the boat is ready to sail; do not
delay its voyage. Let my body rest with those who are resting; let my dream end
and my soul awaken with the dawn; let your soul embrace mine and give me the
kiss of hope; let no drops of sorrow or bitterness fall upon my body lest the
flowers and grass refuse their nourishment. Do not shed tears of misery upon my
hand, for they may grow thorns upon my grave. Do not draw lines of agony
upon my forehead, for the wind may pass and read them and refuse to carry the
dust of my bones to the green prairies... I love you, my child, while I lived, and I
shall love you when I am dead, and my soul shall always watch over you and
protect you."
hen Farris Effandi looked at me with his eyes half closed and said, "My
son, be a real brother to Selma as your father was to me. Be her help and friend
in need, and do not let her mourn, because mourning for the dead is a mistake.
Repeat to her pleasant tales and sing for her the songs of life so that she may
forget her sorrows. Remember me to your father; ask him to tell you the stories
of your youth and tell him that I loved him in the person of his son in the last
hour of my life."
ilence prevailed, and I could see the pallor of death on the old man's face.
Then he rolled his eyes and looked at us and whipered, "Don't call the physician,
for he might extend my sentence in this prison by his medicine. The days of
slavery are gone, and my soul seeks the freedom of the skies. And do not call the
priest to my bedside, because his incantations would not save me if I were a
sinner, nor would it rush me to Heaven if I were innocent. The will of humanity
cannot change the will of God, as an astrologer cannot change the course of the
stars. But after my death let the doctors and priest do what they please, for my
ship will continue sailing until it reaches its destination."
t midnight Farris Effandi opened his tired eyes for the last time and focused
them on Selma, who was kneeling by his bedside. He tried to speak, but could
not, for death had already choked his voice; but he finally managed to say, "The
night has passed... Oh, Selma...Oh...Oh, Selma..." Then he bent his head, his
face turned white, and I could see a smile on his lips as he breathed his last.
elma felt her father's hand. It was cold. Then she raised her head and
looked at his face. It was covered with the veil of death. Selma was so choked
that she could not shed tears, nor sigh, nor even move. For a moment she stared
at him with fixed eyes like those of a statue; then she bent down until her
forehead touched the floor, and said, "Oh, Lord, have mercy and mend our
broken wings."
arris Effandi Karamy died; his soul was embraced by Eternity, and his body
was returned to the earth. Mansour Bey Galib got possession of his wealth, and
Selma became a prisoner of life--a life of grief and misery.
was lost in sorrow and reverie. Days and nights preyed upon me as the
eagle ravages its victim. Many a time I tried to forget my misfortune by
occupying myself with books and scriptures of past generation, but it was like
extinguishing fire with oil, for I could see nothing in the procession of the past
but tragedy and could hear nothing but weeping and wailing. The Book of Job
was more fascinating to me than the Psalms and I preferred the Elegies of
Jeremiah to the Song of Solomon. Hamlet was closer to my heart than all other
dramas of western writers. Thus despair weakens our sight and closes our ears.
We can see nothing but spectres of doom and can hear only the beating of our
agitated hearts.

BETWEEN CHRIST AND ISHTAR In the midst of the gardens and hills which connect the city of Beirut with
Lebanon there is a small temple, very ancient, dug out of white rock , surrounded
by olive, almond, and willow trees. Although this temple is a half mile from the
main highway, at the time of my story very few people interested in relics and
ancient ruins had visited it. It was one of many interesting places hidden and
forgotten in Lebanon. Due to its seclusion, it had become a haven for
worshippers and a shrine for lonely lovers.
s one enters this temple he sees on the wall at the east side an old Phoenician
picture, carved in the rock depicting Ishtar, goddess of love and beauty, sitting on
her throne, surrounded by seven nude virgins standing in different posses. The
first one carries a torch; the second, a guitar; the third, a censer; the frouth a jug of
wine; the fifth, a branch of roses; the sixth, a wreath of laurel; the seventh, a bow
and arrow; and all of them look at Ishtar reverently.
n the second wall there is another picture, more modern than the first one,
symbolizing Christ nailed to the cross, and at His side stand His sorrowful mother
and Mary Magdalene and two other women weeping. This Byzantine picture
shows tht it was carved in the fifteenth or sixteenth century.*
n the west side wall there are two round transits through which the sun's rays
enter the temple and strike the pictues and make them look as if they were painted
with gold water color. In the middle of the tmeple there is a square marble with old
paintings on its sides, some of which can hardly be seen under the pertified lumps
of blood which show that the ancient people offered sacrifices on this rock and
poured perfume, wine, and oil upon it.
here is nothing else in that little temple except deep silence, revealing to the
living the secrets of the goddess and speaking worldlessly of past generations and
the evolution of religions. Such a sight carries the poet to a world far away from
the one in which he dwells and convinces the philosopher that men were born
religious; they felt a need for that which they could not see and drew symbols, the
meaning of which divulged their hidden secrets and their desires in life and death.
n that unknown temple, I met Selma once every month and spent the hours
with her, looking at those strange pictures, thinking of the crucified Christ and
pondering upon the young Phoenician men and women who lived, loved and
worshipped beauty in the person of Ishtar by burning incense before her statue
and pouring perfume on her shrine, people for whom nothing is left to speak
except the name, repeated by the march of time before the face of Eternity.
t is hard to write down in words the memories of those hours when I met
Selma -- those heavenly hours, filled with pain, happiness, sorrow, hope, and
misery.
e met secretly in the old temple, remembering the old days, discussing our
present, fearing our future, and gradually bringing out the hidden secrets in the
depths of our hearts and complaining to each other of our misery and suffering,
trying to console ourselves with imaginary hopes and sorrowful dreams. Every
now and then we would become calm and wipe our tears and start smiling,
forgetting everything except Love; we embraced each other until our hearts melted;
then Selma would print a pure kiss on my forehead and fill my heart with ecstasy; I
would return the kiss as she bent her ivory neck while her cheeks became gently
red like the first ray of dawn on the forehead of hills. We silently looked at the
distant horizon where the clouds were colored with the orange ray of sunset.
ur conversation was not limited to love; every now and then we drifted on to
current topics and exchanged ideas. During the course of conversation Selma
spoke of woman's place in society, the imprint that the past generation had left on
her character, the relationship between husband and wife, and the spiritual diseases
and corruption which threatened married life. I remember her saying: "The poets
and writers are trying to understand the reality of woman, but up to this day they
have not understood the hidden secrets of her heart, because they look upon her
from behind the secual veil and see nothing but externals; they look upon her
through the magnifying glass of hatefulness and find nothing except weakness and
submission.
n another occasion she said, pointing to the carved pictures on the walls of
the temple, "In the heart of this rock there are two symbols depicting the essence
of a woman's desires and revealing the hidden secrets of her soul, moving between
love and sorrow -- between affection and sacrifice, between Ishtar sitting on the
throne and Mary standing by the cross. The man buys glory and reputation, but
the woman pays the price."
o one knew about our secret meetings except God and the flock of birds
which flew over the temple. Selma used to come in her carriage to a place named
Pasha park and from there she walked to the temple, where she found me
anxiously waiting for her.
e feared not the observer's eyes, neither did our consciences bother us; the
spirit which is purified by fire and washed by tears is higher than what the people
call shame and disgrace; it is free from the laws of slavery and old customs against
the affections of the human heart. That spirit can proudly stand unashamed before
the throne of God.
uman society has yielded for seventy centuries to corrupted laws until it
cannot understand the meaning of the superior and eternal laws. A man's eyes
have become accustomed to the dim light of candles and cannot see the sunlight.
Spiritual disease is inherited from one generation to another until it has become a
part of people, who look upon it, not as a disease, but as a natural gift, showered
by God upon Adam. If those people found someone free from the germs of this
disease, they would think of him with shame and disgrace.
hose who think evil of Selma Karamy because she left her husband's home
and met me in the temple are the diseased and weak-minded kind who look upon
the healthy and sound as rebels. They are like insects crawling in the dark for fear
of being stepped upon by the passer-by.
he oppressed prisoners, who can break away from his jail and does not do
so, is a coward. Selma, an innocent and oppressed prisoner, was unable to free
herself from slavery. Was she to blame because she looked through the jail
window upon the green fields and spacious sky? Will the people count her as
being untruthful to her husband because she came from his home to sit by me
between Christ and Ishtar? Let the people say what they please; Selma had passed
the marshes which submerge other spirits and had landed in a world that could not
be reached by the howling of wolves and rattling of snakes. People may say what
they want about me, for the spirit who has seen the spectre of death cannot be
scared by the faces of thieves; the soldier who has seen the swords glittering over
his head and streams of blood under his feet does not care about rocks thrown at
him by the children on the streets.

It is known by the students of relics that most of the Christian churches in the East were temples for the old Phoenician and Greek gods. In Damascus, Antioch and Constantinople, there are many edifices, the walls of which echoed heathen hymns; these places were converted into churches and then into mosques.

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