Page Two PERSPECTIVES "To ward off the evil spirits the evil spirits . . . who are they?... toe pokers to ward off the evil spirits .,I repeated to myself. "What did she mean? Who are the spirits?" They were words, empty meaningless words, like echoes in the hollowness of a desert. Oh how much she knew, how smart she Was! No wonder that she had been appointed my guide and my counsellor. The stable wasn't very far from our winter-house; we had only to cross our amall yard which was already covered with heavy snow. My cousin Sultan led the procession, and we followed her foot- steps like ants trailing a beaten track. tone of us had stockings, we were walking like cautious cats, trying to avoid the encroachments of the soow. every now and then a small lump got into our shoes and made us shiver all over. J-u-u-u-r, shrieked open the warped door of the stable, and in we rushed, chased by the stings of the snow. It was cold outdoors, and the stable seemed a veritable heaven to us. My grandpa was there, too, sitting on the sakoo. This was something un- usual. Why hadn't he gone to work? What was he doing there? Although )ast seventy, bent and depleted of en- ergy,, every morning before dawn he ised to be at work, weaving cotton cloth and humming his low sad song to the accompaniment of the regular thud Of the shuttle. Today half-reclined on the sakoo, his long pipe in his com- ,ressed mouth, his eyes, blank like two dim stars, his head heavily reposing on his breast he seemed as though he were living in a different world. In his abstracted expression he looked like a seer communicating with unknown powers. Some deep dark thought was troub- ing him. Probably he was thinking of hs young son who had been away from )oome over ten years, or of his oldest ;on (my father), in Russia, who had keen eking out a living for the family as an itinerant trader, and who had cot written home over eight months. hais face tense, his look expectant, he slowly turned his heavy rosary, and trerough his dense moustache mumbled 'vis prayers. With his paternoster peri- odically streamed aloft the black coils cf the pipe, as though emanating from a charred soul. Possibly he was troubled with some misfortune at home,-the insistent de- mand of the creditors, or the threats of the landlord to turn him out of the village, or the lack of provisions to carry the family though the winter, or the tattered clothes of the children, or the recurring pillage of the village by tMisguided Kurds or Tartars or Turks. No wonder that the old man didn't noticeus when we entered the stable, there was trouble at home, trouble abroad-dear sons away-and trouble within. No wonder .that he couldn't aeeus. In vain I pulled at his rosary to draw hisattention; in vain I buf- feted my brother on the left and my cousin on the right; in vain I made my little sister cry. His thoughts were all- absorbing; he didn't take his eyes off that intangible point in the air. His mood, gloomy and solemn, affected all of us, and we quietly huddled about him Ike a group of chicks under the wings of their mother. The kid of our goat was browsing about in the trough. A stratagem dawned upon me, and I was filled with glee in the prospect of my triumph. I surreptitiously approached the kid and with a hop and a grasp I had him with- in my clutches. Taking hold of his oar, I put its extreme tip into my mouth and bit as hard as I could. The poor creature whined piteously, but even that was of no avail. All of us were silent . . . Yonder from the dark end of the stable was teard the snorting of the buffaloes and the heavy breathing of the cattle. Out- side the rooster crowed and the tardy tiens hurried off their perch to join him in his morning frolic. Our red colt, nimble and sly, stamped the floor, as though anxious,:like us, to draw the attention of grandpa. We all seemed to be convicts fettered in a dungeon. Silent and dejectedwee awaited our doom. We thought, "Soon the enemy will break in, declaring our release or our doom. Who is this per- son that has held us under his thumb? Or what prank of nature has subdued us?" We were as though under the spell of some mysterious power. Sub- missive to this occult phenomenon none of us dared to budge. In the meantime across the court were heard Mariam's assertive orders, in the house new voices-everywhere noise and confusion. Suddenly springing to his feet grand- pa rushed to the door; he stopped, and putting his ear against it listened atten- tively. I could wait no longer; silence was choking me. I looked around at my cousins and my brother; they were per- turbed, too. Pale and tense, as though a crinkly-faced, red whimpeilng lump of flesh. Grandma said that he was our brother. Later in my life I have seen many wondrous things wrought by nature or by the hand of man. I have witnessed great scenes, strange phenomena, dif- ferent people in different lands, but none of them have occasioned as much wonder as this incident, My brother? Who brought him? Whence did he come . . .? Why did he come . . .? How did he come . ..? By saying that "he is your brother," grandma thought she made everything plain to me. Everybody gathered around this wriggling creature, but he was entirely repulsive to me. There was such a difference between him and my mother. The latter, her eyes closed, dark eyelids resting on her pale face, ior ever/y W ITH MUSIC come, beguile the afternoon. The pause of this long hill, with beating hands. Up from the valley, summer's new horses White as foam, charge up the shining mountains. Talk to me with lilac-cunning, harvest me alive. Find in me no treason to the green, Bequeathing us young patterns, new walks to take In musical woods; live danger enter the field, Vanquish the memory of wastelands; Split breathing in my palm a new season to remember. - Howard Moss transformed into auditory organs, they were listening to the noises in the house. "Lord, have mercy upon us; Lord, de- liver us from the evil spirits, lead us not into temptation; drive away the evil and bring the good," again sounded Mariam's prayer. Now she prayed, now she commanded, now she cursed. I could also hear my mother's groans and pleas; they became louder and more frequent than before. I looked at grandpa; he was very dis- turbed. He stood as though nailed to the door. All silent, his eyes fixed on the floor, he was listening, he had even forgotten his smoke. Mariam was killing my mother, I thought. I couldn't stand it any longer, I was unable to hold on-I cried, I cried with a heartfelt, painful outburst, "Grandpa!" I called in an explosive tone. He didn't lift his head; he was de- tached . from his surroundings. Per- haps he understood what was going on in the winter-house. Maybe my mother's life was at stake; maybe Mariam had already killed her. He was seized with consternation. "Grandpa, what is happening at home? mother . . . ?" I asked again. "Wait a minute, sonny!" A few silent minutes elapsed; then he plodded back to the sakoo and had hardly lit his pipe, when he ran again to the door. He listened, and suddenly uttering a heavy sigh, rubbed his forehead. He stood at his post like a sphinx, one who seemed to be fixed to the door. "Grandpa, I am going to my mother," I got up-he was startled; he rushed to me, wiped away my tears and said, "Not yet, sonny, not yet . . . wait a few minutes . . . all of us will go to- gether." He seated me again on the sakoo, and hurried back to the door. My Lord, what was happening to my mother? Why was everybody so dis- turbed? What were the old women from next door doing in our house? Why didn't grandpa go to help moher? My heart was fluttering like a sparrow in a cage. While I was absorbed in these thoughts, suddenly the door burst open, and a tiny voice shrilled " . . . In-ya-a-h-. . . in-ya-a-h . . in-y-a-a-h . . ." ,. "Congratulations!" called beaming Mariam. "It is a boy!" When we came back to the winter, house, we found the hearth all cleaned up, and alongside-lay my mother with her delicate mouth in deep repose, her curly hair like a wreath crowning her figure she looked like a goddess in sweet slumber, she was divinely beautiful. She opened her eyes and, a weak smile playing on her lips, she said, "Yes, darling, he is your brother," then she again closed her eyes. And now my mother, too, says that he is my brother. But I want to trample upon him-crush him. Raising my foot I was just about to strike when my elder cousin seized and pushed me away. I was cast away, I wanted to cry, but the grief dried up my tears. Who was this new being who drew the attention of the entire household and the neigh- bors? The whole affair was a new scene on a new stage, and this little intruder was the principal actor. They said that he and I were brothers. Why! he was everything and I was nothing. As though the whole universe revolved about him, whilst I,-I was alone, ig- nored, and slighted. I was miserable. I was bitterly jealous. Everybody seemed to be interested in him. Our rel- atives and our neighbors came in one after the other and, poor as they were, brought little presents for the baby, and gifts for the mother. They con- gratulated her, said nice things, cheered her up, and joked, and laughed, and went away. And all the time my little sister ten- derly stooped over the baby and fondled him with the affections of a mother. This aroused my ire more than anything else, and in a fit of temper I rushed on her and kicked her in the back as hard as I could. This unexpected blow almost staggered the poor little girl. She was dazed for a minute; then she burst into a most piteous cry. Mariam became furious; she pounced upon me like a hound and, vising my left ear in her bony fingers, twisted it so hard that bells seemed to ring in my head. I receded to a dark corner in the house, and my back toward the wall mourned my wretched lot all alone. I involuntarily looked at Mariam, at my sister, then at the new born baby, at amy mother, as though I were a prisoner scanning and scrutinizing the whole ar- ray of things with the object to devise an escape. There was my mother in the bed, pale and weak; I knew that she was sick., There was the little lump of living thing beside her. But I could see no relation between her and the. little creature. Was he the cause of her illness? But if he were the cause, why. did my sister and cousins flutter around him like merry butterflies? Why did the people bring presents for him? I cried, and my cry was so bitter and so pathetic that even my little sister was moved. Possibly my childish in- stinct had rebelled against the incongru- ities of the universe. Maybe my cries in that dismal hour were a protest against the scheme of the gods for creat- ing joy embedded in sorrow, beauty en- compassed with ugliness, the evil along- side the good, roses on thorns, babes emerging out of travails, and finally death on the heels of birth. Everything seemed a contradiction. I myself was a contradiction; the universe' and my soul were in clash and I was crying. But 0, how the dark chaos vanishes when love dawns! I saw my mother's face, her sweet divine face hallowed with love'-there was radiance in her dark' eyes. I felt my cousin's touch, her cheek against mine whispering in my ear, "Don't be foolish, dear, mother isn't sick; she has only given birth to a baby." But I had been told that babies came on the sparkling wings of angels; that heaven sent them on platters of light; that brides in the spring went to the brooks and with song and mirth and merriment caught them and brought them home. But the sun had all day been niggardly, there couldn't be plat- ters of light floating in the air, It was bitter cold outdoors and the brooks were frozen; the spring hadn't come yet; the flowers were not in bloom-the brides couldn't have been out hunting for babes. I ran to my muter and, throw- ing my arms about her asked, "Mother, did you bear that baby?" She smiled; there was embarrassment in her looks, she almost blushed, and after some hesitation, she answered, "No, dear, the Lord gave it." "I'll kill him," said I in a vindictive tone. "Oh my God!" exclaimed Mariam, "what an evil child! Lord, forgive us for bringing up such children; Lord de- liver us from the devil and hell; be merciful and make thy face shine upon us." She uttered her propitiatory prayer with fear and trembling. She was horrified and haunted by the sins of this child who had been pestering her all day. My grandma was awestricken, too, All day she had done very little talking, She was a woman of deeds rather than of words. But the very foundation of her conscience was shaken, a sin against God's plans, though committed by a mere child, was almost unforgivable in her judgment. She ran to me and get- ting hold of my collar shook me ner- vously and said, "Get up. Are you gone mad? Leave your mother alone, "Don't you dare to touch the baby," She had almost believed that I might kill him. "If you do anything to the baby, I'll prick your eyes out, did you hear it?" And I had to leave my mother's bed- side; I was a potential criminal. I withdrew, put on my shoes and went back to the stable. Years went by, yet the riddle re- mained unsolved. The legend of the brides and the brooks, the platter of light and the luminous wings of the angels still colored my imaginatioon. The rosy legend had woven a magic float for the baby and it was rolling on the waters of eternity, like Aladdin's carpet in the skies of Asia. Whence did it come and whereto was it sailing? It remained a mystery until years later, as I was tending my sheep, I met a fellow shepherd and he shattered the beautiful legend. The angels gradually vanished into the clouds of the skies; the brides sang their songs along the brooks but came home only with flowers in their hands; the platters of light diffused in the golden rays of the sun-and my rosy legend died away; cold reason dawned and proffered the "fruit of the trees of knowledge." At nightfall I drove my flocks home and greeted my mother thus, "Mother, you bore my brother. I know it!"