“Whoever has not seen Latifa’s eyes, has never seen beautiful eyes in all his days.” So I used to say when I was but a youth. And Latifa was then a young Arab girl, a child-virgin. Many years have passed, and so I still say even now.
_____
The month of Tevet. I stood in the field, at the head of a company of Arabs, preparing my land for the planting of my first vineyard. My heart was full of festive feeling, and festive like me was everything all around. A beautiful and clear day; the air fresh and clean, warm and invigorating. The sun stood in the east and poured a glowing reddish light on the universe. The lungs breathed their fullest, as if at once to swallow all of the air. And all around was green. On the uncultivated hills grew wildflowers full of grace and beauty.
Among the Arab women gathering the stones and weeds, I saw a new one. She was a young girl of about fourteen, erect, swift, dressed in a blue tunic, one end of a white headscarf covering her head, and the other ends falling onto her shoulders and back.
“What is your name?” I asked, so that I might note her name.
A small, dark, and graceful face turned to me and two black eyes flashed.
“Latifa!”
And her eyes were beautiful: large, black, burning. From her pupils shone sparkles of happiness, life, and passion.
“Sheikh Sarbaji’s daughter!” said Atallah, a young Arab who at that moment labored at dislodging a large stone. His words were cast into the air as if an afterthought.
“Like two stars on a beautiful summer night…” Atallah sang out with an undulating trill in his beautiful and strong voice. While singing, he hinted to me with his eyes…
_____
I found a new interest in my work: when my heart was heavy and my spirit fallen, I would look at Latifa, and my sorrow and melancholy departed from me as if by a magic hand.
And often I felt Latifa’s gaze, as she glanced at me.
And often I felt the warm sparkle of her eyes.
And there were times when her gaze was sad.
_____
I was riding my small, grey donkey, heading towards the field. By the well, I met Latifa, a jug of water on her head. She was bringing water to the workers.
“How are you, Latifa?”
“My father will not let me work…”
The few words tumbled out of her mouth quickly, like someone taking out of his heart something that had vexed him for some time. And her voice was sad, as if a disaster had befallen her.
“Wouldn’t you rather sit home than work?”
Latifa looked at me, her eyes growing slightly darker. And a sort of shadow passed over her. She remained silent for some moments.
“My father wants to give me to the son of the sheikh from Aqir.”
“And you?”
“I’d rather die…”
And she was silent again. Then she asked:
“Khawaja, is it true, that among you, you take only one?”
“Only one, Latifa.”
“And there’s no beating?”
“No. How can you beat the one you love, the one who loves?”
“Among you the girls take whom they love?”
“Certainly.”
“And we are sold like donkeys…”
At this moment, Latifa’s eyes were even more beautiful, deeper and blacker.
“My father says”, she added after a moment, “that he would give me to you, if you became a Muslim…”
“To me?”
Involuntarily, laughter sprang from my mouth. Latifa looked at me. Her eyes filled with a deep pain.
“Latifa,” I said, “become a Jewess, and I will take you.”
“My father would kill us, me and you both…”
_____
The next day, Sheikh Sarbaji made his way to my vineyard.
He was an old man with a handsome white beard, a tall fez on his head, seated on a galloping white mare that danced and jiggled beneath him.
He greeted the workers, and they all bowed to him submissively and were silent. He looked at me with some irritation and anger, and greeted me with clenched teeth. I answered him with abundant coldness. There was no peace between the moshava and the sheikh: he hated the Jews with the hatred of a zealot.
When the sheikh saw his daughter, he grew even more irritated and angry.
“Didn’t I order you not to go to the Jew?” he reprimanded his daughter.
And to the workers he said: “Shame on the Muslims who sell their labor to unbelievers!”
And the staff that was in his hand fell several times on Latifa’s head and back…
I was angry, and even made a motion towards him, but Latifa’s black eyes, filled with sadness and tears, looked at me as if in supplication: “be silent!”
The sheikh and his daughter left. The mood of the workers changed.
“Sheikh Sarbaji is bad and cruel!” said one.
“He’s angry because he can no longer get workers at half-price, putting them to hard labor from sun to sun… The Jews are competition.” said another.
“And I know why he got so angry today…” said Atallah, and a wily sort of laughter graced his lips.
Latifa didn’t come to work anymore.
Once, several weeks later, as I went out from the house where I took my meals, I met her. She sat outside on the ground, and in her hands were chickens for sale. When she saw me, she stood up. Her eyes were more beautiful and more sad.
“How are you, Latifa?”
“Thank you, khawaja.”
Her voice trembled.
And Latifa would often bring chickens for sale, always in the afternoon…
_____
At one time Atallah told me: “Khawaja, Latifa has gone to Aqir. The sheikh’s son married her… short and ugly…”
I felt as if my heart was being pierced.
Later, I heard that Latifa’s husband’s house caught fire, that Latifa ran away to her father’s house and was returned to her husband against her will…
Several years passed. I lived in my house that I had built. Due to another pair of black eyes, I forgot Latifa’s eyes.
Once, as I went outside in the morning, I found two old Arab women holding chickens.
“What do you want?”
One Arab woman rose up from the ground and looked at me.
“Khawaja Musa?”
“Latifa?”
Yes, it was Latifa… an old woman, a face full of wrinkles; old, but in her eyes there were still signs of the same sparkle.
“He has a beard… He has changed…” she said in a whisper, not taking her eyes off me.
“How are you? Why have you changed so?”
“Everything is from the hands of Allah, khawaja.”
She fell silent.
“Has Khawaja Musa taken a wife?”
“Yes, Latifa…”
“I would like to see her…”
I called to my wife to come out.
Latifa looked at me for a long time.
There were tears in her eyes.
_____
I never saw Latifa after that.
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