I don’t know why I wrote him. I just wanted to give a look on him. I wanted to fill up my eyes with him before I turned them away forever.
I was sitting by the table in the kitchen, wanting to sew, but my hands was lying dead on the table, when the door back of me burst open.
“O God! What have I done? Your face is like ashes! You look like you are dying!” David gave a rush in.
His hair wasn’t combed, his face wasn’t shaved, his clothes was all wrinkled. My letter he was holding crushed in his hand.
“I killed you! I left you! But I didn’t rest a minute since I went away! Heart of mine, forgive me!”
He gave a take my hand, and fell down kneeling by me.
“Sarale, speak to me!”
“False dog! Coward!” cried my father, breaking in on us. “Get up! Get out! Don’t dare touch my child again! May your name and memory be blotted out!”
David covered up his head with his arm and fell back to the wall like my father had hit him.
“You yet listen to him?” cried my father, grabbing me by the arm and shaking me. “Didn’t I tell you he’s a Meshumid, a denier of God?”