Again she rubbed me with hot oil, and in order to warm me better she took me into her bed, and I slept, held fast in her arms.
The next day I must have been quite ill, and she never left me; for every time I opened my eyes she was there, crouching by me, wearing her radiant smile, which would have coaxed any truant soul to return to earth. At any rate it coaxed mine, which came again, though reluctantly, to inhabit my poor little body.
On the first day that I really felt better and could sit up, I took advantage of her devoted attendance to question her.
“What have you done so monstrous and wicked, which Allah must forgive you?”
After a moment’s thought, she answered me, simply and directly.
“I gave not myself to a man, as Allah ordains that every woman should do, and I have given no children to multiply the world.”
For hours I puzzled over these words; but in the end I did get at their meaning. New vistas, new horizons opened to my brain. What she meant, of course, was that she was not married.
In the middle of that night I awoke—and I woke her too. I sat up in bed, determined to ask, till all was told to me.
“Then why don’t you marry?” I demanded peremptorily.
“Now, yavroum, you go to sleep. You are only a baby, and you cannot understand.”