And it seemed to me, that against the curtain I saw pressed the forms of men and women. And after a while the feasters saw it move, and they whispered, one to another. Then some rose and gathered the most worn-out cups, and into them they put what was left at the bottom of other vessels. Mothers whispered to their children, “Do not drink all, save a little drop when you have drunk.” And when they had collected all the dregs they slipped the cups out under the bottom of the curtain without lifting it. After a while the curtain left off moving.
I said to God, “How is it so quiet?”
He said, “They have gone away to drink it.”
I said, “They drink it—their own!”
God said, “It comes from this side of the curtain, and they are very thirsty.”
Then the feast went on, and after a while I saw a small, white hand slipped in below the curtain’s edge along the floor; and it motioned towards the wine jars.
And I said to God, “Why is that hand so bloodless?”
And God said, “It is a wine-pressed hand.”
And men saw it and started to their feet; and women cried, and ran to the great wine jars, and threw their arms around them, and cried, “Ours, our own, our beloved!” and twined their long hair about them.
I said to God, “Why are they frightened of that one small hand?”