"And in the night of thy marriage thy husband, or thy father, if thou hast a father ——"
Habib did not finish with the memory. He turned and walked a few steps along the street. He could still hear the music and the clank of the Jewess's silver in his father's court….
"In-cha-'llah!" she had said, that night.
And after all, it had been the will of God….
A miracle had happened. All the dry pain had gone out of the air. Just now the months of waiting for the winter rains were done. All about him the big, cool drops were spattering on the invisible stones. The rain bathed his face. His soul was washed with the waters of the merciful God of Arab men.
For, after all, from the beginning, it had been written. All written!
"Mektoub!"
GRIT
By TRISTRAM TUPPER
From Metropolitan Magazine