The Sheik trembled visibly and
the sword fell from his hand. He addressed the man saying, "Will
a weak servant oppose his Master and benefactor?" And the man
responded, "The faithful servant does not share his Master in the
committing of crimes; this young man has spoken naught but the
truth." Another man stepped forward and assured, "This man
is innocent and is worthy of honour and respect." And a woman
raised her voice saying, "He did not swear at God or curse any
saint; why do you call him heretic?" And Rachel asked, "What
is his crime?" The Sheik shouted, "You are rebellious, you
miserable widow; have you forgotten the fate of your husband who
turned rebel six years ago?" Upon hearing these impulsive words,
Rachel shivered with painful anger, for she had found the murderer of
her husband. She choked her tears and looked upon the throng and cried
out, "Here is the criminal you have been trying for six years to
find; you hear him now confessing his guilt. He is the killer who has
been hiding his crime. Look at him and read his face; study him well
and observe his fright; he shivers like the last leaf on winter's
tree. God has shown you that the Master whom you have always feared is
a murderous criminal. He caused me to be a widow amongst these women,
and my daughter an orphan amidst these children." Rachel's
utterance fell like thunder upon the Sheik's head, and the uproar of
men and exaltation of women fell like firebrands upon him.
The priest assisted the Sheik to his seat.
Then he called the servants and ordered them saying, "Arrest this
woman who has falsely accused your Master of killing her husband; drag
her and this young man into a dark prison, and any who oppose you will
be criminals, excommunicated as he was from the Holy Church." The
servants gave no heed to his command, but remained motionless staring
at Khalil who was still bound with rope. Rachel stood at his right and
Miriam at his left like a pair of wings ready to soar aloft into the
spacious sky of Freedom.
His beard shaking with anger, Father Elias
said, "Are you denying your Master for the sake of an infidel
criminal and a shameless adulteress?" And the oldest one of the
servants answered him saying, "We have served Sheik Abbas long
for bread and shelter, but we have never been his slaves." Having
thus spoken, the servant took off his cloak and turban and threw them
before the Sheik and added, "I shall no longer require this
raiment, nor do I wish my soul to suffer in the narrow house of a
criminal." And all the servants did likewise and joined the crowd
whose faces radiated with joy, symbol of Freedom and Truth. Father
Elias finally saw that his authority had declined, and left the place
cursing the hour that brought Khalil to the village. A strong man
strode to Khalil and untied his hands, looked at Sheik Abbas who fell
like a corpse upon his seat, and boldy addressed him saying,
"This fettered youth, whom you have brought here tonight to be
tried as a criminal, has lifted our depressed spirits and enlightened
our hearts with Truth and Knowledge. And this poor widow whom Father
Elias referred to as a false accuser has revealed to us the crime you
committed six years past. We came here tonight to witness the trial of
an innocent youth and a noble soul. Now, heaven has opened our eyes
and has shown us your atrocity; we shall leave you and ignore you and
allow heaven to do its will."
Many voices were raised in that hall, and
one could hear a certain man saying, "Let us leave this ill-famed
residence for our homes." And another one remarking, "Let us
follow this young man to Rachel's home and listen to his wise sayings
and consoling wisdom." And a third one saying, "Let us seek
his advice, for he knows our needs." And a fourth one calling
out, "If we are seeking justice, let us complain to the Emir and
tell him of Abbas' crime." And many were saying, "Let us
petition the Emir to appoint Khalil as our Master and ruler, and tell
the Bishop that Father Elias was a partner in these crimes."
While the voices were rising and falling upon the Sheik's ears like
sharp arrows, Khalil lifted his hands and calmed the villagers saying,
"My brethren, do not seek haste, but rather listen and meditate.
I ask you, in the name of my love and friendship for you, not to go to
the Emir, for you will not find justice. Remember that a ferocious
beast does not snap another one like him, neither should you go to the
Bishop, for he knows well that the house cloven amid itself shall be
ruined. Do not ask the Emir to appoint me as the Sheik in this
village, for the faithful servant does not like to be an aid to the
evil Master. If I deserve your kindness and love, let me live amongst
you and share with you the happiness and sorrows of Life. Let me join
hands and work with you at home and in the fields, for if I could not
make myself one of you, I would be a hypocrite who does not live
according to his sermon. And now, as the axe is laid unto the root of
the tree, let us leave Sheik Abbas alone in the courtroom of his
conscience and before the Supreme Court of God whose sun shines upon
the innocent and the criminal."
Having thus spoken, he left the place, and
the multitude followed him as if there were a divine power in him that
attracted their hearts. The Sheik remained alone with the terrible
silence, like a destroyed tower, suffering his defeat quietly like a
surrendering commander. When the multitude reached the church yard and
the moon was just showing from behind the cloud, Khalil looked at them
with the eyes of love like a good shepherd watching over his herd. He
was moved with sympathy upon these villagers who symbolized an
oppressed nation; and he stood like a prophet who saw all the nations
of the East walking in those valleys and dragging empty souls and
heavy hearts.
He raised both hands toward heaven and
said, "From the bottom of these depths we call thee, Oh, Liberty.
Give heed to us! From behind the darkness we raise our hands to thee,
Oh, Liberty. Look upon us! Upon the snow, we worship before thee, Oh,
Liberty. Have mercy on us! Before thy great throne we stand, hanging
on our bodies the blood-stained garments of our forefathers, covering
our heads with the dust of the graves mixed with their remains,
carrying the swords that stabbed their hearts, lifting the spears that
pierced their bodies, dragging the chains that slowed their feet,
uttering the cry that wounded their throats, lamenting and repeating
the song of our failure that echoed throughout the prison, and
repeating the prayers that came from the depths of our fathers'
hearts. Listen to us, Oh, Liberty, and hear us. From the Nile to the
Euphrates comes the wailing of the suffering souls, in unison with the
cry of the abyss; and from the end of the East to the mountains of
Lebanon, hands are stretched to you, trembling with the presence of
Death. From the shores of the sea to the end of the desert,
tear-flooded eyes look beseechingly toward you. Come, Oh Liberty, and
save us.