![]() ![]() They no sooner arrived before they filled the air with gossip. They greeted the company present, sat down and ordered tea. Uncle Kamil followed, swaying like a palanquin, picking his feet up laboriously and deliberately as he walked. Abbas came first he had washed his face and combed his fair hair. ![]() Long ago it was told in _tarikh,_ which in English means ‘history’ and it is spelled h-i-s-t-o-r-y.” Before he finished spelling out the word, Karnil and Abbas arrived, having just closed their shops. Life stirred once again in Sheikh Darwish and he turned his head toward the direction in which they had disappeared, mumbling, “The poet has gone and the radio has come. ![]() He threw a scornful look at the radio which the workmen had almost finished installing, gave his hand to the lad and drew him outside. The old man heartily shook Radwan Hussainy’s hand and said goodbye to the other men in the cafe, pretending to ignore its owner, Kirsha. He left the couch, the boy following him carrying the fiddle and the book. As for the poet, he was already somewhat cheered and consoled. If you are sorrowing, then listen to him and he will make you happy again.” His face was a true picture of his inner self he was the picture of grace in its most radiant form. If you are despairing, then gaze at the light of his innocence to teach you hope. Booshy once said, “If you are sick, then go to Mr. ![]()
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