June 3
If someone sees a child tottering toward a well, his heart takes fright — not for reward, not for fame, but because he is human.
The Book of Mencius (freely rendered)
The Folded Paper
If someone sees a child tottering toward a well, his heart takes fright — not for reward, not for fame, but because he is human.
Mini was getting married. When Rahmun stood at the door, her father wanted to send him away; there was no time in the house for his daughter's former visitor. The trader from Kabul had been gone for years.
Rahmun came back once more, with grapes, almonds and raisins for Mini. He wanted no money for them. He too, he said, had a daughter at home. From his robe he drew a dirty piece of paper, folded many times over. He smoothed it out with both hands. On it was the black print of a small hand.
Mini's father had the bride sent for. Before the grown young woman, Rahmun's familiar joking fell silent. He sat down on the floor.
The father gave him a banknote for the journey home. To pay for it, some of the planned lighting for the wedding had to be dropped.
