Futurist Stories - BestLightNovel.com
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SING he commanded.
O PADRE MIO--she broke into sobs. The singers moved on to another street.
MONICA had read into another soul.
DEEP calling unto deep.
IN ALGIERS
MOONLIGHT--the still waters of the ocean--
THE deck of a s.h.i.+p--
ROMANCE and beauty--
THE great liner sailed near the northern coast of Africa. On the deck they had become engaged--the moonlight shone on them.
DUSK and bitter cold. A young woman paced up and down in the snow, waiting the coming of a train.
IT was a small town in the Interior of Russia--of the Russia torn by wars and rebellions at home. A sorrow-stricken land.
THE mystery, the romance of the night--the distant sh.o.r.es of Africa--seemed still upon her. She could almost feel the murmur of the water as it splashed against the boat.
AND the next day--Algiers--the quaint streets--the mosques--flowers--and white robed Arabs.
VERY quietly they had been married in the Cathedral which bears the name of a whole continent.
NOTRE DAME D'AFRIQUE.
THE sun had smiled as it shone on the city by the sea.
IT grew colder.
A TRAIN came into sight on the vast field of snow.
ON that train the man she loved and had married was coming to her.
THAT enchanted period in Algiers--He was returning--perhaps a wreck of his once splendid self--a cripple
WAR
IT had shattered homes--brought skeletons--where once children laughed.
BROUGHT famine--once birds had eaten crumbs.
WAR--
HORROR--dismay
SHE waited
HIS eyes were aghast--eyes that had seen death--murder--horror--side by side--
THERE was no more laughter. He took Anna into his arms. Then the report was not true. He had not given his right arm.
ANNA, he whispered, My brave Anna
I HAVE been thinking of Algiers, she murmured. We planned to have suns.h.i.+ne--and roses--even among the snows of our country. But we faced blood--blood on the snows of our forests--
IVAN, it is bitter cold. Do not go out--into the night--
TO Africa. The moon will be making golden streaks upon the water. A rose will be blooming in our garden--his eyes were vacant.
THEN it was not his arm he had given for Russia--it was--
A CRY pierced the cold air.
THE weight of a dead body resounded.
I WONDER what that was, Ivan mused--
WHICH is the shortest way to the Cathedral----
THESE Arab streets are so steep--
CANDLES
BEFORE a statue of Joan of Arc, in a little country church, a child knelt in prayer.
OH protect my papa--the little one prayed.
SHE lighted a candle--offered it to the Maid of France.
