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A short story by Margery Verner Reed |
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In Algiers |
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Title: In Algiers Author: Margery Verner Reed [More Titles by Reed] MOONLIGHT--the still waters of the ocean-- THE deck of a ship-- 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 shores 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 sunshine--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-- [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |