Katherine Delmar Burke School - Works and Days Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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KULEKIAN'S TALE X kian is extremely attentive to am a rich old bachelor with bachelor hasn't a hobby?-for finest texture and design, rugs .5 X r-N K' . is ' le- - 251 Qs s G54 3 Q A I HE other day I chanced to drop into old Kulekian's little Oriental rug shop, where I have been attracted so often of late. In the first place, Kulekian has an extraordinarily good collection of rugs, then, too, he makes Turkish coffee such as would rival the nectar of the gods. Kule- me, for he knows that I a hobby-what rich old rugs, rare rugs, rugs of whose exquisite blending of color has been attained only by the mellowing hand of time. The eager Kulekian, showing me rug after rug, confident that I would buy before departing, had become very garrulous. And I, posi- tive, with a man's assurance that I would not be persuaded to purchase any more rugs at present, was enjoying myself immensely. As the loquacious dealer saw that my interest was lagging he said, Ah, sir, always the best come last, ees ett not so? I haf kep' my prize rug, prize, you understand, to the last. Eet ees my joy, thees Kabistanf' Indeed the rug was the most beautiful in design and texture I had ever seen, its pattern so delicate and yet so bold, its color so mellow and yet so rich. Where did you ever pick up such a rug? I inquired. t'Sir, eet ees a sad story about thees rug, very sad. I poured out a fresh cup of Kuelkian's delicious coffee and settled back more com- fortably in my chair to listen to his tale. Eet ees more than feefty years since Aurora and her lover sat tying in the last knots of a great Kabistan. 'Aurora,' said thees boy, 'You will put in a strand of your hair for mef' Thee-s young girl she cut a piece of her wonderful black hair and weave in corner of the rug. As you know, sir, eet ees a sign of undying love and faith when a girl weave her hair in the rug she and her lover fineesh. But one sad day come when the boy ees ver' poor and mus' go find some way to make a living. VVeeth heem he takes the Kabistan, but promise not to part weeth eet onless he get more poor. H 'Leetle Aurora,' he say, 'eet may be a year, eet may be more, but you know I return to you and I pray I bring back rug, so wait for me, leetle one.' Maybe Aurora cry leetle bit for rug, too, for many years eet haf been in her family, thees gorgeous rug, and each genera- tion add to the beautiful design. At this point the ever solicitous Kulekian offered me a fresh cup of steaming coffee and continued: A few weeks ago a very old man bring me thees Kabistan, and tell me an old man give eet to heem and say, 'Send eet to Aurora, my leetle Aurora, tell her not to be hard on me. My life, eet es a failure! The old man he die then, but who know but what Aurora, all white hair now, still wait the return of her lover l22j Works andDays

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and the beloved rug, for she pledge her everlasting faith when she was young and sit by the side of her betrothed one. His story ended, Kulekian looked at me inquiringly. I will buy the Kabistan at once, said I in answer to his unspoken question. From the door I turned and asked the effusive little man where he had obtained the history of the rug. Oh, sir, he guilelessly re- plied, I am a very good inventor-ees that the word?-of fiction story! I cannot deny I was somewhat disappointed, for even a rich and staid old bachelor nurtures a secret love of romance. And I, carried away by Kulekian's tale, hoping if possible to restore the Kabistan to Aurora, faithful and ever eagerly awaiting the return of her lover, had just signed a check for two thousand dollars! VIRGINIA HANNA,, 21. THE MERMAID AND THE CYPRESS Once upon a time there lived in a castle at the bottom of the deep blue sea a Mermaid who had fallen hopelessly in love with a beautiful Cypress that towered on a rocky cliff far above the dashing surf. Each day she rose through the dark mysterious caverns of the deep, her golden hair glistening in the sunlight and her graceful body tossed on those huge breakers that bore her to the foot of the rocks on which stood the lonely Cypress, who scorned ever to look her way. On the crest of each foaming breaker she hoped to be lifted nearer to the one she loved, but her struggle was in vain, for each Wave, as the tide receded, drew her further from her goal. One night in the midst of a raging storm, when the sky was rent with lightning and the roaring breakers dashed almost to the foot of the Cypress, she felt that at last she would reach his side. Suddenly from out of the blackness darted a streak of lightning. It struck the scornful tree, which fell with a deafening crash into the sea beneath! At last he was hers, and together they disappeared into the darkness. AUDREY WILIIIAMS, '2O. Works andDays 1231