مواعيد عرقوب

In a sun-baked land, where water was gold and dates were sustenance, lived two brothers. One was Arkoob, a man known for his cleverness and his prized possession: a magnificent date palm.

This tree was not just any tree. It stood tall, its fronds a green crown against the desert sky. Its dates were plump, sweet, and legendary throughout the village.

Arkoob’s brother, a humble man named Omar, often helped him with his farming. He was hardworking and kind, expecting little in return.

One day, as they surveyed the palm, Arkoob turned to Omar. “Brother,” he said, his voice smooth as oil, “this year, when the tree begins to bud, I will give you half the harvest.”

Omar’s eyes widened. Half the harvest? That was a generous offer. Enough to feed his family for months, perhaps even start a small trade.

He thanked Arkoob profusely. “I will wait patiently, brother,” he promised. “Your word is good.”

And so, Omar began to wait. He watched the palm tree daily, his heart full of hope. Spring arrived, and with it, the first signs of life.

True to the season, small, delicate buds began to appear on the date palm. They were tiny, green promises nestled among the fronds.

Omar rushed to Arkoob, his face alight. “Brother, the buds are here! The time has come for our share.”

Arkoob stroked his beard. He looked at the buds with a serious expression. “Ah, yes, the buds,” he said slowly. “But brother, they are only buds. Barely formed. How can we divide them now?”

Omar frowned. “But you said…”

“I said when they bud,” Arkoob interrupted. “But not when they are ready. We must wait. Wait until they turn into proper green fruit. Then, truly, we will divide them.”

Omar, ever trusting, nodded. It made sense, in a way. He would wait. He continued to tend to the palm, helping Arkoob with irrigation and care, his anticipation building.

Weeks turned into months. The sun grew hotter. The tiny buds swelled, turning into small, hard green dates. They hung in thick clusters, heavy with promise.

Omar approached Arkoob again, a hopeful smile on his face. “Brother, the dates are green! They are plump now. Let us divide them as you promised.”

Arkoob examined the green fruit with a critical eye. “Green, yes,” he conceded. “But imagine the taste! Sour, unready. They would fetch nothing at the market. They are not yet true dates.”

He put a hand on Omar’s shoulder. “Patience, brother. The best things come to those who wait. Let them ripen. Let them turn golden-brown, sweet and succulent. Then, we shall have our feast. Then, we will divide them.”

Omar sighed. He felt a flicker of doubt, but he pushed it away. Arkoob was his brother. He must be true to his word. He decided to wait, once more.

The long, hot summer months dragged on. The dates slowly, surely, changed. Their green skin softened, taking on a rich, amber hue. They grew sweeter, their fragrance filling the air.

The palm was heavy with its bounty. The time had finally arrived. The dates were perfectly ripe, ready for harvest. Omar knew it. Everyone in the village knew it.

He decided to visit Arkoob first thing in the morning, to celebrate their shared bounty.

But Arkoob had other plans.

Under the cloak of darkness, while the village slept soundly, Arkoob crept out to his date palm. He carried a large sack and a long harvesting stick.