Leon Uris (44 page)

Ibrahim realized that he was the true buyer all the time, a man who had bought and sold dozens of vehicles belonging to anyman’s army. He was also in business with the Bedouin who scoured the desert for abandoned vehicles and stripped them for spare parts.

A test drive was made. Sabri’s repairs had held up famously. Now the man went into a plea of poverty and bargaining ensued for over an hour. They finally narrowed in on a respectable offer of close to three hundred British pounds after refusing to deal in Arab currency. Then came a series of hilarities to indicate a deal had been consummated. For Ibrahim it was a windfall. He could purchase a donkey and goat in Jericho and have enough money left over to keep the cave supplied for months.

After the buyer drove the truck off, Ibrahim made certain he was not being followed and walked with Sabri to the main street of Suleiman Road that ran alongside the wall to the bus terminal.

‘You have done very well for me,’ Ibrahim said abruptly. He handed Sabri a five-pound note. ‘Have a night in the city. I will meet you tomorrow in Jericho at the market.’

Sabri understood this to mean he was still not fully trusted. Ibrahim did not wish to walk around with all that money and Sabri at his side to possibly finger him for robbers. Ibrahim knew that all the ‘prospective’ buyers had been paid off and he wondered if Sabri had also taken a kickback. Sabri covered the insult by smiling and feigning surprise at the five-pound gift and made off to have himself a party.

The Bab el Wad was still being hotly contested and closed to normal bus traffic. Ibrahim first traveled north to the city of Ramallah and caught a bus that ran a parallel route inside Arab territory. The bus ended its run about a mile from the Latrun Fort at the outer encampment of the Arab Legion. Many local farmers and peddlers had set up a roadside bazaar to sell to the troops. A few hundred yards down the road toward the fort, a guard post ended passage for everyone except the soldiers. Ibrahim walked directly toward the guards.

‘Halt! You can go no farther!’

He withdrew the magic forgery from Colonel Hakkar on Iraqi Army stationery and handed it to the guard with an air of authority. The guard could neither read nor write. Two other illiterate guards pondered the paper, one reading it upside down, then called for an officer. He was duly impressed.

A half hour later, Ibrahim had worked himself through the various rings of security to the very doors of the fort.

‘What do you want?’ the officer in charge demanded.

‘I am Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi, the Muktar of Tabah. I wish to go up on the roof so I can gaze upon my village.’

This is a zone of high military security. You have no business being here.’

‘I wish to go to the roof and see my village.’

‘It is not possible. Leave before I have you arrested.’

‘I will not leave until I see my village. I demand to speak with the commanding officer.’

The argument broke into heated words, with only Ibrahim’s audacity keeping him from serious trouble. As the words reverberated through the concrete halls, they drew the attention of the senior British officer, Lieutenant Colonel Chester Bagley.

‘I say, what’s the problem here?’ Bagley asked.

‘This man claims to be the muktar of the village down the road. He wants to see his village from the roof.’

Bagley examined Ibrahim. Rags, these days, were worn by everyone and were not a true indication of a man’s position. Ibrahim’s stature and dignity spelled out that he had once been a man of authority. He perused Ibrahim’s letter at length. ‘Come with me,’ he said and led Ibrahim to his office down the hall.

Ibrahim was offered a seat while Bagley continued to examine the letter and stuff his pipe. ‘Do you have any other papers?’

‘Who has papers these days?’

‘This letter is a forgery,’ Bagley said.

‘Of course it is. Without it, I and my family would have been dead weeks ago.’

Cheeky, Bagley thought. ‘We’ve had two bloody battles for this fort and we are apt to have more. How do I know you won’t go up to the roof and study our emplacements.’

‘You mean I’m a spy?’

‘Well, you don’t really have very much to prove otherwise, do you?’

‘Mister ... Colonel ...’

‘Bagley, Chester Bagley.’

‘Colonel Bagley, I would have to be the world’s most stupid spy, wouldn’t I?’

‘Or the world’s most clever spy.’

‘Aha, what you say has merit, great merit. There are a number of villages within a few minutes’ drive from here. Any of them will verify Haj Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi.’

‘My dear chap, we are in the middle of a war.’

‘Colonel Bagley, with all due respect. I know every trench and gun emplacement around Latrun, as well as the names of your units. I am sure I could tell you within five shells of what arsenal you have. The Jews know the same thing. This is not a case of numbers or secrets. You simply have a force here too great for the Jews to contend with. There is no mystery about Latrun.’

For a moment, Chester Bagley was dumbfounded by the Arab’s refreshing and unprecedented frankness. He lit his pipe as a stall.

‘Colonel, I long to see Tabah with a longing that consumes me. Only Allah knows if I will ever have the chance again. I am not a man to beg, sir, so please do not make me beg.’

‘You’re a little bit mad to come in here like this with this ... ridiculous forgery. You could have easily gotten yourself hung or shot.’

‘Does that not testify to the depths of my longing?’

‘You’re mad,’ Bagley repeated. He handed the letter back to Ibrahim. ‘You’d better hang onto this thing, but for God’s sake don’t show it to anyone who can read. Come with me, Haj Ibrahim.’

Bagley rapped on the adjoining door with the bowl of his pipe, then entered. Behind the commander’s desk sat the Jordanian colonel, Jalud. Ibrahim spotted him immediately as of Bedouin stock, leathered beyond his years from the sun and soldiering so one could hardly tell where his skin ended and the khaki of his uniform began. He had not become a full colonel in the Arab Legion through acts of grace. The arrogance and cruelty of the man were apparent behind a pair of desert-slitted eyes. His pomaded hair glistened and a great moustache served as a warrant to his masculinity. In the scheme of things between the British and the Legion, the Arab generally held the higher rank over his British ‘adviser.’ In reality, the Englishman ran the show. The fact that Latrun had held back two desperate and bloody Jewish assaults seemed to confirm that Lieutenant Colonel Chester Bagley had designed and built the defenses and probably had commanded the actual battles.

Bagley was ever so soft-spoken as he presented Ibrahim’s request.

‘I cannot grant it,’ Jalud snapped. ‘This is not visitor’s day at the Dome of the Rock. Have this man locked up and bring to me those idiots who allowed him into the fort.’

‘It will not augur well to alienate the local population while this crisis is still at hand. Haj Ibrahim’s identity and popularity can easily be confirmed. The man has been the muktar for a quarter of a century. It would be a decent gesture.’

‘Decent gesture? He has penetrated a secret military installation. Get him out of here before he is in serious trouble.’

‘I will take the responsibility,’ Bagley pressed on firmly.

Ibrahim became enchanted by the exchange between the two. It was apparent that Bagley, despite his lower rank, was indeed the true commander of the fort. Colonel Jalud did not wish to ruffle his feathers, much less take a risk of being left in charge of the defenses himself. Jalud continued to argue along a slim borderline. As Bagley persisted, Colonel Jalud wove a spiderweb of defenses for himself so he could be absolved of any future blame.

The exchange having run its course, Jalud gave Ibrahim a disrobing examination with his eyes. Men in rags often disguised their true wealth. Ibrahim had prepared for the possibility of a strip search. He hid his money in a field near the bus stop before going to the fort. The only thing of value that showed was the bejeweled dagger. Jalud’s eyes stopped their wandering and became fixed on the weapon.

‘It is a serious request,’ Jalud said. ‘I am taking a great risk. Therefore it must be as important to me as it is to you. A gesture for a gesture.’

I should have hidden the damned dagger as well, Ibrahim thought.

‘I have nothing to make a gesture with,’ Ibrahim said. ‘Allah knows, you cannot strip the naked.’

‘Perhaps my eyes are playing tricks with me,’ Jalud answered, never taking his eyes from the dagger.

‘It is my honor.’

‘Men with golden threads in their robes are the custodians of honor.’

The insult was biting. ‘It is a price I cannot pay,’ Ibrahim said.

‘Of course, I could take it from you and you would have no honor left at all. Where was your honor in defending your village? Get out of here while you still have your tongue and your fingernails.’

‘Colonel Jalud, I am going to insist that you allow this man to see his village.’

Jalud leaned back in his chair and draped an arm over the back where he had slung his pistol and belt. ‘Oh well, this seems to be my day for shit. Let the dog go to the roof and bark at his village. He has five minutes.’ With a gesture of the wrist denoting ‘royal’ dismissal, Jalud returned to the papers on his desk.

Ibrahim spat on the floor, the spittle running down the toe of the colonel’s boot. As he made for the door, Jalud leaped to his feet. ‘Your mother’s cunt is an oasis for camels!’

Ibrahim returned to Jalud’s desk and put his fingers on the hilt of the dagger. It lashed from its scabbard so quickly that neither of the others could reach for his pistol. The point burrowed into the colonel’s desk, striking so hard the wood split. Ibrahim’s fingers rested on the edge of the desk, his eyes looking directly into Jalud’s.

‘Take it,’ Ibrahim challenged.

Jalud’s eyes shot over to Chester Bagley, who wore a wispy smile. Bagley always hovered over him with his soft, sweet persistent ‘requests.’ They were not requests but orders! He seethed at the British having the authority over his troops. On the other hand, he did not wish to go through another defense of the fort without Bagley. Now the Englishman had the worst of all blackmails over his head. He, the great Colonel Jalud, had been cowed by a peasant. If Bagley wished, Jalud could be mortified and humiliated.

The colonel tried to summon the courage to reach for the implanted dagger, but the courage was not to be found. He slumped down in his chair.

‘Come along,’ Bagley said, freeing the danger and returning it to Ibrahim. ‘I will personally escort you to the roof and then back to your bus.’

Colonel Jalud’s hand reached for his phone threateningly, but the Englishman took it gently from his hand and replaced it in its cradle. As Ibrahim passed from the office, Bagley turned at the door and glared at Jalud, who remained in semishock.

‘Why in the hell do you people have to make a bloody game out of everything!’ he said and slammed the door behind him.

I am Ishmael,

You laugh and you say,

Who is this stupid little peasant boy?

But before your laughter consumes you ... remember ...

I have been to Eden

I have seen glory

That you in all your years

And in all your wisdom

Will never know

It is frightfully quiet

Nothing living moves

Except a drop of morning dew

And a snake slithering from its nest

To bask in the warming rays

Still, so still, so very still

But you are never alone

The night creatures, the bats and owls

Have bid us farewell

And overhead

The griffon vulture, the buzzard

The kite and the serpent eagle

Assume their circling patrols

Gliding on waves of rising simmering air

Then ... careen ... screech ... snatch

The unsuspecting hare or skink

As the morning chill gives way

To a relentless legion of devouring heat

I go to our springs

That gush cold, clean sweet water

And I see the parade of little foxes

And wild asses and goats

And the haughty ibex

Devour the stuff joyously

We are always boxed in

By the jackal and hyena

Who cringe us with their bloodthirsty cackles and howls

I retreat

A gazelle flits by more quickly than a shooting star

Even in the blaze of noon

When everything must surely be dead

I am not alone

The gecko, the lizard and the chameleon

Have become my good friends

I speak to them by name

As they clean our cave of centipedes

I have seen the midday horizon beyond Jordan

Suddenly blacken

As a low and distant hum thickens to a roar

And a solid wall of locusts

Storm like avenging armies

Over the sea

And bash themselves on the mountain rock

You are never alone

At evening I climb very high from the cave

To a ledge that is my ledge

From here I can see Mount Nebo

Over the Dead Sea

That place where Moses gazed to the Promised Land

Then died ...

The dull sky brightens

The water turns an eerie azure

And purple flows in veins through the barren mountains

And they all fuse together

In a violence of sudden color

That is a hymn to the dying sun

It is darker than dark now

And every night

The clarity of ten trillion stars

Unfettered by human lights

Display themselves tauntingly