Exodus - Leon Uris [104]
“You ghoul ... you stinking ghoul,” Mark snarled.
“Call me what you want, Parker. Do you think I like starving a bunch of orphans? Give me something else to fight with. Give me something to shoot at those tanks and those destroyers! All we’ve got is our guts and what we believe in. We’ve had the hell knocked out of us for two thousand years. This is one fight we’re going to win.”
Chapter Thirty-two
HUNGER STRIKE
CALLED ON EXODUS
Children vow starvation rather than return to Caraolos.
After allowing the story to build up over a two-week period, Ari Ben Canaan fooled everyone by launching an offensive. It was no game of “wait and see” now; the children were forcing a decision.
A huge sign was tied to the sides of the Exodus with lettering in English, French, and Hebrew. The sign read:
Hunger Strike/ Hour #1
Hunger Strike/ Hour #15
Two boys and a girl, aged ten, twelve, and fifteen, were brought on the forward deck of the Exodus and laid out, unconscious.
Hunger Strike/ Hour #20
Ten children were stretched out on the forward deck.
“For Christ’s sake, Kitty, stop pacing and sit down!”
“It’s over twenty hours now. How much longer is he going to let this go on? I just haven’t had the courage to go to the quay and look. Is Karen one of those children unconscious on deck?”
“I told you ten times she wasn’t.”
“They aren’t strong children to begin with and they’ve been cooped up on that ship for two weeks. They have no stamina left.” Kitty pulled nervously at a cigarette and tugged at her hair. “That man is a beast. An inhuman beast.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Mark said. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I wonder if we really understand what is driving those people so hard. Have you ever seen Palestine? It’s worthless desert in the south end and eroded in the middle and swamp up north. It’s stinking, it’s sun-baked, and it’s in the middle of a sea of fifty million sworn enemies. Yet they break their necks to get there. They call it the Land of Milk and Honey ... they sing about water sprinklers and irrigation ditches. Two weeks ago I told Ari Ben Canaan that the Jews don’t have a patent on suffering but I’m beginning to wonder. I swear I wonder. I wonder how something can hurt so badly that can drive them so hard.”
“Don’t defend him, Mark, and don’t defend those people.”
“Try to remember one thing. Ben Canaan couldn’t do this without the support of those kids. They’re behind him one hundred per cent.”
“That’s what hurts,” Kitty said, “this loyalty. This fantastic loyalty they have for each other.”
The phone rang. Mark answered, listened, and hung up.
“What is it? I said what is it, Mark!”
“They’ve brought some more kids up on the deck unconscious. A half dozen of them.”
“Is ... is ... Karen ...?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to find out.”
“Mark.”
“What?”
“I want to go on the Exodus.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I can’t take it any more,” she said.
“If you do this you’re finished.”
“No, Mark ... it’s different. If I knew she were alive and well I could bear it. I swear I could. I made myself know that. But I can’t just sit idly and know she’s dying. I can’t do that.”
“Even if I can get Ben Canaan to let you on the Exodus the British won’t let you.”
“You must,” she said fiercely, “you must.”
She stood with her back to the door and blocked his exit. Her face determined. Mark lowered his eyes. “I’ll do what I can,” he said.
Hunger Strike/ Hour #35
Angry crowds in Paris and Rome demonstrated before the British embassies. Fierce oratory and placards demanded the release of the Exodus. Police clubs and tear gas were used in Paris to disperse the mob. In Copenhagen and in Stockholm and in Brussels and in The Hague there were other demonstrations. These were more orderly.
Hunger Strike/ Hour #38
A spontaneous general strike swept over the island of Cyprus in protest against the British. Transportation stopped, businesses shut down, the ports closed, theaters and restaurants locked their doors.