The Haj - Leon Uris [138]
‘Nothing was going to be satisfied until our armies tried to crush this Jewish state. They came; they did not conquer. Now we are down to a choice between King Abdullah and the Mufti.’
‘The Palestine Mandate is a single piece of cloth,’ Colonel Zyyad said. ‘I considered myself a Palestinian all my life. Most of the people of Amman consider themselves Palestinians. When the British created Jordan, all they did was change the name of part of Palestine. We are the same people with the same history. King Abdullah’s flag now flies over the Dome of the Rock in East Jerusalem and with the annexation of the West Bank we go from a small country to a great one.’
It is also no secret, my dear brothers, that King Abdullah froths with ambition. He has fantasies of a Greater Palestine, a Greater Syria ... Allah only knows, a Greater Arab Nation.
‘It might not be very popular in Cairo,’ Haj Ibrahim said.
‘We must also now accept that Jordan has always been part of Palestine,’ Clovis Bakshir interceded. ‘This will give us a traditional ruler and his army. Mainly, it gives us the means to stop the return of the Mufti.’
‘Let me match your candor, Haj Ibrahim,’ Colonel Zyyad spoke. ‘You are in a position to help us. King Abdullah is soon to declare that Jordan is open to all Palestinians displaced by the war. We will take the people from the fields and see to it they are fed. With your stature, you could convince thousands of displaced persons to end their suffering by crossing the Allenby Bridge and coming to Amman. It is not for general consumption, but there will also be a declaration that Jordan will grant automatic citizenship to any Palestinian who so desires.’
How humanitarian, Ibrahim thought. The little king rules an impoverished Bedouin wasteland that cannot feed itself. If the British leave with their subsidy, it will be a beggar nation. It cannot survive without money from the Syrian and Egyptian and Saudi treasuries. Abdullah is now trying to artificially inflate his population and use us to lay claim to lands that do not belong to him. The king is farting higher than his ass. He will be dead within a year, assassinated by brother Arabs.
‘We envision important roles for those Palestinians who cooperate with us now,’ Zyyad said. ‘If I were to submit your name as one of our supporters, no appointment is impossible, even up to Cabinet minister.’
The man speaks nothing of returning us to our homes and fields. We are but pawns being used for Abdullah’s ambitions. All he wants is collaborators.
‘How does my personal friendship with Gideon Asch enter into your thinking?’ the Haj asked bluntly.
Colonel Zyyad was once more jolted by Ibrahim’s directness. ‘As I have stated, Abdullah is not losing sleep over the thought of a Jewish nation next to his. Obviously, we will not be able to recognize it publicly or make a peace treaty. However, we want to keep discreet contact with the Jews at all times. We can even envision peace with the Jews when enough time has passed.’
‘Surely, Colonel Zyyad, when this war is done, the Arabs will have suffered their greatest humiliation in all our history. Our society and our religion dictate that we must continue to fight the Jews forever.’
‘Why don’t we concentrate our thoughts on what is the best course for our people here and now and let the future work itself out,’ Clovis Bakshir said. ‘We are being offered an opportunity to alleviate their suffering.’
Haj Ibrahim listened, asked questions, and began to give indications that he was coming into the scheme. The meeting ended. Colonel Zyyad reckoned that it would take him two or three weeks to finish his work on the West Bank, return to Amman, and then came back with specific orders for Haj Ibrahim. He departed.
Clovis Bakshir slapped his forehead in sudden remembrance. ‘How stupid of me,’ he said. ‘I forgot. My brother has a small villa nearby. He left for Europe after the partition vote ... to further his education. I offer it to you and your sons and the rest of your family.’
Finally Clovis Bakshir wrote a letter on official