The Haj - Leon Uris [147]
We were down to four days’ supply of water when Sabri had the truck put back together.
‘I must get to Jerusalem and get a new radiator. I need some hoses, a battery, and a few parts,’ he reported.
That would entail a day’s walk to Jericho and another day to get a bus up to Jerusalem. Sabri said he knew the garage repair area of East Jerusalem quite well, for he used it often when his father owned five trucks.
It meant giving Sabri our last penny. What if he ran off with it? Worse, we had many thousands of dollars’ worth of food and supplies. What if Sabri led a band of cutthroats back to massacre us and take everything? We did not have the luxury of extended suspicion. There was no choice but to give Sabri the money. As we watched him disappear toward Jericho, we wondered if we would ever see him again.
On the third day after Sabri had left, I was on my turn guarding the truck. I read in the shade of the vehicle, but my eyes were lifting constantly to squint up the path along the sea. I prayed I would catch sight of Sabri returning. Every so often, I scanned in all directions through our binoculars for intruders.
Our situation at the cave was entirely desperate. We were out of water. There was a single five-gallon can in the truck, but we could not touch it, for we needed it to fill the radiator ... if Sabri ever returned. Tomorrow Haj Ibrahim would have to come to a decision. We would have to abandon the cave and take our chances in Jericho. Our alternative was to cross the Allenby Bridge to Amman and become Jordanians.
As I scanned the horizon to the south for signs of life, I stopped on something that I had seen earlier. At the far reach of my binoculars, I thought I made out a minute green spot right at seaside. It was a mile or two south. Father had admonished us not to go south, for fear of running into Jewish troops or Bedouin. I concentrated on the green spot until my eyes blurred, then climbed to higher ground and looked again. There are cruel illusions in the desert, but I could swear the green line would not go away.
When the sun reached midday, Omar came to relieve me of my guard. ‘I am going along the sea to the south for a few miles,’ I told Omar.
‘Has the heat made you crazy?’
‘There is something down there.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out. If I have to go back to the cave and ask Father’s permission, I won’t be able to go there until tomorrow. Tomorrow will be too late if Sabri does not return and get this truck started.’
‘But you cannot disobey Father,’ Omar said.
‘If we have to walk to Jericho, some of us may not make it in the sun. Mother cannot make it. Fatima’s baby will surely die.’
Omar, who never complained of working in the bazaar or waiting on tables at the café, was not about to get into a complicity with me. ‘You can go,’ he said, ‘but it is your decision and your responsibility.’
I moved toward that green thing, remembering every surah of the Koran to beseech Allah. Every night now I had-been dreaming of waterfalls, rivers, rain. I dreamed I was standing naked in a downpour, slopping water into my mouth.
Right on the sea, two miles below the truck, the green strip became more and more visible. Then I heard it before I saw it! It was the sound of water!
I told myself not to rush. Be cautious, Ishmael. Beware, Ishmael. I looked around for Jews and Bedouin. It was totally still. I saw no movement. I prayed I was not being watched. Closer ... closer ... then I saw what I had heard! Almost at the sea’s edge, water was gushing from a rock and filling two large pools. The pools overflowed into the sea.
I crawled on hands and knees close to one of the pools, cringing as I went, for I was certain a shot would ring out and kill me at any instant. I sat alongside the pool for several moments to renew my courage. I could stand it no longer. I dared dip my hand in and