The Haj - Leon Uris [154]
Three of our four women became virtual prisoners of the cave. The rope ladder up to the entrance was tricky to negotiate. My mother had to be hauled up and down by pulleys and once the rope broke and she fell from ten feet up. Fortunately, she landed on her well-padded rump. After Fatima and Ramiza became pregnant, they never left the cave. They didn’t mind it, for Arab women, even in normal times, seldom left the perimeter of their houses and then only to go to the village water well and communal bakery. Beyond the village they could travel only in the company of a male member of the family. It was sunna, our tradition.
My brothers were concerned by Ramiza’s pregnancy, fearing that a male child might disrupt the family dynasty. I was not too bothered. We were living in a cave far from all humanity and what could a new half brother possibly take from us?
I was more concerned about Sabri. I loved Sabri personally. He was extremely clever and gave all kinds of excellent ideas, although I was glad he was not a real brother and I wished he weren’t quite so smart.
There was so much spare time that Omar and Jamil often sought me out on my ledge and I taught them to read and write. Haj Ibrahim scoffed at the idea at first but, having no true reason to object, allowed their lessons to go on. That is when I got to know them better.
Omar was nearing twenty. He had been trained to be a merchant in our stall and to work in the café and store. He seemed most content to be a servant. By running errands, standing extra watches, and making extra trips to the springs, he won praise from all of us and occasional attention from Father. It seemed to be reward enough for him. He was simple, learned slowly, and was destined to be plain all his life. He offered no threat to me in the family scheme of things.
Tamil, who was between Omar and me in age, was another story. He had always been the dark member of the family, an enigma. He was the least talkative, the least friendly, and the most alone. Jamil had been doomed by his age and position in the family to be the shepherd—and later a farmer—because when it became my time to be the shepherd, I had ducked it by going to school in Ramle. I think Jamil secretly resented me for this. We never fought, but he could be very surly and deep into himself.
He learned to read and write twice as fast as Omar. We did not realize he was so smart. In fact, he was the smartest next to me. He seethed inside and learning to read seemed to give him paths to vent his frustrations.
Jamil was the only restless one in the cave and these days he often lashed out in anger over nothing. I did not consider him a serious rival, although the more he learned, the more he argued.
I felt most sorry for Nada. Three women were in the cave fulltime and didn’t really need her. She was healthy and able to climb up and down the ladder easily, so I took her with me as often as I could when we set traps and worked on the cistern.
Her main job was going to the springs twice a week to wash our clothes—or what was left of them. I manipulated matters so that I was always the one to take her to the springs.
We named our donkey Absalom. I would ride him down the long draw in the canyon with Nada walking behind me, as was the custom. When we turned out of sight of our guard, I would invite her up on Absalom behind me. She had to put her arms about me for balance. I must admit I became excited to feel her breasts pressing against my back. Maybe I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t the first Arab boy whose prick got stiff by touching his sister, however innocently.
It was a foolhardy thing to admit to myself, for I could never tell her or show it, but