The Haj - Leon Uris [175]
‘All here shows a man gifted with great and unusual skills, upon whom great blessings have been bestowed, so everything is the same as anything.’
‘Your eye, I see, is keen and your tongue that of a man who has learned many surahs of the Koran by memory,’ the archaeologist went on.
‘The Koran, its most holy words, and its glorified message,’ Ibrahim said. ‘This blessed book has never failed to move me to tears and fear of the almighty Allah.’
‘Yes,’ Nuri Mudhil continued, ‘it is indeed a tremendous and mighty miracle for all righteous people living upon this planet.’
At that moment, the coffee vendor, never far away, entered with a tray bearing a coffee finjan, cups, and a plate of sticky sweets.
‘Your blessed name, sir?’
‘I am Ibrahim, temporarily dwelling among the miserable at Aqbat Jabar.’
‘How may I be of service to you?’
‘In my wanderings, since the exile, I have come upon a few items which may be of some interest.’
‘I am honored by your visit, Ibrahim,’ Nuri Mudhil said, ushering Ibrahim into his inner office, limping behind his desk, and bidding the guest to be seated. They sipped on their coffee and engaged in cigarettes. Ibrahim noticed that the packet was not a Palestinian brand and the tobacco was of excellent Syrian quality.
When all forms of greetings had exhausted them- selves, Ibrahim unwrapped the object and placed it before the archaeologist. Nuri Mudhil’s eyes narrowed and his face bore an expression of curiosity. He turned on a bright lamp on his desk and examined the piece with a magnifying glass and emitted a long ‘Hmmmmmm.’
‘It is necessary for me to make a few inquiries,’ Dr. Mudhil said.
‘Then you are interested?’
‘Yes, of course. Tell me, Ibrahim, did you buy this object or did you find it?’
Ibrahim weighed the question. It seemed innocent enough. ‘It was found,’ he answered.
‘I will not question you about the exact location of your find, but eventually the location and your history of finding it will relate directly to its worth.’
Aha, he is trapping me, Ibrahim thought. ‘It was discovered in this general area,’ Ibrahim said.
‘Was this all that was found?’
‘No, there were a number of pieces.’
‘A dozen?’
‘Mumkin, mumkin.’
Dr. Mudhil set the object and his magnifying glass down. ‘Shall we take off our robes of politeness and save ourselves weeks of needless conversation and wrangling?’
‘By all means,’ Ibrahim said. ‘Coming to the point is always first in my mind.’
‘You are Haj Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi, are you not?’
‘Your words have penetrated through many layers of caution. I am Haj Ibrahim. How did you know?’
‘Your exploits at Qumran did not go unnoticed in certain circles, just as your entrance into Jericho did not go unnoticed. Am I to deduce that this was found in the caves behind Qumran?’
Ibrahim did not answer.
‘Haj Ibrahim,’ Nuri Mudhil began with monumental patience in his voice, ‘you are a great man of many seasons, but in matters of antiquities you are a child. The dealers are notorious thieves. I will tell you straight off, without nonsense, you have something very unusual and perhaps quite valuable.’
Ibrahim’s defenses were shattered by the man’s candor. Could it be that he is not trying to cheat me?
‘I do not wish to boost myself higher than the king’s camel, but I have a reputation as an honest man. I did not acquire the respect I have earned by cheating the Bedouin. Indeed, my eminent friend, your own uncle, the great Sheik Walid Azziz, Allah bless his name, has often sat in the very chair you occupy.’
‘May God forgive me for questioning the word of a man of your stature, but does not Walid Azziz, may Allah guide his way, use a dealer in Beersheba for the tribe’s finds?’
‘A dealer, yes. There are dealers in Beersheba, in Gaza, in East Jerusalem. But I am the only qualified Arab professor of archaeology in all of Palestine. Walid Azziz sells to his dealer in Beersheba the ordinary discoveries in clay. He knows as well as the next man the value of a pot or an oil lamp. However! When Walid Azziz finds that rare