The Haj - Leon Uris [176]
Mudhil opened his desk drawer, took out and unwrapped four small clay scarabs, and set them before Ibrahim. ‘From the Ta’amira Bedouin. Magnificent, aren’t they? The same men tried to penetrate your fortress in the Qumran wadis and were almost killed by you for their efforts.’
Haj Ibrahim picked up one of the scarabs and examined it. ‘What would this fetch?’
‘A hundred, a hundred and fifty.’
‘So much? You are to be envied for the prominence of your clients,’ Ibrahim said.
The archaeologist wrapped three of the scarabs carefully. As Ibrahim handed him the last one, it crumpled to dust in his hands.
‘Pity ... pity,’ Mudhil said. ‘Do not worry. Such is the tender way of antiquities. Fortunately, the men who brought me these have seen objects blow to dust in their very hands. No one must weep.’
Ibrahim gaped, tried to apologize, but Mudhil shrugged it off. ‘Do you feel you have a buyer for this?’ Ibrahim said, pointing to his mysterious metal piece.
‘I have buyers, provided it is what it appears to be.’
‘And just what does it appear to be?’
‘We call it a standard. A decorative piece—probably a pole of wood was set into the hollow end. What is unusual is that it is not indigenous to this area. I do not recall that anything like this has ever been found in Palestine. This is generally likened to the area of Iran, maybe Iraq. In order to sell it, you must be willing to verify that it and the other objects you found were found around Qumran.’
Haj Ibrahim realized that he was indeed a child in a cutthroat game. He seemed to have little choice but to go along with the professor.
‘I must have this for a few weeks,’ Mudhil said.
‘But ... but why?’
‘To authenticate it.’
‘But you are a professor. Surely you know what it is.’
‘I know what it seems to be. Archaeology deals us more mysteries than the Koran. We must test it to determine its exact age and origin.’
‘How is that possible?’
‘What appears to be dead metal is, in fact, filled with all kinds of living organisms. They are road maps. We can tell its age within a few hundred years. If this is what it seems to be, it could be over six thousand years old. What puzzles me initially is, where did it come from? It is of copper, so we must determine the amount of arsenic and other properties. That will give us the clue of which mine the ore came from.’
Ibrahim blinked in wonderment. More important than its worth was that it surely seemed that Nuri Mudhil’s buyers were Jews. No Arab he had heard of would invest in antiquities. Ishmael had made a magnificent calculation.
‘If I give you this for a week, then I am naked,’ Ibrahim said.
‘You say you have a dozen more of these. It is an absolute guarantee that any buyer will surely want them all. Mohammed could not ask for greater protection.’
Ibrahim’s plan to outfox the archaeologist vanished. Plot and counterplot swirled through his mind. What if Mudhil told him the entire cache was forgeries and worthless? How could he know? Would it not be better to go directly to a dealer in East Jerusalem and take his chances? But wait! Mudhil had admitted it may be valuable.
‘You may have it for a week, of course. No problem,’ Ibrahim said.
‘You have made a prudent decision,’ Nuri Mudhil answered. He stood up, leaned on his crutch, and without the winding down of a long farewell, ushered Ibrahim to the door.
‘I must rush off to Jerusalem,’ Mudhil said. ‘This is very exciting.’
4
SEVERAL WEEKS PASSED WITH no word from Nuri Mudhil. My father, who could recite endless parables regarding patience, saw his own become shredded. His fear of a conspiracy grew. He began to expect a raid by the Jordanians, who would find and steal the nine other artifacts from our hovel. I was instructed to take them out of the house and hide them with our arms cache. When Father finally received a note asking to see the archaeologist, he went into Jericho filled