The Haj - Leon Uris [178]
‘Do I hear you correctly, Professor Mudhil, when you infer that I could make much better business by going directly to a dealer?’
‘I would hate to see something of such importance end up on the black market or in the home of an unscrupulous private collector who robs an entire nation of its heritage.’
‘Are you truly telling me that no archaeologist pockets some of his finds?’
Mudhil laughed a wisdom. ‘It would be unheard of. Maybe that is why I am the only Arab archaeologist in Palestine. He would lose his standing in the academic world immediately. We do not want to lose this treasure trove. However, if the attempt to make a fortune is your object, I suggest you take your find to dealers in East Jerusalem. I will give you several names. Go play with them and may Allah protect you.’
Haj Ibrahim’s hand went up in a gesture to ‘halt.’ ‘Let me digest the wisdom of your words,’ he said. ‘Can you tell me what general area of compensation the buyers might have in mind?’
‘How many pieces do you have altogether?’
‘Nine more.’
‘Of the same quality?’
‘From what I have seen.’
Nuri Mudhil shrugged. ‘I am no expert on this, but I should think it would be worth several thousand dollars.’
Ibrahim’s heart pounding was well concealed beneath his robes. ‘But I am entitled to know who these buyers are, am I not? I would want to know that these go into the proper hands.’
‘Haj Ibrahim, one must come to a conclusion that your coming to me was not entirely an accident. The story of how you fled Nablus with half the Iraqi quartermaster’s supplies is a local coffeehouse legend. The reason you fled to Qumran is also the subject of much gossip. One would be given to believe you are not enormously enthralled with Abdullah and the Jordanians.’
‘Politics. What do I know of politics?’
‘Your modesty is far too great,’ the archaeologist answered. ‘Will you let me have the rest of the collection for examination or not?’
Ibrahim wiped a sudden burst of perspiration off his face. ‘You told me yourself that my protection was the fact that I was holding back the other nine pieces. Now you tell me to give them up. Who will guarantee me a fair price then? How do I know—and Allah forgive me for any doubts I might seem to have—but suppose everything is lost.’
‘Shall we get to the point?’ Nuri Mudhil said.
‘But of course. Directness is the greatest of virtues.’
‘Gideon Asch promises you a fair price.’
5
PROFESSOR DOCTOR NURI MUDHIL was the greatest Arab I had ever met—besides my father. Ibrahim had warned me to answer all his questions honestly. It was a frightening prospect.
I lifted the sack holding the nine other artifacts onto one of his long benches and untied it, then laid the pieces out side by side. Professor Doctor Mudhil limped up to the bench weighing heavily on his crutch and with a magnifying glass in his free hand. He labored onto a stool and bent over so his face was almost touching the objects.
‘In Allah’s name, this is remarkable,’ he repeated.
In addition to the twin-headed ibex standard that he had already seen, there were two simple standards and a third with an eagle on it. There were two ivory pieces, carved in an arc shape like a new moon. They had many holes cut or drilled out. Professor Doctor Mudhil reckoned offhand that they might be ceremonial scythes. The seventh object looked like a copper ‘horn of plenty’ with a big bend in its stem. He described the eighth artifact as a mace head. It was the final object that brought him to the brink of tears, a large thick ring which looked like a crown and was adorned with many bird heads around the top rim. As he studied and made notes and measurements, I looked about his workroom filled with wonderments. From the photographs and certificates, he had lectured in many places of the highest importance outside of Palestine. His ordinary dress and modest ways were disarming for a man so renowned. After Professor Doctor Mudhil finished his initial examination,