The Haj - Leon Uris [191]
If a man in the camp had a run-in with a Leopard, he could expect his hovel to be broken into and looted and his oldest son to be beaten up. Avenging Leopards were out in numbers down at the Allenby Bridge, where there was always a line of trucks awaiting inspection by Jordanian customs officials. If a driver dozed off or left his truck, the Leopards would quickly empty its contents.
They and the other gangs became a major factor in the raging black market. In order to do so, they worked out a tacit cooperation with the ineffectual and corrupt Jordanian-controlled camp police. With little curb on their activities, the Leopards prowled around Jericho and blackmailed merchants who had been fingered for them by the police. They routinely raided and robbed Red Crescent supply depots.
When things became outrageously bad, the Arab Legion would conduct a sweep and take a number of boys off to prison in Amman, but this always provoked a riot by protesting parents.
Things began to come to Jamil: a battery-operated radio, a wristwatch, new shoes, trinkets to give to the girls, hashish, and foods that were so sorely missing from our mushy diets. Father did not question him, but both of us became apprehensive about our arms cache. We feared Jamil might sell off our guns, or worse, give them to the Leopards.
As we accepted in silence the fact that Jamil had become a gangster and a thief, he grew more brazen. He had money in his pocket, gifts for his mother, tobacco for his father, food for the family table. He was quick to get around to thinking he was indispensable to the family, and perhaps he even harbored the notion he was the equal of Haj Ibrahim.
His boldness peaked when the Leopards broke into the house of a friend of Father’s in our Tabah section of the camp. I did not realize when I met Jamil coming up our street at mealtime that Ibrahim had ordered everyone out of our home.
‘Jamil, wait,’ I called, running up alongside him. ‘You had better take care. Father is very upset about the robbery at the home of Daoud al Hamdan.’
‘So, what about it?’
I had never heard words from sister, mother, or brothers that challenged Father’s authority. I wondered if Jamil had gone crazy. I grabbed his arm to stop him but he jerked himself free.
‘Father’s day is over,’ Jamil lashed out. ‘He and all the other old men here are finished. There is a new order.’
I blinked in disbelief, but then I suddenly realized that, at eighteen, Jamil was as tall as Father and very strongly built.
‘Jamil, you speak crazy.’
‘Oh, do I? Well, Father brought us to this filthy life. Why did he not stay and fight for our land? Who is going to regain it? Him? My friends and I are the ones destined to return our honor and it is time I was respected for it.’
I wanted to run to warn Father but only watched Jamil walk away. I followed him cautiously as he entered the house. Ibrahim was sitting in the one decent chair, fingering his worry beads, as Jamil entered. I observed from the doorway as Jamil committed the terrible sin of not kneeling and kissing Father’s hand.
‘Where is dinner!’ Jamil demanded.
Ibrahim rose from his seat slowly and came face-to-face with Jamil. His fist lashed out so fast I could barely see it. Jamil was smashed to the dirt floor and lay there with a shocked expression and blood bubbling out of his mouth.
‘Jamil, my son,’ Father said ever so softly, ‘you go outside and come back and show me that you have respect for your father.’
Jamil groped to all fours, then looked up fiercely. ‘You don’t own me anymore!’ Jamil screamed.
Ibrahim kicked him in the ribs, splattering him against the wall, busting up a half-dozen mud bricks.
‘Jamil, my son,’ Father repeated gently, ‘go outside and come in again and show me that you have respect for your father.’
Jamil inched up, grasping the wall, until he stood, slightly doubled over, holding his ribs with one hand and his bloody mouth with the other. He charged at Father, shouting on oath, and struck him in the face! It was the most terrible thing I had ever seen! I rushed into the house