The Haj - Leon Uris [197]
Charles Maan’s nicotine-stained hand shot out to be taken in a deal. Sheik Taji grasped it, then Haj Ibrahim added his hand. All three put their free hands atop the other three and shook six hands in rhythm, and for the first time in months, they broke into laughter.
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HAJ IBRAHIM AND HIS co-conspirators went about their task of delegate selection as subtly as a desert mirage. No one was assigned a specific number of delegates. The object was to select only those who would swear to an oath that they would vote for the convention’s ‘resolution of the return.’
My father summoned Jamil and gave him a chance to redeem himself. The Avenging Leopards were assigned to see to it that no opposition was allowed to form after Father’s delegate list was announced. Jamil was thirsting for action and received the idea like a blood transfusion. Indeed, there were a number of vocal complaints, and each of the complainers got a ‘kiss’ from the Leopards in the form of a not too subtle warning: a dead animal, a cat, dog, rat, snake, nailed to the doorpost.
With nearly seven hundred presworn delegates in place, Charles Maan called a news conference in East Jerusalem, where the Western and Arab press had bureaus. He made a short announcement that a West Bank Refugee Convention, with seven hundred democratically selected delegates, would convene in two days in Bethlehem. Maan then declined to name the delegates publicly.
The Jordanians had been caught off guard. They were still reeling from the rioting that had greeted their parades. That, plus their failure to get world recognition of the annexation, had driven them into temporary timidity. When the press questioned Jordanian ministers in Amman, they had no choice but to declare they had no objection to a refugee meeting.
Despite every precaution, a number of Abdullah’s people had infiltrated the delegate lists.
Father gave Jamil the task of having the Leopards and their counterparts from other camps act as stewards inside the hall. Outside, they would ring Manger Square and provide security. The air had an ominous scent to it as we departed from Bethlehem.
As we approached the town, we could see Arab Legion soldiers just off a highway that twisted through precipitous terraced terrain. Delegates were arriving in every kind of broken-down conveyance available on the West Bank. We reached Manger Square to see it flooded with Avenging Leopards and other gangs. However, the rooftops were filled with Arab Legion and they were highly visible.
A meager encampment had been set up in Shepherds’ Field. The refugees came with their prayer rugs and some sort of tenting gear and carried their own bread and drink. It was truly a convocation of the destitute.
Bethlehem, like Jericho, had seen greater glory. Everything centered around the Church of the Nativity and the Grotto of Jesus’ birth. The square was bordered by shops that catered to the busloads of pilgrims: counters filled with olive-wood carvings of crucifixes, Christian symbols, and works of Bethlehem lace and embroidery. In the square a battalion of peddlers, beggars, and hustlers mixed with pilgrims and Avenging Leopards under the watchful eyes of the Arab Legion.
At the far side of the square stood a battered and defunct old movie house, the Eastern Star, which was the location of the convention. Father felt the theater should be safe from possible Jordanian attack because so many foreign reporters were present. Although the building was made of stone, its interior was highly flammable, and he was certain that the notion of burning us alive had passed through the minds of more than one Jordanian official. As they entered, all the delegates had to unroll their prayer rugs and the security gangs searched for bombs, incendiaries, submachine guns, and other lethal paraphernalia.
The theater filled as technicians struggled with the