The Haj - Leon Uris [204]
‘No thank you, whiskey would burn my insides out,’ he said in an automatic refusal, then reconsidered. ‘Perhaps a little, very little.’
‘The point in question is that nothing is going to stop King Abdullah’s march to a Greater Syria—nothing. Not harsh words from the Arab leaders, not the refugees, not the Jews. It is destiny, divine destiny. The point is, we both have use for the Jews, so let us see them.’
‘If the king is to fulfill his destiny,’ Ibrahim said, trying not to make a mockery, ‘does he think he will destroy the Jewish state?’
‘Incorporate it.’
‘Incorporate it?’
‘Yes, as a province of Greater Syria.’
‘Do the Jews know about this?’
‘They will learn in good time. Give them a decade of isolation along with the realization that as a loyal province under Abdullah their own future is secured.’
‘In the Prophet’s name, they will never agree to such a thing. Jews and Arabs as allies?’
‘Not as allies, as subjects. But what is so farfetched? In ancient times we in Jordan were Gibeonites and Gibeon was a province of Israel. King David’s court itself had Moabites, Hittites, and a castle guard of Philistines. Solomon had Celts and Rhinelanders!’
Farid Zyyad’s voice had suddenly risen and become shrill and his eyes rolled wildly. Haj Ibrahim stared at the man in disbelief. Then it became terribly clear. He, Colonel Farid Zyyad, who had been a Bedouin under the British, now saw himself as a general in command of the Jewish province! In that instant Ibrahim recognized all the insanity of Arab politics rolling from the tongue of one man.
‘I am to assume,’ Zyyad continued, ‘that since you left your cave you have made contact with Gideon Asch. Before you deny it, let me observe that you would not have spoken as you did in Bethlehem today if you didn’t have something in your pocket, some kind of understanding.’
‘I don’t confirm, I don’t deny.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Please go on, I am filled with fascination,’ Ibrahim said.
‘What is it that you refugees want? To return to your homes? So make your deal with the Jews in Zurich. Take a thousand, fifty thousand, two hundred thousand back with you. We don’t want the burden of these camps. The Jews will house you and feed you and educate you. That is their weakness. And when the time is ripe for the Greater Syria, we will have many more thousands of our brothers in place to force a peaceful takeover of Israel. However, whatever deal you make, you must make it quietly. The world is not to know. Break down your camps slowly and steal out of them silently.
‘In public, Jordan must continue to denounce everything,’ Zyyad continued. ‘We will denounce your delegation in Zurich, for we must keep up the show of Arab unity.’
‘What do you want in exchange?’ Ibrahim asked.
‘Stop your activities against King Abdullah, do not let Charles Maan go bleating to the foreign press, and above all, your deal with the Jews is to be secret. Now, isn’t that reasonable?’
‘I must think about it. I must talk it over with my friends. What about the boys you have under arrest?’
‘Are we still dazed by the perfume of candor?’ Zyyad asked.
‘Speak openly.’
‘If you make any noise in Zurich, some of those boys will not live long enough to grow moustaches.’
‘I wish to see my son,’ Ibrahim whispered.
‘Certainly, please use this office. I will have him brought to you.’
As Farid Zyyad stepped outside he had made the judgment: Haj Ibrahim was probably willing to take the loss of the boy Jamil. It was another son, the little Ishmael, he would move mountains to save. As soon as Haj Ibrahim left for Zurich, Ishmael would be taken into custody, as well ... for insurance.
Jamil seemed to have found some kind of greater glory in his arrest and in being singled out as a leader.
‘I am going to Zurich in a short time, Jamil,’ his father said. ‘The Jordanians will continue to hold you as a hostage. Bear in mind that they do not have British law as we had it in Palestine. The law is what the king wants, and they can charge you with anything they care to. You have no chance in a Jordanian military court: I urge you to