The Haj - Leon Uris [217]
As Ibrahim launched his one-man crusade, the Arab delegations united in a furious counterassault by questioning not only the man’s politics but his character as well. Was Ibrahim on the Zionist payroll? Did Ibrahim indulge in weird sexual practices? Was Ibrahim mentally sound?
It became colder and colder in Zurich’s autumn.
The rain pelted a slanting garret skylight. Ibrahim rose from his prayer rug on the floor, glowered down on the glistening empty street below, then stretched out on his back on the bed and grunted. A knock.
‘Yes, enter.’
Charles Maan came in and emptied the contents of a paper bag on the little square table. The usual pauper’s fare emerged of salami, bread, cheese, a few sweet cakes, some cheap wine. ‘Look, two oranges. Jaffa oranges, no less.’
‘Then we are rich,’ Ibrahim said, sitting up.
They peeled and ate. Ibrahim noticed that Charles was in one of his somber moods, for his face sagged more than usual.
‘Well, Charles?’
‘Is it so obvious?’ Maan asked.
‘You would make a very bad camel trader.’
‘Monsignor Grenelli returned from Rome last night.’
Ibrahim covered that swift gush of fear which swept through him. He fiddled with the cork on the wine bottle, told himself to gain control.
‘He brought good news?’ Ibrahim asked.
Charles Maan nodded. ‘I’ve been asked to come to the Vatican by invitation of the Pope.’
‘The Pope. Whew! That is impressive. And you know what the Pope wants?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, tell me, Charles.’
‘I am to make a plan for the removal, relocation, and rehabilitation of all Christian Arabs in the camps.’
‘But that is magnificent!’ Ibrahim said, quickly involving himself in removing the cork from the wine bottle. It popped. He poured and managed to cover up the trembling in his hand. ‘That will be good for me as well. I can hold this up before the International Arbitration Commission and demand the same from Egypt and Syria. You see, all they have done is vaguely promise to relocate our people. This will force them to agree before the International Arbitration Commission. Like a treaty.’
‘Come on, Ibrahim,’ Charles retorted. ‘You know any treaty will only last as long as it is convenient. No Arab nation truly considers itself bound by a treaty.’
‘But it is a weapon. It forces them into the open for the first time,’ Ibrahim replied.
Charles reached out and took Ibrahim’s hand and lowered his wineglass. ‘The Pope has attached a condition. He will not get involved if it means an open fight with the Arab world. Everything must be done under the table.’
‘That’s the fucking Vatican for you! Everything a secret!’
Charles offered him a cigarette, which he refused. ‘Isn’t it enough that they are humanitarian enough to get involved? You know damned well that no Pope can openly defy Islam. What do you want, Haj, another hundred years of warfare like the Crusades?’
‘Of course not. It makes perfect sense,’ Ibrahim said, calming down. ‘Are the Jews involved in this deal?’
‘They quietly agree to unfreeze some assets.’
‘Are they letting any Christians back into Israel?’
‘Not without recognition or a formal treaty.’
‘I see,’ Ibrahim said. ‘Which of the Arab countries have agreed to take the Christians?’
‘None,’ Charles Maan answered.
‘Then how can it work?’
‘We will look elsewhere around the world. That will be part of my job, to find a place to move them. America will always take some. I know that, in Central America, Honduras needs shopkeepers. Who knows? I don’t know. Thirty, forty thousand ... we will find them homes.’
‘You will begin your work when the conference is over?’
‘The conference is over, Haj. In truth, it never began. It was never anything more than an exercise, a game.’
‘When are you leaving, Charles?’
‘When you give your blessing.’
‘That is all you really ever came here for, to get the Christians out! So leave!’
‘Ibrahim, I want your blessing.’
‘Take my blessing and choke on it!’
‘Ibrahim, I want your blessing.’
The Haj slumped into the creaky little wooden chair and wrung his hands, then, tremblingly, sipped at the wineglass