The Haj - Leon Uris [240]
‘I am afraid so,’ my father whispered.
‘So, I leave you a legacy. Four cases of Schimmelpennincks. That should hold you for a while.’
We walked home from UNRWA headquarters filled with pain. At that very moment I saw the Haj begin to grow old. He stopped and looked around. A few stakes in a rocky field denoted the outlines of the great experimental farm that never yielded a crop. A few decaying concrete foundations with poking fingers of steel rods were what was left of factories that never produced a single bolt of cloth.
‘Why, Father?’
‘It required teamwork. Teamwork requires trust. There is no trust among us. We pride ourselves on our potency. In truth, we are impotent.’
‘There are impounded building materials,’ Father said bitterly. ‘We shall take them and build a decent home closer to the highway. One that befits an UNRWA bureaucrat.’
6
1954
MY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY WAS entirely memorable, for what young man can ever forget his passage into manhood!
Widow ladies without the protection of an extended family or clan were quite vulnerable to sexual annoyance or assault. But not those under the protection of Haj Ibrahim. We had several in our section of camp and they were entirely safe from harm. Only one man dared challenge my father, and he lost his tongue for his efforts.
Hilwa was an older woman, perhaps as old as twenty-six. Her husband had been dead for over a year. He was killed when a bus to Jerusalem he was riding on overturned, and she was left with four young children. Hilwa was one of those who had become separated from her people during the war and settled in the Tabah section of Aqbat Jabar. When her husband died, she appealed to the Haj for protection, which he readily afforded. As I have stated, my father’s word was law in our part of the camp, and Hilwa was never in further danger.
As part of my neighborliness I would look in on Hilwa to see if she and her children were getting enough rations, and I personally saw to it they got proper medical attention when they were ill. We became good friends.
In our world, where almost everything about sex is dangerous, forbidden, and secret, most young men have their first worldly experience with a widow or a divorced woman. What I did not realize was that the widows were just as eager to have sex as the men. This mutual need came as a revelation!
All the time I believed I was seducing Hilwa, she was seducing me. When she told me she had a special present for my eighteenth birthday, I thought surely it was a little gift, perhaps a cap or something she had embroidered.
The first taste of pomegranate was not what I had dreamed it would be. Although Hilwa had four children she was naïve, almost innocent, about making love. She was filled with the usual fears and taboos from childhood. These fears got into the bed with us. Between guilty weeping and strange outbursts of giggling, it was a disjointed and embarrassing experience.
Fortunately, our relationship overcame that first night. Hilwa would discreetly nod to me in passing when it was a safe time for her. The visits became frequent and things got extremely pleasant.
I felt deep down that something was wrong with the way we were going at it. The spirits told me we should not be in such a hurry. We needed discipline, like fasting during Ramadan. When I discussed the matter, Hilwa would blush and look away. We tried. We were rewarded.
Then Allah bestowed upon me the greatest of all honors. One night she confessed that I was a much better lover than her late husband. She complimented me many times about my gentleness and she became less afraid to talk things over and to explore hidden places.
It became very comfortable, too comfortable.
We lived in packed quarters, so my comings and goings began to be noticed. Several times I could not