The Haj - Leon Uris [248]
I have to be alone. I did not even want to speak to Dr. Mudhil. I went up into Mount Temptation. May the prophet have mercy on me, but I believe I had begun to hate Haj Ibrahim. There would be no photograph of Nada to go alongside Jamil and Omar. Just an ignoble dismissal.
My head spun a million plots to escape. I would go to Amman, kidnap Nada, and escape with her. We would plunge into the desert and take refuge among the al Sirhan Bedouin. Oh, curse it. What would surely happen then? Nada would be taken in marriage to the old sheik.
Beirut. Money would be difficult to obtain for travel papers. I could steal it. That would take time and planning. If we could get to Lebanon, we could not go among our own people. Ibrahim would find out and come after us.
Cairo. It was impossible for a boy to travel with a woman that far. We could not enter Egypt anyhow.
How about fleeing to another refugee camp? The idea revolted me.
Damascus. With great courage we could walk to Damascus. But we would be illegal. Some from our camp had tried it and were thrown into prison and tortured. Nada would be raped.
Where is there to go! We are trapped! We are prisoners!
Baghdad ... oh, that’s really crazy.
Oh God! Oh God!
‘You have not spoken to me since Nada went to Amman,’ Father said.
‘I am sorry, Father.’
‘You think I was cruel to Nada.’
‘No, you were very kind and loving, Father.’
He slapped me hard, but I did not even feel it.
‘What do you want for your sister? A life in Aqbat Jabar?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, come now, Ishmael, you always have all the answers. What do you want for her? Why do you think they are letting girls into the fedayeen? For the noble revolution?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You have two sisters in Beirut. I made arrangements for their marriages to fine men. They are now together with their husbands and children and their families. I did well for them. What can I do here for Nada? She is my last daughter. What kind of life can I arrange for her in this place? Don’t you think I want to make a nice marriage for her?’
‘Let me take Nada to Beirut,’ I begged. ‘Omar has a job. I will find one. We will take care of Nada. We will see to it she is protected and we will find a suitable man.’
‘Without me! Let my last daughter go! You speak like a fedayeen. Go, break up a family! Let it die! They are luring these girls, making lovely little birds out of them so they will be their prostitutes. They are destroying our families.’
‘Yes Father, no Father, yes Father, no Father.’
‘Come back here!’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘You will learn in good time that I have done the only possible thing for Nada to keep our honor.’
‘Yes. Father.’
‘And you must get over this. You must remain with me always, Ishmael.’
‘Yes, Father.’
I could not even attempt to speak to Haj Ibrahim about letting Nada be free to find a man she loved and love him and take on life together, even in Aqbat Jabar. That was why she was driven into the fedayeen ... into the company of cutthroats.
He would never understand and I was not all that certain his motives were honest. Did he really fear that some boy might take Nada away? Was he really not secretly glad that he did not have to marry her off so long as he had the excuse of Aqbat Jabar? He had made up a lie to himself in order to hold on to Nada. I think he loved her in a secret way that was not entirely healthy.
8
GREETINGS, ISHMAEL!
It is your old comrade Sabri Salama who writes to you at last. I have been writing this letter in parts for many months but have been unable to send it until I found someone trustworthy to place it directly into your hands. As you will read, it contains many confidences and secrets.
Greetings to your beloved, noble, and compassionate father, Haj Ibrahim.
Greetings to your generous and loving brothers, Kamal and Omar.
On this glorious occasion I want your father to know I am not a thief. I have every intention of paying back the money I borrowed from the sale of your weapons. I cannot pay it right away, but the day is