The Haj - Leon Uris [263]
‘There is no cause for panic down there,’ Dr. Mudhil said.
‘When they are frenzied like this, nothing can stop them,’ Father said.
Dr. Mudhil pulled back from the window and limped over to us. ‘Colonel Zyyad has two battalions of Legion at the bridge. He has orders to shoot to kill if anyone attempts to cross.’
‘In Allah’s name, what for? If you open fire, they will swarm over in a hundred places. What will you accomplish by killing two, three, four thousand terrified people with their wives and children?’
‘The more Palestinians there are in Jordan, the more our kingdom is in danger. We have had our fill, Haj Ibrahim. If it were up to me ...’
‘Shut up, Zyyad,’ Nuri Mudhil demanded. ‘We know what you would do. After all, what is one massacre more or less in our history.’ Dr. Mudhil grabbed my father’s robes. ‘Fortunately, the king has issued an order to allow us to try to make a peaceful attempt to stop them from crossing the bridge. You, Ibrahim, are the only man who can turn these people back.’
The smallness, creakiness, and dilapidation of the Allenby Bridge gave no hint of its tremendous importance.
‘Move your men out of sight, beyond the first bridge,’ Ibrahim said to Colonel Zyyad. ‘And bring me a loudspeaker.’
‘Remember, if they push past you and cross the bridge, we shall return and open fire.’
‘Yes, I know, Colonel Zyyad. You are hoping I will fail, aren’t you?’
Dawn.
I took my place alongside my father before the bridge. We were by ourselves, naked in the gunsights of a thousand rifles. The mass coming toward us from Jericho took form and shape like locusts sweeping in from the desert. At that moment my father had regained my heart. Alone and noble, he faced the frantic crowd. His great presence shocked everyone to halt, and in that flickering of a second he grabbed command of the situation.
‘Stop!’ he roared through the bullhorn.
‘Do not try, Haj Ibrahim! We are crossing!’
‘The Jews are attacking up the Dead Sea!’
‘They will be in Jericho within the hour!’
‘Their bombers are already on the way!’
‘Thousands have been slaughtered in East Jerusalem!’
‘Rashid!’ my father commanded of an aged sheik at their head. ‘Step forward!’
Rashid turned to the mob, held his hands up to quiet them, and walked alone toward Father and me.
‘It is no use, Ibrahim,’ Rashid said.
‘We have fled our homes once without making a stand and look how we have suffered for it! You cannot flee again!’
‘We will be murdered!’
‘Ibrahim, stand aside,’ Rashid warned.
The crowd pressed forward.
‘I have been to Mount Temptation!’ Ibrahim called out like a Moses. ‘I have spoken to Mohammed!’
The mob was shocked into stillness.
‘Mohammed came to me last night! He told me that Allah has placed a curse upon this bridge and this river! The first man who tries to cross will not reach the other side alive! Allah will strike him blind! Allah will open up his stomach and let the vultures feed on it before he reaches Jordan!’
‘Ibrahim lies!’ Rashid cried.
My father stepped aside and left a clear path over the bridge.
‘I invite Sheik Rashid to cross first!’ Father called through the loudspeaker. ‘If you reach the other side alive, may Allah strike me dead!’
The raging fire within them had been stopped as though by a miracle. Sheik Rashid chose not to step onto the bridge. He backed up.
‘Who will save us from the Jews?’
‘I, Haj Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi, give you the sacred word of Mohammed that you will not be harmed! Now return to your homes!’
‘Haj Ibrahim is great!’
‘Allah will save us!’
Little clumps of men and women splintered off and started to drift back toward Jericho ... and others ... and others. Then Rashid made his own way back.
After a time Father and I were alone again. He looked at me and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You are a brave young man, Ishmael,’ he said. ‘Come, take me home. I am tired.’
‘I love you, Father,’ I cried. ‘I love you.’
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