The Haj - Leon Uris [27]
The Mufti tried and got nowhere in the Valley of Ayalon against the Jewish kibbutzim. Gideon Asch, the Haganah commander, had secretly armed and trained all males and females of fighting age. His area remained very quiet during the 1929 riots. A good part of the relative calm in Ayalon was due to the Muktar of Tabah, who ordered his people not to get involved in the Mufti’s ‘holy war.’
Although Shemesh and Tabah did not cooperate in or coordinate defensive matters, there was always ongoing business to discuss and most of the original coolness changed.
Haj Ibrahim personally did not set foot in the kibbutz proper. On those occasions when he visited Gideon he would enter the gate and ride through the fields to their rendezvous point by the stream. Likewise, Gideon visited him at the knoll but never at the muktar’s home.
The two men seemed to find their times together a welcome respite from their burdens of office. Haj Ibrahim was constantly disarmed by the coolness of the Jew, who he felt was half Bedouin anyhow. He respected Gideon. He respected the way he handled a horse and spoke Arabic. He respected a fairness in Gideon that he was not able to practice himself. What he liked most about talking with Gideon was a new aspect of his life: an ability to speak to another person about his own hidden thoughts. Haj Ibrahim was an inner man of a people long conditioned never to speak inner feelings. His situation was even more lonely, for a muktar must never let anyone know his thoughts. A structure of silence was the rule of life. Public utterances, even to a friend or relative, were always based on what was expected to be said. No one spoke of personal longings, secret ambitions, fears.
With Gideon it was different. It was not so much like speaking to a Jew. It was more like speaking to a flowing stream or the leaves of a tree fluttering in the wind or to an animal in the fields, an abstract way of letting the tongue go a bit wild and not guarding every word. It was delightful. He and Gideon could argue loudly and insult one another and realize they didn’t have to get angry with each other because of it. When Gideon was gone for long periods Ibrahim would send a messenger to Shemesh for an urgent meeting over an imagined complaint.
The afternoon drifted away at the stream. Haj Ibrahim took a swig of wine, placed the bottle back into the pool to cool, opened a tin, and unwrapped a small stick of hashish.
‘Just a little for me,’ Gideon said. ‘I have to argue with bureaucrats later.’
‘Why don’t the Jews enjoy hashish?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We offer to sell ... but ... no one buys it. You enjoy it. Do they know you enjoy it?’
‘Not really. At least they don’t want to believe it. They accept the fact I’m a creature of the desert. They tolerate my Bedouin side,’ Gideon said.
Gideon took a long draw on the little pipe, emitted an ‘ahhh,’ and lay back on the ground. ‘We should be proud. The valley stayed peaceful during the riots.’
‘Who had a choice?’ Ibrahim said. ‘Your hand controls the valve on our water.’
‘Suppose we didn’t have the water arrangement. Would you have encouraged your people to riot?’
‘During the summer heat my people become frazzled. They worry about the autumn harvest. They are drained. They are pent up. They must explode. Nothing directs their frustration like Islam. Hatred is holy in this part of the world. It is also eternal. If they become inflamed, I am but a muktar. I cannot stand against a tide. You see, Gideon, that is why you are fooling yourselves. You do not know how to deal with us. For years, decades, we may seem to be at peace with you, but always in the back of our minds we keep up the hope of vengeance. No dispute is ever really settled in our world. The Jews give us a special reason to continue warring.’
‘Do we deal with the Arabs by thinking like Arabs ourselves?’ Gideon mused.
‘That is the catch.