The Haj - Leon Uris [64]
I knew it was dangerous and difficult for me to go to school and aspire to things like writing poetry and stories and learning foreign languages, for it made my brothers very jealous. I was the only child in Tabah who aspired. Because we had no organized schooling or recreation, the children hung around the adults, each child tagging along with the man or woman whose position they would eventually replace.
Kamal stayed fiercely at my father’s side because he wanted to become the muktar and head of the home and clan when Ibrahim died. Omar, who ran the stalls in the bazaar, would eventually become the store and café keeper and he could usually be found around my Uncle Farouk waiting on tables and selling behind the counter. Jamil who would be the principal farmer, stayed with a cousin who was foreman of our fields. As I slowly gained my father’s confidence, the danger from my brothers grew.
For the peasants of Tabah, the land, the village, the family, and the religion were one and the same. The village awakened to morning prayer, which was called for from the minaret by the muezzin. We had breakfast of pita bread, goat’s cheese, olives, figs, thyme, and coffee and everyone went to work, except my father.
Because we lived so close to each other it was inevitable that fights broke out all the time. Each of the five clans had its own sheik who was also a village elder. Fighting inside a family or clan could usually be contained by the sheik. It was when two clans disputed that a blood feud could form that could last for generations.
Haj Ibrahim was a powerful muktar. His dispensation of justice was swift and final. The best way to keep a man in his place was to have communal humiliation imposed upon him and his family. To an Arab, humiliation is the ultimate punishment.
The humiliation of Izzat’s family had been particularly harsh. His father, Tareq, was a member of our own Soukori clan. Between harvests most of the men had to find outside work. Many went to Gaza when the orange crop was being picked and they could stay in nearby Wahhabi tents. Others, with relatives in Jaffa, worked the docks during shipping seasons. Since the Jews now had many settlements, it was easy to find extra work in their fields during the harvests and still be close to home. However, Haj Ibrahim had forbidden anyone in Tabah to work for the Jews. When Tareq broke the ban my father forbade him to enter the café, cut off his credit, forbade him to enter the mosque, to join festivals, or to share equally in communal income. His poor wife was so berated by the women at the water well and the ovens that she would only go there when the others had left. The village boys were forbidden to play with Tareq’s three sons, although I did keep on being friends with Izzat.
After nearly three years of it, Tareq went berserk and ran off to Trans-Jordan, abandoning his family. Such a separation from kin in the Arab world is living death.
Men and women were locked into lifelong roles from which there was no chance of change or escape. My father explained that only through blind acceptance could one expect to get through this life without going mad. Many people went mad anyhow.
One only had to enter a house in Tabah or the café or the ovens to realize that no one got pleasure from their toil. Work was considered to be the worst curse in the world. My father did not have to work and had reached the highest station in Arab life. Work was a reason to survive, but there was no reason to improve one’s house or land, for few owned them; most were simply bound to them.
Although the women had a secret subculture, they were destined to go from birth to death with no permission to have pleasure. They were always separated from the men on social occasions. They could not sing or dance at weddings, except off by themselves. They could not travel without a male member of the family accompanying them to oversee the family honor. Some male