The Haj - Leon Uris [81]
As the Arab rage crescendoed, the United Nations, having given the Jews their ‘pound of flesh,’ threw up their hands en masse and cried, ‘Neutral!’
The world’s military experts unanimously concluded that the Jews would be overrun. In the end they would probably be squeezed into an enclave around Tel Aviv. At such time, when the remaining Jews had their backs to the sea and annihilation before them, perhaps the United Nations could step in with some kind of humane gesture to evacuate what was left of the Jews.
It was the day of Christian Christmas. You must know the commotion caused when Mr. Dandash’s black Mercedes fought through the potholes to the village square. The village boys engulfed the car as his chauffeur shooed them back. They all gave a respectful salute as Mr. Dandash emerged.
I recognized him instantly as one of the Effendi Kabir’s aides. I stepped forward and announced to him that I was the son of the muktar because I knew he would want to see my father. I led him to the prophet’s tomb, where my father was contemplating away another day.
Haj Ibrahim looked up. His eyes wore dark circles, large circles telling of nights with little sleep. He arose and embraced Dandash in the familiar Arab manner. They did not like each other; their embrace was too sincere.
‘I have come from Damascus with a message from the Effendi,’ Dandash said.
‘Yes?’
‘The Effendi requests your urgent presence in Damascus. He has sent a car for you.’
My father gave Dandash a fishy-eyed look, clearly one of suspicion. I could almost feel my father thinking ... I will not go to Damascus to be assassinated.
‘I have no papers to cross the border,’ he said.
‘It has all been arranged,’ Dandash answered. ‘And be assured that the Effendi guarantees your safety under the tradition of protection to a guest.’
‘The Effendi also guaranteed us our water, which he sold to the Jews.’
‘I suggest that you had better be reasonable.’
My father did not know the details, but it was rumored that Kabir had liquidated most of his holdings in Palestine and had transferred millions to Switzerland for safekeeping. It would be no trick for him to sell off the land of Tabah and the other villages nearby. He had no choice but to answer the summons. ‘I am honored,’ he said. ‘When shall we leave?’
3
HAJ IBRAHIM HAD NEVER seen an automobile as imposing and luxurious. When the driver cleaned it off from the trip it shined so that one could see one’s face as if in a mirror. The inside smelled of fine leather and it drove with enormous power. Nonetheless, Haj Ibrahim was quite uncomfortable. The Effendi had never done anything so grand as to send an automobile all the way down from Damascus. What was he up to?
Obviously it had something to do with the partition plan. Political and military alliances were being made between old enemies, and Kabir was a cat who always landed on his feet. Even though Kabir had transferred much of his wealth out of Palestine, he would certainly keep a foot in the door.
Haj Ibrahim would find out soon enough. For the moment he was made more uncomfortable by the driver as the car pushed its way up the winding, crooked Bab el Wad, throwing them rudely from side to side on the turns that came up every few seconds. Truck traffic spewed smoke and coughed along at a snail’s pace. The Mercedes would roar up behind a truck and the driver would tattoo his horn impatiently, then make a hair-raising pass into the lane of oncoming traffic. Dandash seemed relaxed, even bored, as he fiddled with the radio, which alternated between hotly delivered news and high-pitched oriental music.
Haj Ibrahim did not go to Jerusalem often. He studied the high banks on either side of the road filled with likely places for snipers and ambush. It had been thus for three thousand years of wars. The road would be more important than ever in anyone’s military plans.
Where the Bab el Wad flattened out briefly at its summit, the British