The Haj - Leon Uris [90]
It was obvious that both commanders were in Damascus scouring for arms and money. What then? Haj Ibrahim pondered. Abdul Kadar and Kaukji loathed one another. It was beyond comprehension that they could operate with a unified command. It was beyond doubt that each of them had made side deals with Abdullah, the Egyptians, and the Syrians. Who was in bed with whom? Where did the Effendi Kabir fit in?
Did the Arabs have a policy or just a series of secret deals? Did they really know what they were after with any clarity? Were they in agreement on any single question except the abstract mania of destroying Jews? With so many Arab armies and militias in Palestine, was it not logical that if the Jews were defeated it would only lead to an even bloodier mess of Arab fighting Arab? Haj Ibrahim had followed Arab conference after Arab conference and knew the only thing that ever came out of them was time-tested anarchy.
And what of the soldiers of the Army of the Jihad and the Army of Liberation? They were men like his own villagers in Tabah, coffeehouse fighters, impoverished men of little self-esteem with no real training and less stomach for the bitterness of bayonet combat.
Ibrahim did not know the entire strength of the Jews, but he had long respected their tremendous organizational capacities, their commanders, and their unity of purpose. Against the British the Haganah had had startling success. Against the Arabs they were undefeated. Tens of thousands of new Jewish veterans of the war filled their ranks. The stationary defense of the kibbutzim would be able to turn back anything Abdul Kadar or Kaukji could throw at them.
The Jews also had several battalions of young, hard Palmach men.
The Jews also had reality in their planning instead of fantasy and the support of the Yishuv in place of intertribal disarray.
In the end it would not be Kabir, Kaukji, or Abdul Kadar who paid the price but the fellahin of Tabah and the struggling peasants and townsfolk of Palestine.
‘Haj Ibrahim.’
He turned and looked into the ever-mournful face of Dandash. ‘The Effendi is ready for the meeting.’
6
‘BROTHER.’
‘Brother.’
‘Brother.’
‘Brother.’
The office of Fawzi Kabir held a conference table around the likes of which kings and foreign ministers would debate. Haj Ibrahim was determined that the setting would not intimidate him as he was placed opposite Abdul Kadar Heusseini and Generalissimo Kaukji, resplendent in a new field marshal’s uniform.
‘Before we begin,’ Kaukji said, ‘I want Haj Ibrahim to know that I never have nor ever will hold thoughts of personal vengeance against him or the people of Tabah for the time he outfoxed me. We are now all brothers facing a common enemy.’
The common enemy is ourselves. Ibrahim nodded and smiled to Kaukji.
‘What the generalissimo said goes for the Heusseinis as well,’ Abdul Kadar added. ‘My uncle, the Grand Mufti, bears no grudges. There can no longer be the luxury of petty feuds among us. The greater cause is too urgent.’
Again Ibrahim nodded.
Fawzi Kabir cleared his throat, balanced his fat little body on the edge of his high-backed leather chair, pursed his lips, and pushed his fingertips together. ‘Times have changed drastically since the Mufti’s revolt. Then, even I had a different viewpoint. When these two brothers came to me I was only too happy to join the new order of things. Today, there is but one