Bell of the Desert

by Alan Gold

  During the evening, the king had taken off his tie and undone the buttons of his shirt, and come to sit next to her on the settee. Lawrence had removed his Arabic headdress and his multi-colored gown and was now sitting on the other side of her, dressed only in a silk shirt and linen slacks. It was a replica of the intimacy they’d experienced earlier in the evening, but this time, the alcohol and the relaxation had replaced their need to minister to Lawrence’s wounds.

  “I thought you didn’t like people touching you, or you touching people,” Gertrude said, removing his head from her shoulder and his hand from her bodice.

  “I’m drunk,” Lawrence grumbled. “I can’t feel a thing.”

  “Well, I’m the thing you’re currently feeling, dear boy, and it’s not altogether right and proper.”

  The king laughed. “Right and proper! How very English. Should I call my servant to escort you back to your chambers so that no word of scandal shall attach itself to you, Gertrude Bell? Let no man say the honor of the great woman Political Officer of Great Britain was diminished in my presence.”

  “Faisal, I am totally at ease in your company, and I know you’ll go to great lengths to respect my person. I may be silly, but I’m not drunk.”

  She frowned at something which didn’t sound quite right, thought about what she’d just said, and corrected herself. “I mean, I may be drunk, but I’m not silly.” She giggled, and the others giggled with her.

  “Ah,” said Lawrence, “but will I?”

  “Will you what?” she asked.

  “Will I respect your person, or will I take advantage of the barriers which have been broken by your inebriation, and will I carry you off to my bedroom and have my way with you?”

  “Thomas, you’re being a very naughty boy,” she scolded him.

  “But what if I have my way with you?” asked the king.

  She thought deeply, and responded. “That, sire, is an entirely different matter. Thomas is only Lawrence of Arabia, prancing around on a camel to impress the Americans, whereas you are a king, and I am your subject. And I will subject myself, willingly, to any command of my Majesty. If it is your desire, and you carry me away on your white charger to have your way with me, then like a true servant of the crown, I shall simply allow it to happen.”

  She listened to her words, and knew she should be mortified by what she’d just said. But she giggled again.

  “I’m cut to the quick, Gertie. I thought I was going to be the man in your life.”

  “Ah, Thomas, but there’s got to be life in the man, hasn’t there.”

  They all burst out laughing. In concern at the sudden explosion of noise, the king’s servant burst into the room, and when he saw the three people hysterical on the sofa, he closed the door quickly to resume his position.

  When they’d calmed down, the king said, “Thomas, you know very well that your interests lie more in my direction than in Gertrude’s.”

  “Gertrude is a wonderful, beautiful, brilliant woman, but right now, my friend, you’d leave her side and our company in a minute if an attractive boy walked into the room.”

  “Do you think so?” Lawrence asked. “I mean, I know there are whispers and rumours in the Officer’s Mess and in the corridors here in Paris about my sexual proclivities, but I don’t honestly fancy boys. Or girls. Or men. Or women. I don’t fancy anything much these days. I truly think I’ve become asexual. Hermaphrodite. Androgynous. The only thing I fancy these days is the good company of a wonderful brother in you, Faisal, and a wonderful friend in you, Gertie.”

  “What you need, dear boy,” she said, barely able to restrain her laughter, “is a midinette. One of these lovely young women who works in a shop during the day, and sells her body at night. Somebody to take you in hand, so to speak.” Her restraint disappeared, and she again burst into gales of laughter.

  “Miss Bell,” said Faisal sternly. “Are you trying to seduce my friend Lawrence into immoral ways?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “He needs some solid immorality to make him whole again. He needs a good man or a good woman to switch back on the flame which burns within all of us. His flame, unfortunately, has become little more than a dull ember.”

  “And yours?” asked the king.

  She didn’t respond for some time. Even though drunk, he had touched a raw nerve, something she didn’t necessarily want exposed.

  “I am a very passionate woman, Faisal,” she said, rubbing her finger around the lip of her glass and making it sing. “When I was young, many centuries ago, I was the belle of the ball. And I had lovers, Faisal . . . lovers whom you would envy for their manhood, their strength.”

  The two men looked at her in astonishment.

  She lifted her face to the ceiling, and suddenly shouted, “Why did I always fall in love with the wrong bloody men?”

  Her voice filled the room and slowly died away.

  “You’re in love with me, and I’m not wrong,” said Lawrence.

  “I’m in love with many things, Thomas . . . dogs, cats, children, books, you . . . but none can satisfy that most basic desire of a woman. And women are entitled to have desires, and to satisfy them.”

  “But what you have suggested for Lawrence is also available to any woman who has the means. Even to you, Gertrude,” said Faisal. “There are men in Paris who will take money to satisfy the needs of a woman . . . especially a passionate woman like you. It can be done with great confidentiality, and nobody will be the wiser. It can be done in your chambers . . . these hotels are very used to men and women coming and going and no questions are asked, no word of scandal passes anybody’s lips.”

  “Your Majesty!” she shouted. “How dare you implicate me in an unlady-like adventure?” She reached forward to the table to pour herself another glass of sherry, but her glass missed the table, and fell onto the carpeted floor. “I think I’ve had enough. I’m in danger of losing my reputation. I shall leave, and see you two reprobates in the morning.”

  “But,” said Faisal, “you promised to come to my room. You said you’d obey any commands the king made.”

  She smiled, and kissed him on the lips. “Unfortunately, dear, I was talking about King George.”

  She stood on teetering legs, steadied herself against the outstretched arm of King Faisal, and straightened her dress. Faisal and Lawrence also stood, and she threw her arms around the king.

  “A humble commoner kisses the newest and most wonderful king in all the world.” she said, and kissed him on the cheeks.

  She turned to Lawrence, “And a passionate woman, full of the lust of life, embraces a man of questionable morality without becoming compromised.” And she put her arms around him, though he was much shorter than she, reached down, and kissed him on the head.

  As she walked unsteadily out the door, Faisal said softly to Lawrence, “What a waste of womanhood. She should have made somebody a wonderful wife and produced many fine sturdy children.”

  “Ah, but then Britain would have missed out on the only person who can truly make a difference in the Middle East.”

  FOURTEEN

  Palestine, October 1919

  Her stay in Egypt had been hot and dusty and distressing, the antithesis of her time in Paris. Talk of rebellion against British rule was everywhere, and there were times when Gertrude felt in very real danger of her life just because she was English. The British had created another Raj for themselves in Egypt, with opulent golf courses, luxurious hotels, obscenely decadent spa baths and sporting clubs which the hunting, shooting, and fishing brigade in England would have envied. It was Surry under a blazing sun.

  But there was something unreal, unworldly, about the English community in Cairo. Despite a huge force of soldiers, there was an undiluted assumption of temporariness about the place. And the resentment towards the British occupation was palpable amongst all but the ruling class of Egyptians, who were becoming incredibly wealthy and ostentatious. Because Egypt was a British protectorate, the Egyptians had
been forced to donate men, munitions, supplies, food, and four million pounds to fight the Turks. Even though there was universal resentment towards the Turks because of the centuries of debased Ottoman rule, the British were seen as little more than a replacement, an alternative imperial master race, another transient moment in Egypt’s five thousand year history.

  When, at the end of the war, the Anglo-French Declaration of Arab liberation was announced, the local Egyptian leaders had marched into the office of the High Commissioner, and demanded the right to rule themselves. Their request had been transmitted to London, but the mandarins of Whitehall refused to countenance the suggestion.

  This had caused an outrage among the mullahs and clerics and reactionaries and revolutionary Caireens, and the sounds of rifle fire had become a perpetual backdrop in the streets of the capital city. English soldiers were being picked out by snipers, the deaths causing fury in London. Trains carrying British soldiers southeast from Cairo to defend the Suez waterway, and to different parts of the country, were ambushed and officers and men were pulled off by marauding tribes of Egyptians, beaten and clubbed to death, their bodies left by the tracks to rot in the sun.

  And it wasn’t just the military who were the target of the fury of the Egyptian people. Caireens who had actively co-operated and enriched themselves through the British presence were dragged from their houses at night, and their bodies were hanged from lampposts in the streets as a warning to any other merchant thinking of dealing with the imperialists.

  In retaliation, and to round up and punish the ringleaders, armed raids were undertaken by squads of troopers into the homes and houses of terrorists. Men were arrested on suspicion of associating with someone who might be a radical, or because they were in possession of a firearm, or because they had been reported by somebody for saying something anti-British . . . it was an altogether terrible situation, and Gertrude was pleased when her inspection of the Arabic mood in Egypt was finished and she was able to sail away on her journey to Haifa in Palestine. And the growing mood of nationalism in the area began to change her opinion of the presence of the British in Arabia. Gertrude had always believed the Arabs deserved self-rule, but that a long transition period in partnership would be necessary to bring them into the twentieth century. Then, she hoped, a leader would emerge to unite all of the Arab nations. Her idea for an orderly evolution had been for the Arabs to be in command, but for the British to be in control . . . that there should be a British High Commissioner and his staff enacting London’s decrees, but the visible organs of authority should be in Arab hands. In that way, the people would learn government firsthand, and all should be well in a decade or two.

  But Gertrude had seen of the mood of the Arabic delegations in Paris when Faisal had walked out and refused to acknowledge the final communiqué, now she had witnessed for herself the tenor of the nationalistic feeling on the streets in Egypt, and it was obvious the Arabs were in no mood to accept some over-lordship by the British or, God help them, the French.

  And if the situation was fraught in Egypt, how much worse would it be in Mesopotamia. The vast landmass of Egypt was a nation which was modern by Arabic standards and which had in place the necessary instrumentalities for self-government. But Mesopotamia had no such structure necessary to govern, and was far from being a land composed of one people, united in their aspirations. The landmass of Mesopotamia was composed of numerous conflicting tribes, the Sunni and Shi’ite branches of Islam, Jews, Christians, and Kurds, making government by an experienced power such as Britain difficult at the best of times, but making self-government virtually impossible. Who, after all, was the self? Who would demand majority say in such a government?

  She decided, with the permission of the prime minister and the foreign minister, to go on a fact-finding tour of the Arab world, so she could write a report and give advice to the British government. She had reported her conversations to A.T. Wilson, explaining she wouldn’t be returning immediately to Mesopotamia, and her trip and the subsequent report were to be welcomed as necessary intelligence by the government.

  Wilson had fumed when she told him. He at first refused her permission to go, but when she informed him she didn’t need his permission, and nor did he have the right to contradict a direct instruction from the prime minister, he had stormed out of the room. Gertrude knew when she returned to Baghdad she would have a great deal of fence-mending to do.

  Her mood of despondency at the situation in Cairo improved as her ship sailed through the night and arrived at the port of Haifa in the early hours of the morning. It was a breathtaking setting with the sun rising behind the large hill which overshadowed the port. As the gloom of night gave way to the brilliant crystal clarity of the morning, she saw the hillside was dotted with white houses and red roofs, their windows painted blue to mimic the sea because the Devil couldn’t swim and so, thinking there was water in the house, he wouldn’t fly in through the window. Half-way up the hill, she saw the recently constructed Shrine of the Bab, leader of the Baha’i faith. Immediately below that was the German colony, established at the time of the Crusades by the Templars. Dotted around the hillside of Haifa were synagogues, churches, and mosques. It was only by seeing Palestine from the distance of the sea that the melting pot of people, religions, cultures, and beliefs could be comprehended.

  Even from a mile out to sea she could hear the sounds of the dock, a dozen different languages, the noise of machinery and hoists lifting cargo, the monotonous grind of wheels on tracks, and the ever-present churning sound which the engines of ocean-going vessels made as they entered and left their berths.

  To her surprise, she was met on the dockside by a young man from the office of the commander of the British regimental forces, a young man called Captain Haldane. Tall, fair-haired with hazel colored eyes, he wore with obvious pride and self-importance the uniform and epaulettes of a captain of an artillery regiment. The lad couldn’t have been a day over twenty-two, and was obviously relishing the responsibility he’d been given in escorting a British person, who may or may not be important—his colonel hadn’t given any details. He saluted stiffly as Gertrude stepped off the gangplank, and introduced himself.

  As they walked out of the disembarkation lounge towards the waiting cars, Gertrude asked him, “Did you see action during the war, Mr. Haldane?”

  “Yes, ma’am. In Flanders. But not front-line action, I’m afraid. I was a junior staff officer, and was in Regimental HQ.”

  “Then you’re a very lucky man, Mr. Haldane,” said Gertrude. “Look, I can’t keep on calling you Mr. Haldane. What’s your Christian name?” she asked.

  “Timothy, ma’am,” he said as they stepped into his motor vehicle.

  “My name is Gertrude. If you’re going to be my escort and advisor in Palestine, I think it’s right and proper we should be on first name terms. So for heaven’s sake, Timothy, don’t call me ma’am. That’s reserved for the wives of kings, barons, or archbishops. I, thank goodness, am none of these.”

  The young man smiled wryly.

  “Are you here on holiday, Gertrude?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” she replied.

  Timothy ensured the second car, carrying her maid, also had all of her voluminous luggage safely stowed in its boot and on top of the roof. When everything was ready, he instructed the driver of the second car where to go in case they were separated, and then ordered his driver to take them to the Hotel Imperial on the Street of the Prophet. “It’s very high on the hill, which is a problem if you want to walk to the markets down here, but the views from up there are spectacular, and because it’s so high up you get a wonderful afternoon sea breeze which cools down the rooms and makes sleeping at night rather more comfortable. The hotel has beautiful rooms, and also has a swimming pool which you’ll enjoy.”

  “And how would a young man who should be sleeping in his barracks know about the comfort of a hotel room in the evening?” she asked.

  He flushed beetroot red.
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  “Oh come now, Timothy, there’s no need to feel embarrassed. Just don’t let the colonel catch you.” Then, as an after-thought, she added, “Unless, of course, you were dallying with the colonel’s wife?”

  He turned to her in shock, and she burst out laughing at the expression on his face. The relief of being out of Egypt was palpable.

  ~

  When she had bathed and refreshed herself and had some breakfast, she took the rickety cage lift to the ground floor, where Captain Haldane was waiting for her in the foyer. He complimented her on her clothes, and suggested they go for a drive along the seashore, as far as Acre.

  “There’s a marvellous castle there, loads of ruins. Do you know anything of the history of Palestine? It’s really interesting, especially down south in the capital, Jerusalem.”

  He obviously hadn’t been briefed by his Colonel on who she was, so Gertrude smiled in bemusement. “I know a little something about history,” she said softly.

  He held open the back door of the car and told the chauffeur to drive north. “You know, Palestine is an extraordinary place. You should really get around and visit the country. I’ve been to Jerusalem and quite a few other places. Very old, and extremely interesting.”

  “Yes,” she said, “I have been here before, you know.”

  “Really?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “I’m so sorry. My colonel just told me to ensure you didn’t get into trouble because of the rum times around here. He just said there’s an English woman arriving from Cairo, and that I was to look after her. I’m afraid that’s all I know about you, Miss Bell. What were you doing in Palestine?”

  “Oh, a bit of this, and a bit of that. Tell me, what’s happening in Palestine today? What’s the talk on the streets? Is it all about the British and the French, and how they’re going to divide up the countries?”

  “That,” he said, “and this new thing about the Jews. They’ve been coming to Palestine for twenty or so years, but since this war, they’re beginning to come to the country in droves. Ever since this Balfour thing, they’ve been emigrating from all over Eastern Europe, from Poland and southern Russia and the Baltic. You should see them when they arrive. Filthy men and women and their ragamuffin children. Barely a suitcase between them. And all they do is fall down on their knees when they set foot on dry land and kiss the ground. Honestly. You’d think they’d just arrived in Paradise. But the look of them! They’re really down and out. For the past six months, they’ve been arriving here with thick woollen coats and scarves in the sweltering heat and some of them don’t even have suitcases, they just carry bundles of things wrapped in wax paper or some foreign newspaper and tied up with string. When they’ve kissed the ground like some wog in a mosque, they stand on the wharves like children on their first day of school, just waiting for someone to come along and help them.”