“The Britishers have given us their word that Palestine will be entrusted to us. Meanwhile they bring us prosperity such as we have never had before. We must trust them.”
Izzat pointed to the grainy framed photograph on the wall, garlanded with fresh flowers. “How can you still trust them after what they did to your son?”
“What would you have us do, Izzat? If I do not trade with the Britishers, some other muktar will. Your uncle Daoud, for one. He is a revolutionary only when it does not affect his dealings on the black market.”
“We must do as the Mufti commands.”
“And return to the old ways? Will you tell Jamil Sinnawi to go back to his fields and sweat all day in the sun for a few bushels of rotted barley?”
“It is time to claim Palestine as our own! The Britishers are not invincible. Look how they turned white like women when they thought the Germans were coming!”
“If we have patience there will be no need to fight. I do not want other fathers to weep for their sons as I wept for mine.”
“If we do not act soon we will all weep!” Izzat shouted and he jumped to his feet and ran out of the coffee house. No one spoke. The music from the Plymouth’s radio overlaid the fidgeting silence.
Zayyad shook his head. Curse the Mufti, curse Sheikh Daoud, and curse Izzat Ib’n Mousa! May Allah strike him with lighting and blow off his balls!
Chapter 16
As Rishou made his way back from the coffee shop, he heard Rahman calling his name. Rahman was the younger of his two sons, the quiet one. The boy ran up to him and grabbed his hand.
“What is it?” Rishou said. “What’s wrong?”
“Quickly!”
What was wrong was Ali, his elder boy; Ali, the boisterous one, the one with the same cocksure self-assurance he had possessed as a child; Ali, the one who always had to prove he wasn’t afraid. He had picked a fight with Hamad, one of the boys from the village, three years older and a head taller. When Rishou arrived, Ali already had a bloodied nose. He was lying on his side in the dust, Hamad standing over him. Hamad’s friends were looking on, cheering.
When Ali saw Rishou, he jumped to his feet like he wasn’t hurt at all.
Hamad took a step back, uncertain of what Rishou would do. Ali took advantage and rushed in, his fists flying. A wild punch snapped Hamad’s head back. Hamad reacted instinctively, and his own fist hit Ali on the side of the head. Ali tottered and fell on his behind.
Khadija ran towards them from the side of the house. “Stop it!”
But Rishou grabbed her wrist and held her, shaking his head.
“But he’s hurt!”
“Be silent!” Rishou said.
Ali picked himself up.
Hamad put his hands at his sides. He glanced fearfully at Rishou. “All right, Ali. That’s enough. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Ali rushed him again and landed two more punches before Hamad could retaliate. Hamad was panicked into the punch, and he hit as hard as he could. Ali fell on his back.
Khadija gave a small cry. Hamad looked back at Rishou. He wanted this to end. If he really hurt Ali, Rishou might thrash him; but he could not just walk away without looking like a fool.
“That’s enough, all right, Ali? Friends.” He reached down, offered the younger boy his hand. Ali grabbed him and pulled him on to the ground, and for a brief moment, he was on top. He pummeled the older boy with his fists, twice, three times. But Hamad was too big. He threw him off with a shrug of his shoulders and as Ali fell sideways he hit him on the side of the jaw and Ali fell on his face.
Hamad leaped to his feet. There was blood oozing out of his mouth. He was genuinely frightened now. Why didn’t Rishou stop this? Ali was a little shit-eater, but he didn’t want to hurt him.
Khadija wanted to go to her son but Rishou’s grip on her wrist was unyielding. Ali rose to his knees, spat the dirt out of his mouth. There was blood all over his face.
Stay down, Rishou thought. But you won’t will you? You’ll get up again. That’s what I’d do.
Ali got up.
“The Englishman’s coming!” one of Hamad’s friends shouted. He had seen the dust from Talbot’s car. Immediately the other boys lost interest in the fight, and ran off. Hamad, relieved, followed them.
Ali looked at Rishou and at Khadija.
“Go and wash your face at the well,” Rishou said.
Ali stumbled away, Rahman went with him.
“You should have stopped it,” Khadija said.
“He has to learn to fight.”
“Hamad is bigger than he is.”
“We cannot always pick our enemies.”
“He is only a child.”
How she has changed! Rishou thought. I used to think of her as an empty bucket in which her father had tipped all his opinions. Now she has her own priorities: her sons. “One day he is going to be a true Hass’an,” Rishou said.
“No. One day he is going to take all your tears.”
The Rover Ten trundled up the dirt road. It was spring, and the hills were ablaze with flowers; wild irises, poppies and anemones, yellow, pink and scarlet pushed through the stones. It was furnace hot inside the car, and the Judean hills rippled in the heat haze. Soon the hamsiin would return.
“Tell me, Henry,” Elizabeth said, fanning herself furiously with a scented handkerchief, “what is involved in this delightful little function this afternoon?”
“It’s a circumcision ceremony. It’s a very important occasion for an Arab child. Like an English child’s confirmation, I suppose.”
“Without the foreskin.”
“Quite.”
The Rover bounced over a rut and Elizabeth gave a small cry and steadied herself with a hand on the dashboard. “Am I invited to the torture session, or do I wait outside and count the screams?”
“For God’s sake, Elizabeth!”
“Don’t worry, Henry. It’s a diplomatic occasion. I shan’t embarrass you by vomiting or anything.”
“We are only expected to attend the feast afterwards.”
“You mean we have to eat it?”
Talbot took a deep breath. She was being deliberately obtuse, of course. She would enjoy this, in her own perverse way. It would be a good story to relay to her gin-soaked friends at the bridge club.
This afternoon’s trip had been commended by the High Commissioner. It was now government policy to woo Arab sympathies where possible; recent broadcasts on Radio Jerusalem had featured items alleging that Hitler employed a Jewish physician and that the King of England drank Arab coffee. Rumors that the Nazis had been killing Jews in large numbers in death camps -Talbot believed such stories had been outrageously exaggerated in America - had been suppressed for fear of arousing Arab sympathies. British officials had even been reprimanded for publicly criticizing the Mufti, who was now living in Berlin.
They reached the crest of the hill and saw the flat-roofed huts of Rab’allah above them, surrounded by orchards of olive and fig trees. Below the trees, stony fields fell away to a dry wadi.
“Rab’allah,” Talbot said.
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, “how quaint.”
The smells were what one noticed first; the pungent odors of charred wood, smoke, dung, urine and sun-warmed, wind-cooled bodies. It was the raw smell of life, of birthing and begetting and dying. Nothing much had changed here since the time of Abraham.
As he looked around at the curious veiled eyes, the unshaven faces and brown, broken teeth Talbot appreciated the nature of the forces that were in conflict in this most ancient of lands. These people represented the ordered rhythm of life as it had been since the time of the Book; the Jews were the twentieth century. They brought irrigation, and shorts on women, and science.
“Oh, my God, the stench,” Elizabeth said. “I’m going to faint.”
They were pressed against the side of their car. Everyone wanted to touch them. The women, it seemed, were especially fascinated with Elizabeth’s dress. Another tried to pull o
ff her hat.
“For God’s sake, Henry, do something!”
“What do you suggest, Elizabeth?” Talbot said as a veiled harridan tried to grab her crocodile-skin handbag.
Talbot was relieved to see Majid shoving his way through the crowd, resplendent in a wide check suit and purple silk tie.
“Talbot effendi,” he shouted. “Lady Talbot! How wonderful you could come!” The crowd parted in deference to him.
Talbot shook his hand, gratefully. “Good afternoon, Majid, I hope we’re not too late.”
“Of course not, splendid!”
Elizabeth pointed to one of the riders who had escorted them from the road. He was a handsome man, with a rich, black beard, dark eyes and a cruel smile. He was leaning on the pommel of his saddle, watching them. “Who is that?” she asked Majid.
“That’s my brother, Rishou, You will meet him later.”
“I hope so,” Elizabeth said.
Talbot felt a stab of irritation. For a woman of such breeding, she sometimes displayed no discretion whatever.
“1 am sorry for all this crush,” Majid said. “I am afraid everyone is very curious about you.”
“It’s not their curiosity I mind,” Elizabeth said. “You can’t blame people for curiosity. Now hygiene - that’s another matter.”
Talbot glared at her. Majid pretended not to under-stand.
“This way,” he said, leading the way to Zayyad’s house. “My father wishes very much to meet you.”
Once they were inside, Rishou sought out Majid. “So that is the great Talbot effendi and his woman,” he said.
“Yes, splendid people!’ Majid cried. “Splendid! Had them both!”
Chapter 17
There were eleven of them in the room: Zayyad, Talbot, Majid, Zayyad’s wives - Soraya and Ramiza - Khadija, Mirham, the two boys, Rahman and Yusuf - they would be circumcised together - Naji Azzem the circumciser, and Rishou. It was a resonant moment in the boys’ lives; from this moment, they would be branded for ever as either a lion or a goat. Ali had been circumcised the previous year and had barely flinched. As the knife flashed in the dimly lit room he had shouted: “I am a Hass’an and I am accustomed to pain!” just as Rishou had taught him to do. Rishou had reason to feel proud of Ali. Rahman was another matter. He had no idea what he would do.
The boys lay on the floor, naked from the waist down, staring at the ceiling. Majid was explaining to Talbot, in English, that the man who would perform the operation was also the local barber and the lute player at weddings.
Khadija, meanwhile, was baiting Mirham. “Look at your Yusuf. He hasn’t got much of a birdie, has he? What is Naji going to cut off?”
“He is younger than your Rahman,” Mirham said. “It will grow.”
“I’ve found bigger lice on my donkey,” Khadija said and Rishou suppressed a smile. What a wicked little mouth. “Look at my Rahman,” she went on, remorseless. “Only six and he’s built like a horse. His birdie will be the envy of all the girls when he is grown up.”
But Khadija’s bravura did not last beyond the moment when Naji produced his razor. It was the same one he used for shaving the men. As he bent to his work she rushed outside.
Talbot, Rishou noticed, had gone pale.
As Naji worked, Rahman continued to stare at the ceiling. Rishou watched him intently, but could not detect a change in his expression. His jaw was clenched shut, his eyes unblinking. Ah, my Rahman, he thought. I am proud. You have not shamed me.
It was over.
Soraya, Rahman’s grandmother, bent to attend him. She smeared the wound with sheep fat to soothe the pain, and then she wrapped his penis in cloth and sesame seed oil as a dressing.
Now it was Yusuf’s turn.
At the first spurt of blood the little boy shrieked and tried to get away. Majid and Rishou had to pin his arms and legs so Naji could finish the operation. Naji was forced to work much more slowly and carefully, and Yusuf’s shrieks seemed to go on forever. Mirham ran outside sobbing.
When it was over Soraya bent to minister to him also. The boy was sobbing like an infant.
Rishou looked at Majid. He was white with humiliation.
Nobody noticed that Talbot had fainted.
Zayyad uttered a brief sura of thanks from the Koran and the feast began.
There was pita bread, chick peas mashed with sesame seeds and garlic, steamed grape leaves filled with nuts and currants, deep-fried balls of crushed wheat and chick peas, lambs’ livers, yogurt, tomatoes, onions, fish balls on skewers, squash, okra, and leeks.
Afterwards Zayyad clapped his hands and his daughters and granddaughters brought the main course: spit-roasted chickens; couscous; whole lambs’ heads; lamb testicles flavored with herbs, cinnamon and garlic; spring lamb chops on a bed of rice, spiced with saffron and dill and sour cherries; then bananas, melons and grapes for dessert.
They sat cross-legged, Arab style, on piled rugs on the floor. Elizabeth sat with her knees drawn to one side, as if she were riding a horse. She was the only woman present and Talbot was painfully aware that the other Arabs in the room were leering at her stockinged legs. Even Majid, damn him. Elizabeth, being Elizabeth, was enjoying herself. She did not even seem to mind that her white dress was getting ruined on the carpets.
She leaned towards him. “Did you enjoy watching them mutilate their children?” she whispered.
“Try and make an effort, Elizabeth.”
“I thought I was being perfectly charming. How much more friendly can I be? Would you like me to sleep with the chief over there?” She nodded in Zayyad’s direction.
“No. But don’t let me stop you.”
“Very droll, Henry.”
Zayyad knew they were talking about him. He smiled, and with his index finger he pulled an eye from the cooked sheep’s head. It made a sucking noise as it came out. He offered it to Talbot.
“I think he prefers testicles,” Elizabeth said.
Talbot took the proffered delicacy.
“Close your eyes and think of England,” Elizabeth said, by way of encouragement.
Talbot swallowed. For king and country, he thought.
Christ Almighty!
When the meal was finished, Zayyad’s daughters fought with each other for the honor of washing Zayyad’s fingers. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and looked at her husband. “I imagine you find a lot to admire here,” she said.
The girls returned to the kitchen to fetch the coffee, double boiled and laced with cardamom.
Zayyad leaned back, patted his belly, and belched.
“If he breaks wind I simply must ask you to take me home,” Elizabeth said.
Zayyad produced a small jeweled box and, to Talbot’s amazement, took out a stick of hashish. Majid passed him his water pipe - the narghiliye - and Zayyad crumbled some into the bowl. He lit it and offered it to Talbot.
Talbot turned to Majid. “Please tell your father thank you, but I don’t smoke.”
Zayyad considered this a moment. “Go and get the whisky,” he said to Majid in Arabic. It was hidden in a special cache behind the barn along with the firearms.
After Majid had gone Elizabeth turned to her husband. “How much longer do we have to be pleasant to these beastly people?”
“We shall take our leave shortly. Are the men bothering you?”
“With the exception of Majid’s brother, they all strike me as troglodytes.' She took out her compact mirror and lipstick. A deathly silence fell in the room. Elizabeth looked up, innocently, and smiled at Rishou. “I really think this is taking diplomacy a little far, Henry. I’ll have to lie in the bath and soak for a week when we get home. Where will they send us next? Borneo?”
“Please shut up, Elizabeth.”
“You probably feel at home. Isn’t buggery an Arab word?”
Talbot sipped his coffee and smiled at Zayyad, who mimed that he should eat more baklava. Talbot wished Majid would hurry back.
“These people live like niggers, Henry. Why the
British government thinks it has to fawn to them is beyond my understanding.”
“Many things are beyond your understanding, Elizabeth, but we don’t have time to go through them now.”
“Well, don’t forget I haven’t let you down, Henry. I would not have denied you your diplomatic coup. I went to a good school, remember. I can squat in the dirt with the best of th - ”
Majid appeared with the whisky bottle.
Talbot held up his hand. “No thanks, Majid, I don’t think I will.”
“I’ll have one,” Elizabeth said.
Zayyad stood with Rishou and watched Talbot drive back down the dirt road towards Jerusalem. He was angry. So this is the great Talbot effendi, of whom I have heard so much! These were their great friends from King George! May a leprous camel fart in his face! May Allah turn the woman’s womb into a palm tree and may she give birth to hairy coconuts!
He had offered this Britisher and his wife his best hospitality and they had treated him like he was a savage. These Britishers had no respect. It was why he had asked Rishou not to reveal to them that he spoke English as well as his brother.
“What did they say when Majid went to fetch the whisky?”
“The woman talked about us as if we were, you know, people of the left hand.”
“Never in my life have I witnessed such rudeness. She flaunted her legs at us as if we were eunuchs! And the Britisher effendi allowed it!”
“It seems they are pleasant to us only because their king in London wishes it. The woman complained endlessly about the offence we gave to her nose.” He turned to Rishou. “What happens when the war finishes and they do not have to be good to us anymore?”
PART SIX
POLAND, 1943
Chapter 18
Oswiecim
The sun rose cold and white from a horizon of grey mud. Today it seemed a little warmer than it had the day before. There was no east wind to penetrate their jackets on the Appelplatz.
Freedom (Jerusalem) Page 13
