Leon Uris (45 page)

Asking questions that men can only speculate

Some nights I count a hundred comets

Hurling themselves from infinity to infinity

It is now that I am eternal as they

I am the desert

I am the Bedouin

Do you still think I am a stupid little peasant boy?

Well, you will never see my cave or my ledge

But remember

The greatest of ancient men knew of my cave

And sat on my ledge

And watched the shower of stars

What treasures did the Essenes hide deeply in my cave?

What defeated Hebrew rebels fleeing Rome came upon it?

I sit on the very throne that King David sat

When he fled from Saul

I sit where Jesus sat

When he went into the wilderness

I know of things you will never know

And when I am remanded to paradise

Surely Allah will allow me to return to this cave and this ledge

Forever ...

We Arabs are an infinitely patient people. Add that to a natural lack of ambition and we had a combination of circumstances that made our living in a cave a rather pleasant experience. At least it was that way in the beginning. We had a stock of staples that would last for months and firewood, water, and small animals and birds to augment our diet.

There were certain routine chores of gathering wood, hunting, standing guard, and a daily trip to the springs. We built a series of descending dams of stones. When one would fill, it would overflow into a lower one and that into another lower one. The trapped water would eventually end up in a large cistern that was carved from solid rock and could hold water indefinitely.

For the most part, we were deliciously idle. We would all often retire to our individual ledges, perches, or private niches when the midday heat made work impossible and simply stare at the sea and the desert for hours.

I got to know my brothers better. Kamal would always harbor some hatred for me for having taken his natural place in the family order. But he was limited in both the resources and the courage to fight me. Kamal had gone as far as he could go with knowledge and was doomed to mediocrity. He was in his mid-twenties and without ambition, content to languish in the cave forever, if that be Allah’s will. He was also less than the master of his own family. Fatima secretly ruled the roost. I liked Fatima very much. She made us laugh and was as capable as Hagar in running the home.

Three of our four women became virtual prisoners of the cave. The rope ladder up to the entrance was tricky to negotiate. My mother had to be hauled up and down by pulleys and once the rope broke and she fell from ten feet up. Fortunately, she landed on her well-padded rump. After Fatima and Ramiza became pregnant, they never left the cave. They didn’t mind it, for Arab women, even in normal times, seldom left the perimeter of their houses and then only to go to the village water well and communal bakery. Beyond the village they could travel only in the company of a male member of the family. It was sunna, our tradition.

My brothers were concerned by Ramiza’s pregnancy, fearing that a male child might disrupt the family dynasty. I was not too bothered. We were living in a cave far from all humanity and what could a new half brother possibly take from us?

I was more concerned about Sabri. I loved Sabri personally. He was extremely clever and gave all kinds of excellent ideas, although I was glad he was not a real brother and I wished he weren’t quite so smart.

There was so much spare time that Omar and Jamil often sought me out on my ledge and I taught them to read and write. Haj Ibrahim scoffed at the idea at first but, having no true reason to object, allowed their lessons to go on. That is when I got to know them better.

Omar was nearing twenty. He had been trained to be a merchant in our stall and to work in the café and store. He seemed most content to be a servant. By running errands, standing extra watches, and making extra trips to the springs, he won praise from all of us and occasional attention from Father. It seemed to be reward enough for him. He was simple, learned slowly, and was destined to be plain all his life. He offered no threat to me in the family scheme of things.

Tamil, who was between Omar and me in age, was another story. He had always been the dark member of the family, an enigma. He was the least talkative, the least friendly, and the most alone. Jamil had been doomed by his age and position in the family to be the shepherd—and later a farmer—because when it became my time to be the shepherd, I had ducked it by going to school in Ramle. I think Jamil secretly resented me for this. We never fought, but he could be very surly and deep into himself.

He learned to read and write twice as fast as Omar. We did not realize he was so smart. In fact, he was the smartest next to me. He seethed inside and learning to read seemed to give him paths to vent his frustrations.

Jamil was the only restless one in the cave and these days he often lashed out in anger over nothing. I did not consider him a serious rival, although the more he learned, the more he argued.

I felt most sorry for Nada. Three women were in the cave fulltime and didn’t really need her. She was healthy and able to climb up and down the ladder easily, so I took her with me as often as I could when we set traps and worked on the cistern.

Her main job was going to the springs twice a week to wash our clothes—or what was left of them. I manipulated matters so that I was always the one to take her to the springs.

We named our donkey Absalom. I would ride him down the long draw in the canyon with Nada walking behind me, as was the custom. When we turned out of sight of our guard, I would invite her up on Absalom behind me. She had to put her arms about me for balance. I must admit I became excited to feel her breasts pressing against my back. Maybe I should have been ashamed, but I wasn’t the first Arab boy whose prick got stiff by touching his sister, however innocently.

It was a foolhardy thing to admit to myself, for I could never tell her or show it, but I loved Nada more than my brothers. When I came right down to it, I also loved Sabri better than Kamal, Omar, and Jamil. Sabri and I had much more in common. We spent a good part of our days together and slept in our own little room.

You can imagine my surprise when I realized that Sabri and Nada had started to give each other those looks and close passing brushes. There is that certain way an Arab girl gives a look that can only mean one thing.

At first I was surprisingly hurt at the notion that another boy could bring out that look in Nada. But why not? She was of an age when a woman can start being aroused and there was no one around but Sabri to arouse her. Still, it was painful. I wished she didn’t like Sabri, just as I wished Sabri weren’t so clever. Although I loved him, I didn’t completely trust Sabri’s intentions. He was an outsider and not truly bound to protect Nada’s honor. I believed that he might have done something with her—kissed her, rolled around, or even worse. Fortunately, we lived in very close quarters and when they were out of the cave we saw to it that they did not go off together. One of my brothers or I were always on the watch. The women giggled about it and whispered behind our backs and didn’t take it as seriously as we did.

Haj Ibrahim’s favorite place was our guard post, a deep crevice in the cliffside set inside a beautifully shaded alcove. From here we had a perfect view down the canyon’s only entrance, so that no one could enter or leave without passing directly under our machine gun.

Several times Jordanian patrols came within several hundred yards but did not enter the tricky labyrinth of canyons. It was the Bedouin we feared and it was night when we feared him most. We knew their unseen eyes were on us all the time. Once again Sabri had the answer. Each night we set some simple booby traps, using grenades. Anyone attempting to enter our sub-canyon would have to trip one of a dozen wires that set off the explosive.

The Bedouin waited until there was no moon and had a sandstorm for cover. We sensed a raid and prepared for it. When a wire was tripped and the grenade exploded, the blast reverberated through the hollow passageways of rock, sounding like a battery of artillery. We lay down a tremendous fusillade of fire and they quickly melted back into the crevices of the mountains. By dawn there was no trace of them.

Our next fear was that they would try to catch us coming out of the canyon on our way to the springs or to Jericho, so we traveled in pairs, with one of us always carrying an automatic weapon.

Haj Ibrahim felt it was only a matter of time until they would set siege to us, hide in the rocks around us, and try to pick us off one at a time. He prepared for this eventuality by moving a second guard post closer to the sea, so we could observe all movement from miles away during the day. The eyes of the Bedouin became our first break in paradise.

The second break was my recurring nightmare. I was unable to erase the scene of my mother and the other women being raped in Jaffa. I was grateful to Allah that Nada had been spared and that she had no knowledge of it. More nights than not, I awakened close to tears or rage and always in a heart-pounding sweat. The eyes of those Iraqis never left my mind. I would meet one of them again. I had to.

Aside from the terror of the scene, the most frightening part of it was keeping a lifelong secret from my father. This gave me an awesome power over the three women and forced them into an alliance with me. I believe they trusted me, but when one holds such a secret above another, there certainly must be some suspicions.

My father and I also shared a secret that Sabri had had a homosexual affair with an Iraqi officer.

There was no doubt Sabri and Nada had some secrets between them. We couldn’t watch them all the time, no matter how hard we tried. At times we would see her walking down a path alone and in ten minutes observe Sabri coming down the same path. Both of them gave themselves away through their telltale silence.

The women had secrets also. One could tell by how the level of conversation dropped when a man entered the cave.

And my brothers probably had secrets too, for they often spoke in little clumps, always speculating how they stood within the various alliances.

Everyone’s secrets formed a tender balance of unspoken blackmail.

If there was a problem that could only be solved by Father, it was usually up to me to approach him as the spokesman on everyone’s behalf. I would wait until I sensed Ibrahim was in a favorable mood and then slip alongside him at the machine gun post.

Sometimes we would sit for an hour before speaking, I always cautious not to break his meditation. By some gesture, he would recognize my presence.

‘I smell the Bedouin,’ Ibrahim said, as though speaking aloud to himself. ‘It is wise that we have two men out in the forward position at night, with one of them constantly on patrol.’

Our leisurely existence was being strained by such an arrangement. I waited for Father to ramble on.

‘I will continue to remain here day and night,’ Ibrahim said. ‘In case they pick off our forward post, I must protect the women.’

‘It is an excellent idea, Father.’

‘It is not an excellent idea. In truth we have no protection, save Allah’s will,’ he said.

It was a long time before I opened my mouth again. ‘I speak only after serious consideration.’

‘Consideration leads to thoughtful conclusion.’

‘We are very happy and content here,’ I said. ‘But after living here for several months, certain inconsistencies we did not foresee slowly become apparent.’

‘You speak words that hint of several possibilities,’ Ibrahim said.

‘I speak of defense,’ I said, but hastily added, ‘We could find another subject to discuss.’

‘Yes, we could discuss something else,’ my father said, ‘and continue on until nightfall, but after that we would have no choice but to return to the first subject.’

‘It is not up to me to observe the qualities of our men when we have you as our leader,’ I said.

‘But there may be several truths about the same situation,’ my father said, ‘depending on the circumstances.’

‘Our circumstances have created certain mathematical imbalances,’ I said.

‘What could they possibly be?’ my father said.

‘So far, we have had a comfortable situation in rotating the tasks of the men—standing guard, going to Jericho and the springs, and setting traps and gathering firewood and working on the cistern. It has worked ingeniously ... until now.’

‘You mention an imbalance?’

‘Two extra guards at night, patrolling close to the sea. Forgive me, Father. When I am speaking, I often forget myself and honesty overcomes me. Kamal is useless as a night guard down there. Omar is questionable. That leaves Sabri, Jamil, and me.’

‘You, the youngest, are making judgments on your brothers?’

‘I beg you not to be harsh on the honesty that overcame me. I know I am only repeating what you already know.’

‘Having stripped me of my prerogatives. ...’

‘Oh no, Father. We are naked without you. But sometimes even the Prophet needed a reminder.’

‘What you have observed offers various aspects I perhaps should be reminded of.’

‘Kamal will fare better at night in Fatima’s loving arms,’ I said. ‘I have seen him run in the face of danger.’

‘Where?’

‘In Jaffa. When he was left to defend the women, he fled. Fortunately, nothing happened to the women.’

‘I suspected Kamal. It is sad to hear.’

‘If he is down there by the sea at night, we might as well send Absalom or the goat. At least they will make a loud noise.’

‘And Omar?’

‘Omar’s failings are certainly not a lack of courage,’ I said quickly. ‘Just stupidity. He cannot maneuver in the dark alone. I have taken the guard with him twice down there and spent the night looking for him until dawn.’

‘Jamil, Sabri?’

‘They are excellent.’

‘I did not know you thought so much of Jamil.’