Leon Uris (36 page)

‘Will you listen now?’

She did not answer and I slapped her again. Slowly she shook her head that she heard me.

‘Do not move until darkness. Clean yourselves up. The shooting from Tel Aviv will start again after dark. The guards are smoking hashish. They will not be alert. When the firing starts, slip out one at a time and run for the market. After you gather, then go to the Clock Tower in the center of town.’

She clutched at me and looked up. Her eyes were red and her face was streaked with tears. ‘Oh, Ishmael!’

‘Did you understand me, Mother?’

‘Yes, but Ibrahim ...’

‘He will never know. Never. No one will ever know.’

She touched my face, her hands shaking. I gripped them and held them steady and begged her with my eyes to obey me. At last she said she would. I kissed her and wiped her cheeks. ‘Make yourself look nice now. I go to warn Father not to come back. All he will ever know is that the soldiers questioned you—nothing more.’

I ran. I heard firing behind me, but I didn’t know if they were shooting at me or not.

I found Nada and Kamal and told them only that the soldiers were holding the women hostage to set a trap for Father. I ordered them to stay and watch for Jamil and Omar in case they returned. We would all meet later by the Clock Tower. I made haste to save my father.

B
ASSAM
E
L
B
ASSAM ASSURED
Haj Ibrahim he had traded fairly with the Greek Cypriot, Harissiadis, for almost twenty years. His price for a charter to Beirut of four hundred pounds was eminently fair. Haj Ibrahim objected to the destination.

‘I have just come back from a run to Gaza,’ the Greek said. ‘I will not go back there for five thousand. The Egyptian Navy is in the waters. They shoot at anything. They all but sank a refugee boat three days ago. I have made five round trips to Gaza and enough is enough. It is too dangerous. I would not even consider taking you up to Beirut, but it happens to be on my way home to Cyprus.’

‘But we have no relatives in Beirut,’ Ibrahim said.

‘You have a safer coast and I am giving you a fair price for six hundred people. Yes or no?’

‘Harissiadis is giving you a break,’ Bassam reassured.

The bulge in his pocket was not what he had hoped. He had only one hundred and eighty pounds. Seven hundred had flown out the window with the visit to Barclay’s Bank and an equal amount had been lost when Farouk failed to show up. Ibrahim threw up his hands. ‘It’s madness. I don’t know why I left Tabah. Beirut. What is Beirut? How much time do I have to raise the money?’

One could see that the Greek was disappointed. He had been led to believe that Haj Ibrahim already had sufficient funds. ‘The truce here has been broken. The fighting increases. Who knows if there will be an assault on Jaffa? Do you know? Does Bassam know? No one knows. I will take a chance. Twenty-four hours.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Haj Ibrahim said. ‘I will pay half when my people board and half when they arrive in Beirut.’

The Greek shook his head no.

Ibrahim took the bankroll from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘That is every lira we have,’ he said.

‘How much is there?’

‘Just under two hundred.’

Harissiadis shrugged in sympathy. ‘Can I tell you the truth? It will cost me almost three hundred and fifty. To get a crew for such business, I’ve had to pay double and triple bonuses.’ He whipped out a pencil and scribbled furiously, bit his lip, and sighed. Three hundred and twenty-five and, believe me, I lose on the deal.’

Haj Ibrahim reached under his robes and took out two wrapped packages and laid them on the table, then unwrapped one, a five-kilo slab of hashish. Harissiadis crumpled a corner in his fingers, sniffed it, and put it to his lips. Twenty,’ he said.

‘You are stealing,’ Mr. Bassam said.

‘They give this stuff away in Lebanon. I sell it on the dock in Athens for maybe thirty.’

‘Twenty,’ Ibrahim agreed.

‘What else do you have?’ the Greek said. Ibrahim pointed to the second package. It was unwrapped and contained Ibrahim’s most magnificent possession, a bejeweled dagger some three centuries old.

‘I do not know if such a thing is junk or real.’

‘It is a treasure,’ Bassam said. ‘It is worth one or two hundred.’

Harissiadis looked the dagger over. ‘Twenty and I take a risk.’

‘I cannot let it go for that,’ Haj Ibrahim said. ‘Perhaps I keep it. I have a special use in mind for it.’

‘We are still over one hundred pounds short,’ the Greek said.

Ibrahim arose, opened the door to the warehouse, and nodded in the direction of his stallion. The Greek’s eyes widened at the sight of the animal.

‘I will buy the animal,’ Mr. Bassam said quickly. ‘I will give you one hundred fifty.’

‘One hundred fifty for el-Buraq?’ Ibrahim said in disbelief.

‘Another twenty-five. Times are terrible. Things are very bad,’ Bassam moaned.

‘Pay him,’ Haj Ibrahim said. Mr. Bassam el Bassam peeled the bills from a grapefruit-sized roll and gave Ibrahim the balance.

They shook hands on the deal and set a time.

‘One more thing,’ Harissiadis said. ‘No rifles, no handguns, no knives. My crew is honest. I am an honest man. And don’t hide weapons beneath your women’s skirts. Everyone will be strip-searched when we reach Beirut. The authorities there are taking anything and everything of value from the refugees. I can tell you for a fact that the Egyptians cleaned out everyone in Gaza.’

‘We are naked without our weapons,’ Ibrahim said.

‘If you take weapons and they are found—and they will be found—I will no longer be able to have Beirut as a port of call. I cannot live without Beirut,’ the Greek said. ‘One final thing. I can supply water, but you must bring your own food.’

‘We sold everything,’ Ibrahim said. ‘We have been eating from the Christian church.’ He turned to Bassam el Bassam. ‘I think that for the price you took my horse, as cousins, you can contribute a few hundred kilos of grain and fruit and milk for the babies.’

Haj Ibrahim’s eyes conveyed a message to Bassam that he might be the first to taste the jeweled dagger. ‘But of course,’ Bassam said. ‘I shall supply the food with pleasure.’

I arrived at the trading company a few minutes after the deal had been closed and gasped out that Kaukji’s soldiers had been looking for him, but said nothing of the rape I had witnessed. With good fortune, the family would all assemble at the Clock Tower later.

Bassam slapped his forehead and cursed. ‘It will not be possible for you to get on that boat.’

‘But ...’

The port will be watched. They’ll find you.’

‘Then we go by foot.’

‘All roads are closed, Ibrahim.’

‘We’re trapped,’ my father whispered.

‘Let the villagers keep the charter. The Iraqis will search them for hours before letting them board. That will keep them busy. You must go into hiding.’

‘I cannot be separated from my people!’

‘Can you tell me another choice?’

‘Father,’ I said. ‘We must do as Mr. Bassam says.’

Ibrahim was beaten and he knew it. He did not even have time for the luxury of bewailing his fate. Bassam took him to the basement of a fish market near the docks, where he would be safe for a few hours, then set out to find a permanent refuge. I would meet him later with instructions.

By Allah’s grace, the entire family made it to the Clock Tower. Many of the villagers were already milling about in the crowd. I gave them instructions about the time, place, and name of the boat and this was whispered from ear to ear. They then moved out, deftly avoiding the searching eyes of Kaukji’s soldiers.

I had checked out the Great Mosque across the street earlier. Many people from many villages had crushed into it, seeking refuge. As our villagers began to drift off, I ordered my family to go into the mosque, lose themselves in the crowd, and wait for me. The square was still crowded, but as it turned dark many of the soldiers drifted toward the Manshiya district and gunfire between the two cities started up.

It turned late. I was stricken with fear. Just as I was on the verge of quitting my post, I spotted Mr. Bassam. He walked past me and, after waiting for a moment, I followed. He ducked into a narrow alleyway and I went after him. He was in shadows. I could not see him.

‘Ishmael.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is your family safe?’

‘Yes, they are hiding in the mosque.’

‘Good. I have taken your father to St. Peter’s Church, past the lighthouse. Do you know where it is?’

‘I am sure.’

‘Find your family. Go to the back entrance. Brother Henri is a Christian Arab and a good friend. They have agreed to give you sanctuary.’

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘I am not sure. I believe my home and store are being watched. I may try to slip on the boat. I am not sure.’

With that he was gone.

Our entire family had two tiny monk’s cells, but from the windows we could see the port and the sea and up the coast to Tel Aviv. Late in the afternoon, we saw Mr. Harissiadis’s boat, the
Kleopatra,
chug into the harbor.

I slipped out of the church and worked my way down the hill to the lighthouse near where it was docked. Everyone from Tabah sat about, jammed close to the dock. There must have been a hundred of Kaukji’s men moving through them, shaking them down, roughing people up, searching for Haj Ibrahim. There were deliberate delays by port ‘authorities’ when they could not find my father. Mr. Harissiadis ranted that he must get under way.

Then the word came that all hell had broken out on the front between Tel Aviv and Jaffa. The Iraqis were called away and the villagers flooded aboard the ship, cramming every inch of deck space. There was no way I could risk having the family make a last-minute try to board, so we were stranded in Jaffa. At last the
Kleopatra
pulled away from dockside. I ran up the hill toward the church as the ship moved below me. It reached the end of the quay and headed into open sea.

I went back to St. Peter’s. From our window, the family could see tracer bullets streaking back and forth between the two lines. The fury of the fighting told us that this was not another night of sniper fire. A full-scale battle was under way.

We were able to make out the
Kleopatra
until it fell below the horizon with the sun. And then ... they were gone.

T
HE
I
RGUN, ACTING SOLELY
on its own, had launched an all-out attack on the Manshiya district of Jaffa. They had neither permission, cooperation, nor coordination from the Haganah, but sought a spectacular victory to gain equity. A conglomerate of Arab militias were well entrenched and beat back attack after attack. The Irgun fought hard, capturing some houses on the outskirts of the district, but again their lack of formal military training and leadership hindered them. They had neither the plan of execution nor the wherewithal to consolidate their gains and by dawn they had been driven back to Tel Aviv.

In order to stave off an ignoble defeat, the Irgun appealed to the Haganah for help. As battles heightened all over Palestine, the two Jewish forces engaged in more and more irritating little conflicts. A grand showdown about who had the authority in the Yishuv would not be long in coming.

After a quick meeting, the Haganah agreed to bail the Irgun out, provided the Irgun accepted the Haganah’s command of the Jaffa front. The Irgun agreed and attacked the Manshiya again with Haganah support, cutting it in half.

At the same time, the Haganah tightened the lines around Jaffa. Their objective was to remove all Arab resistance between Jaffa and Lydda, so they could have a clear shot at the airport without fear of Arab reinforcements.

Jewish plans to capture Jaffa sat like acid in the British stomach. Saving the Arab city had become something of an obsession with them. Although they had been pulling out of Palestine in droves, they sent out an emergency order to immediately return some units from Egypt and Cyprus.

After an appraisal of the situation, the British command reckoned that the Jews had Jaffa bagged and there was nothing, really, that they could do about it. Their mission then became to force an exit open to allow the Arabs to escape, if they wished. There was but one avenue left down the southern highway to safe Arab country around Gaza. The Jewish city of Bat Yam blocked the way.

The British struck Bat Yam with an authoritative artillery barrage and strafing from the air, then pushed in tank patrols to clear the road. It was like uncorking a highly charged bottle of fizz water. The Arabs gushed from Jaffa, plunging south in a tumultuous exodus. The Haganah allowed the Arabs free passage to the south, deftly avoided battle with the British, and continued reinforcing their encirclement of Jaffa on the other fronts.

From our monk’s cells at St. Peter’s Church, we were on high ground and could witness the gunfire and shell bursts throughout the nights. On the third day of battle, Brother Henri brought us the devastating news that Bassam el Bassam was gone. He did not know if Bassam had fled or had been murdered by the Irregulars for helping us.

Brother Henri told us the British were still holding the road open through Bat Yam and suggested we try to lose ourselves in the flood of refugees. My father rejected the offer, telling Brother Henri a small untruth. There were only two ways out of Jaffa—the single road to the south and by the port. My father pointed out that Kaukji had men posted in both places searching for him and were checking everyone with great scrutiny.

Secretly my father favored staying put in St. Peter’s.

He had confided in me that when the British finally withdrew, the Jews would capture the city. While he was afraid of Kaukji’s revenge, he had no fear whatsoever of a Jewish massacre.

What was really in the back of my father’s mind was the hope that the Jews would take Jaffa, which would allow him to return to Tabah and pay a visit to Uncle Farouk. It was what he lived for. If the regular Arab armies defeated the Jews later, what of it? He would have settled his score with Farouk.