Leon Uris (37 page)

Two days later, Brother Henri came to us in a state. Kaukji’s men had been snooping around the church, asking questions about us. The monk quivered and said that the church could no longer grant us sanctuary. We had to move.

Haj Ibrahim reckoned that our last hope was Gideon Asch. He had saved the phone numbers Gideon had given him, but Brother Henri said that all telephone lines from Jaffa had been cut. My father and I concocted a desperate plan.

Late in the afternoon, I slipped out of St. Peter’s and made for the Manshiya, edging through the narrow streets toward the front lines. I felt safe, in that one more little kid running around wouldn’t get much notice. Moreover, there were boys in a youth militia, my age or only a few years older, who were in the fighting.

I had become an urban rat. It was no trick for me to work my way to find the best possible observation point. I had an instinct. Something in my gut told me that the flea market between the two cities might still be operating, despite the heavy gunfire from both sides. I was right.

From my rooftop, I could clearly see that the market was crowded and there were no soldiers in it. Everyone who was leaving was selling off anything they couldn’t carry. As though by magic, I was wandering around in a free-trade zone. I had a last piece of Ramiza’s jewelry as a bargaining piece and a note I had written in English.

I moved along the stalls, listening carefully and sizing up the merchants to see if there was anyone I felt like trusting to deliver my note. There wasn’t. Everyone would try to take advantage of me because I was so young. They would steal Ramiza’s bracelet and leave me cheated.

I inched around some of the Jewish merchants, but my Hebrew was faulty and most of them didn’t speak English. Those who did I didn’t trust. It would have been madness to approach an ordinary Jewish shopper. What to do?

At the far end of the market, there was a fence and an opening where people went back and forth. Jewish soldiers were on the far side of it, checking everyone’s papers as they left the market. That was it. My only chance.

It took me an awful long time to screw up my courage. Come on, Ishmael, I said to myself over and over, go through the fence. I edged up to it, commanding myself not to be frightened. Do not run for it, I said. I will be shot if I run. Find a big person crossing to the Jewish side or two or three of them and slip in behind.

There it is! My chance! Now!
Go.
I hopped onto the tailgate of a peddler’s donkey cart as though I belonged and I was on the Jewish side! The peddler did not notice. Inch by inch and foot by foot, we penetrated the other side and came up on their guard station.

Then a hand grabbed my arm and jerked me off the cart. A Jewish soldier looked down at me angrily. I thought my time to die had come.

‘You can’t come over here!’ he said to me in Hebrew.

‘Do you speak English?’ I asked.

He pushed me aside and waved for me to go back to the other side. I went right back up to him. ‘English!’ I cried. ‘English! English! English!’

By Allah’s grace, I had caught the attention of another soldier. ‘What do you want, boy?’ he said in English. I drew a breath, closed my eyes, thrust my hand in my pocket, and took out the note and handed it to him. He unfolded it curiously, read it haltingly, and scratched his head.

I am Ishmael. My father is Haj Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi. He is the Muktar of Tabah. He is very good friends with your great commander, Mr. Gideon Asch. We were told to call him at these phone numbers if we got into serious trouble. We are trapped. Will you telephone Mr. Gideon Asch for us? Thank you.

By now an officer had drifted over curiously. He read the note and all three of them studied me.

‘It could be a trick,’ one said.

‘What kind of trick? If Asch doesn’t know who these people are, he won’t come.’

‘Please!’ I cried. ‘Please! It is no trick! Kaukji is trying to kill my father.’

‘Wait here, boy,’ the officer said. He went into a small house that was being used as a command post. In a moment another officer came back with him. He seemed to be in charge. He read the note and scrutinized me, puzzled.

‘We were neighbors,’ I said. ‘Kibbutz Shemesh and Tabah. Neighbors.’

‘All right,’ the officer in charge said. ‘I will phone him tonight. You come back tomorrow.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I cannot leave without seeing Mr. Gideon Asch.’

‘Well, you can’t stay here. The market will close in an hour and there’ll be shooting around here.’

‘Please!’ I cried. I took the bracelet and offered it to him. The officer looked it over and handed it back to me.

‘Put that back in your pocket,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

The rest of it seemed to be a blur. We passed through the roadblock at the guard post with the officer holding my hand. In a moment we were driving in a battered car toward Tel Aviv. ‘I am from the Irgun,’ the officer said.

Now I am dead for sure
.

‘I will take you to the nearest Haganah command post.’

In a moment we had crossed into another poor neighborhood and stopped before a row of houses bustling with soldiers. I had felt naked and terrified, bat somehow the fear began to vanish. No one threatened me, questioned me, or touched me. I was looked upon with a glance of passing curiosity. The Irgun officer, in particular, seemed very sympathetic.

Inside one of the larger houses, I was taken to the door of a room guarded by a soldier. The Irgun officer spoke to the guard and he let us into the room. A Haganah officer behind a table seemed more important than anyone. He spoke to me in Arabic and, after I told him the story, he took me down the hall. I was let into a room that was empty except for a couple of chairs and was ordered to sit down.

For a long time, the Haganah officer asked me many questions about the names of my family and questions about Tabah and Shemesh Kibbutz. He asked me over and over why my family had not fled through Bat Yam. He was very suspicious and I realized this was because I was so little and was an Arab peasant and could speak three languages. Finally he asked me if I could give a secret message that only Gideon Asch would know. I thought about it a long time, for this was the final key to our survival.

‘Tell Mr. Gideon Asch that I went to fetch him the night Ramiza’s baby died.’

‘I don’t know how long this will take,’ the Haganah officer said. ‘You stay put. Don’t try to leave.’

In a few moments a soldier came with a bedroll and some food. I did not realize it, but I had not eaten much since we had left Tabah and I ate so fast I became sick. Many times soldiers came into the room and looked at me. They were all very kind and soon I was not as suspicious as I had been. Even though heavy shooting started up, I was very tired. I did not want to sleep or lower my guard, but it was difficult to keep my eyes open.

‘Ishmael.’

I opened my eyes. Mr. Gideon Asch knelt beside me. I had never done such a thing before in my life, but I threw my arms about him and wept. I tried to speak in all three languages at one time between my weeping and choking on words. He helped me get control of myself and I told him my story.

We went to the commander’s office and the two of them spoke at length, then spread a map on the table.

‘Can you read a map, Ishmael?’

‘I think so.’

‘All right. Here is St. Peter’s, the Great Mosque, the Turkish Clock Tower.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I understand.’

‘The post office, the wide boulevard, and Immanuel’s church.’

I nodded that I followed him.

‘Go another three hundred yards past the church along the Jaffa road to this position.’ He pointed to a place on the map. ‘Over the road there is a narrow alleyway. A truck will be parked there. Do you have a watch?’

‘No.’

He unstrapped his own and gave it to me. ‘Wait here on your side of the road until eight-thirty. I will bring a patrol over and fetch you. I will call out the word “Tabah” and you will answer by calling out “Shemesh Kibbutz.” ’

I repeated the instructions a half-dozen times.

‘Do you have any questions, Ishmael?’

‘Suppose there are Arab soldiers around?’

The Haganah commander broke in, speaking in Hebrew to Mr. Gideon Asch. I could pick up a few words here and there. He was apprehensive about giving out any further information. Mr. Gideon Asch told the officer that I could be trusted.

‘Our information is that so many Arab militia have deserted that the lines are full of holes. If they shoot, they will shoot at our patrol. We will lay down enough fire to drive them off.’

It took the rest of the day to gather my family and move them through the back ways to avoid the militias. When we crept to our position, my heart leaped with joy to see the truck over the road. The rest of it was easy.

The family huddled in the rear of the truck. I sat in front between Mr. Gideon Asch and my father. I was tired again and each time I dozed I saw the vision of my mother, stepmother, and sister-in-law being raped. This time I had the comfort of my father’s arm about me. Time and again he patted me and called me a brave soldier. I had won his honor. Between my dozings, I could hear him and Mr. Gideon Asch speak as the truck raced through Tel Aviv and continued north. I was so tired I could not even partake of the wonderment of the Jewish city.

‘You’ll cross near Tulkarm. A man named Said will be waiting.’

‘Once I get the family settled, I will walk through a thousand miles of molten lava to return to Farouk and get him.’

‘You can’t go back to Tabah,’ Mr. Gideon Asch said.

‘I do not care if it means my own death.’

‘Well, you have something to live for. Your dreams of revenge should keep you going for a long time, Haj Ibrahim. Tabah has little left. We moved Haganah in when you abandoned it. The same night the Jihad attacked and threw us out. When we returned, we had to blow up most of the houses. There is little left.’

‘My house?’

‘Farouk moved into it.’

The road came to an abrupt end at a roadblock that led into Arab territory. Mr. Gideon Asch took us to a small woods nearby and waited until dark. My father allowed me to go with him as he bid farewell to Mr. Gideon Asch. Money was pressed into my father’s hand. He wished to refuse but was unable; we were nearly penniless.

‘Too bad we didn’t have a chance to solve our problems,’ my father mumbled, as if in a trance.

‘I don’t know,’ Mr. Gideon Asch said. ‘You warned me a long time ago that things would have been different if your hand had been on the water valve instead of ours.’

‘That is true,’ my father said. ‘You would have died of thirst.’

Mr. Gideon Asch laughed.

‘Now that we go into different worlds, I want you to tell me who the informer was in Tabah.’

‘I had many. None better than your brother.’

‘He is not my brother,’ Haj Ibrahim said. ‘You are my brother.’

The dark was suddenly pierced by the blinking of a flashlight. Mr. Gideon Asch returned the signal and I gathered the family. After a brief introduction to Said, they moved out behind him.

‘Well,’ Mr. Gideon Asch said, ‘keep your ear to the ground. In addition to Said, I have many contacts everywhere on the Arab side. They’ll know how to reach me. Shalom.’

‘Shalom.’

My father and I walked quickly to catch up to the family. Already we could see the distant lights of Tulkarm. I stopped suddenly. ‘I forgot to give Mr. Gideon Asch his wristwatch back.’

‘No, Ishmael,’ my father said. ‘He wanted you to have it.’

A few days later, Jaffa fell to the Haganah and Irgun. Of the Arab population of seventy thousand, only three thousand remained when the final assault was made.

On May 14, 1948, David Ben-Gurion read the Declaration of Independence of the State of Israel. Within hours, the entire Arab world attacked.

END OF PART TWO

W
E WALKED BRISKLY TOWARD
Tulkarm. Mr. Said was made nervous by our presence. He apologized that he was merely an impoverished apprentice pharmacist who lived in a single room with his wife and five children in the home of his father. He gave us directions to the center of town, told my father not to contact him unless there was a dire emergency, and disappeared.

We reached the market town in a matter of minutes to find a flash flood of humanity had inundated it with thousands of homeless families.

‘We will find shelter in the mosque tonight,’ Ibrahim said, ‘and tomorrow we will see what there is to be seen.’

He had spoken too soon.

So great was the crush of people, we could not get within a hundred yards of the mosque. A black wave of mourning women lay on the ground, trying to enfold their children. The men walked about in circles. We were part of a nameless and faceless lost human herd.

Ibrahim stood rudderless in the midst of this sea of agony. ‘Let us get out of here,’ he ordered, but it was the first time I ever saw him visibly denuded of some kind of command of a situation—or of himself.

We drifted away until the crowd thinned out and then we poked about the streets on the outskirts, looking for a covered shed, an abandoned building, anything with walls and a roof.

Then came the shocking realization that the houses of Tulkarm were padlocked against us. Chickens, goats, and livestock had been removed from the yards and corralled away against theft. Bony dogs stood hostile guard with teeth bared and hackles up as we passed. Behind every dimmed window one could sense a man with a gun watching our moves.

Beyond the town, where the farms began, many people were sleeping in the ditches along the road as the farmers prowled their fields to protect their crops. After a half mile or so we came to a long stone wall encircling an olive grove. No one seemed to be on watch, so we climbed the wall and pressed against it, trying to disappear into it.

Ibrahim called out our names in the order we were to stand watch. He gave Omar his pistol and slumped down. At that instant, I caught his eye. They were glazed as though he had suddenly come face-to-face with a vision of hell. I stayed up and watched, for his behavior frightened me. He gave me a dull glimmer of recognition.