Leon Uris (76 page)

Nasser encouraged Syria to attempt to cut off Israel’s source of water at the Jordan River headwaters.

Nasser stopped all ships destined for Israel from using the Suez Canal.

Nasser closed the Strait of Tiran to all Israeli shipping to and from Eilat, thus denying Israel a route to the Orient. These closures of international waterways were, in themselves, acts of war.

The United States was committed to funding the building of a high dam on the Nile at Aswan. When Nasser arbitrarily seized the Suez Canal and nationalized it, Americans withdrew their support for the dam.

Russia had a centuries-old dream of a warm-water port and was eager to get a foothold in the Middle East. The Soviet Union rushed in to fill the vacuum created by America’s withdrawal from Egypt. Billions of rubles were pledged to complete the dam. Along with it came a massive influx of Russian weapons.

After seizure of the Suez Canal, Nasser refused to attend an international maritime conference to discuss the waterway’s future, thus putting the Western economies in peril and suddenly giving Russia a frightening position in the region.

Nasser had at his beck and call the armies of Syria, Yemen and Saudi Arabia and received assurances of full cooperation from Iraq and the balance of the Arab world.

During this period Egypt armed and trained the Palestinian fedayeen. Nasser was responsible for launching three thousand fedayeen raids into Israel on missions of murder and terror.

Flaunting international law and promising daily to exterminate the Jews, Nasser moved his legions, bulging with Soviet weaponry, through the demilitarized zones of the Sinai.

On October 29, Israel struck first.

I remember well the smell of war in the air and a tension so awesome it crackled like electricity. The sky seemed dark at noon. It was like our last days in Tabah and the battle for Jaffa all over again.

We were to learn later that Israel had gone into a secret alliance with the British and French, who were still enraged over the seizure of the Canal. The plan was a two-pronged strike. Israel would hit first, crossing the Sinai. Britain and France would then take the Canal.

The British and French lost their nerve under American and Russian pressure and quit in mid-battle. Israel had to go it alone.

On the first day Radio Cairo announced one smashing victory after another. Demonstrations proclaiming Nasser as the new Messiah erupted like wildfire among the West Bank refugees. With each new bulletin, a new madness was unleashed. People were going absolutely berserk with joy. We would be returning home within the week!

The first night was long and sleepless as we gleaned the airwaves for any kind of news. Everyone was exhausted but euphoric on that second morning. Then, a faint taste of ashes, a first bewilderment. Cairo began to modify its victory announcements. The French and British were bombing hospitals and schools. Those advances into Israel claimed on the first day were now being reported as ‘fierce’ battles in which Egypt was ‘defending’ positions it had previously reported as having captured.

The craziness around us screeched to a halt. Where was Syria ? Where was Jordan? Why had they not joined the battle?

By the end of the third day the truth could no longer be contained. Minute by minute, hour by hour, stories and rumors flooded in.

Israel had routed the Egyptian Army!

The Jews had swept over the Sinai and in less than ninety hours crushed Nasser’s legions and sat on the eastern bank of the Canal.

Nasser screamed foul!

On the fourth night of the war all illusions were shattered. I had returned to the dig at Mount Nebo and was awakened by a radio call from Dr. Mudhil.

‘Ishmael, you must return to Jericho at once. A panic is starting to sweep through the camps. Ibrahim cannot be found. Find him and bring him to my office. It is urgent!’

It was no small task to pick up the desert track in the darkness and link up with the main highway. Although distances were short, it took me several hours to return. The Allenby Bridge was alive with Legion soldiers. Fortunately, my documents were from a high minister and my comings and goings to and from Mount Nebo were known by the guard, and I crossed over with only minimal problems. Yet it was past midnight when I reached Aqbat Jabar.

Rumors that the Jews were on the way to conduct a massacre wailed from mouth to mouth. A state of near-hysteria had seized the camp. People were running about confused while others were packing. Oh Lord, it was the recurrence of a nightmare!

There was a place on Mount Temptation where I knew that Ibrahim meditated. I had shared it with him on many occasions. I ran through the camp and fought my way up into the hills with my flashlight darting off the stone walls.

‘Father!’ I called frantically.

The only response was my own echo.

‘Father! Father! Father!’ I screamed.

My light hit him. He sat stilled, obviously numbed by events. Oh, his eyes were beyond weary. For the first time I realized that his beard had gone almost completely white. He stared up at me, but not seeing. Tears fell down his cheeks.

‘Father ...’ I panted.

‘Is it over?’

‘Yes.’

‘Allah!’ he moaned. ‘This is the most horrible moment of them all. I let myself be taken in. I listened like any other poor dumb fellah. I allowed my brain to be twisted. Ibrahim! You are the worst of fools! Nasser!’ he cried and spat on the ground.

‘Please, Father, you have no time to berate yourself now. The people are overcome with fear. They are running around in circles screaming that the Jews are coming to slaughter them. Families are packing up to flee. Dr. Mudhil received messages. You must come with me at once to his office.’

‘Run! Why? There are three thousand fedayeen here to protect them.’

‘The fedayeen have fled.’

By the time we arrived at Dr. Mudhil’s office, Ibrahim had gained control of himself. It was past four in the morning. Clans were already forming up in Jericho to bolt at daybreak. We entered through the workroom. A small light beckoned us from his office. Nuri Mudhil’s twisted body was at the window. He stared down at the growing fright in the streets. On the other side of the room a man leaned against a bookcase.

‘Colonel Zyyad!’

‘Yes, it is I, Haj Ibrahim.’

Oh, how Father wanted to kill him! With anxiety, I watched his hands open and close. I stepped between them.

‘Your boy is clever,’ Zyyad said. ‘All right, here it is. The Egyptian Army is defeated. King Husain wisely declined to get involved in Nasser’s folly. Instead, we struck a deal with the Jews. The Legion will not move against Israel, and Israel will not move against East Jerusalem and the West Bank.’

‘There is no cause for panic down there,’ Dr. Mudhil said.

‘When they are frenzied like this, nothing can stop them,’ Father said.

Dr. Mudhil pulled back from the window and limped over to us. ‘Colonel Zyyad has two battalions of Legion at the bridge. He has orders to shoot to kill if anyone attempts to cross.’

‘In Allah’s name, what for? If you open fire, they will swarm over in a hundred places. What will you accomplish by killing two, three, four thousand terrified people with their wives and children?’

‘The more Palestinians there are in Jordan, the more our kingdom is in danger. We have had our fill, Haj Ibrahim. If it were up to me ...’

‘Shut up, Zyyad,’ Nuri Mudhil demanded. ‘We know what you would do. After all, what is one massacre more or less in our history.’ Dr. Mudhil grabbed my father’s robes. ‘Fortunately, the king has issued an order to allow us to try to make a peaceful attempt to stop them from crossing the bridge. You, Ibrahim, are the only man who can turn these people back.’

The smallness, creakiness, and dilapidation of the Allenby Bridge gave no hint of its tremendous importance.

‘Move your men out of sight, beyond the first bridge,’ Ibrahim said to Colonel Zyyad. ‘And bring me a loudspeaker.’

‘Remember, if they push past you and cross the bridge, we shall return and open fire.’

‘Yes, I know, Colonel Zyyad. You are hoping I will fail, aren’t you?’

Dawn.

I took my place alongside my father before the bridge. We were by ourselves, naked in the gunsights of a thousand rifles. The mass coming toward us from Jericho took form and shape like locusts sweeping in from the desert. At that moment my father had regained my heart. Alone and noble, he faced the frantic crowd. His great presence shocked everyone to halt, and in that flickering of a second he grabbed command of the situation.

‘Stop!’ he roared through the bullhorn.

‘Do not try, Haj Ibrahim! We are crossing!’

‘The Jews are attacking up the Dead Sea!’

‘They will be in Jericho within the hour!’

‘Their bombers are already on the way!’

‘Thousands have been slaughtered in East Jerusalem!’

‘Rashid!’ my father commanded of an aged sheik at their head. ‘Step forward!’

Rashid turned to the mob, held his hands up to quiet them, and walked alone toward Father and me.

‘It is no use, Ibrahim,’ Rashid said.

‘We have fled our homes once without making a stand and look how we have suffered for it! You cannot flee again!’

‘We will be murdered!’

‘Ibrahim, stand aside,’ Rashid warned.

The crowd pressed forward.

‘I have been to Mount Temptation!’ Ibrahim called out like a Moses. ‘I have spoken to Mohammed!’

The mob was shocked into stillness.

‘Mohammed came to me last night! He told me that Allah has placed a curse upon this bridge and this river! The first man who tries to cross will not reach the other side alive! Allah will strike him blind! Allah will open up his stomach and let the vultures feed on it before he reaches Jordan!’

‘Ibrahim lies!’ Rashid cried.

My father stepped aside and left a clear path over the bridge.

‘I invite Sheik Rashid to cross first!’ Father called through the loudspeaker. ‘If you reach the other side alive, may Allah strike me dead!’

The raging fire within them had been stopped as though by a miracle. Sheik Rashid chose not to step onto the bridge. He backed up.

‘Who will save us from the Jews?’

‘I, Haj Ibrahim al Soukori al Wahhabi, give you the sacred word of Mohammed that you will not be harmed! Now return to your homes!’

‘Haj Ibrahim is great!’

‘Allah will save us!’

Little clumps of men and women splintered off and started to drift back toward Jericho ... and others ... and others. Then Rashid made his own way back.

After a time Father and I were alone again. He looked at me and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You are a brave young man, Ishmael,’ he said. ‘Come, take me home. I am tired.’

‘I love you, Father,’ I cried. ‘I love you.’

A
WEEK AFTER THE WAR
I returned to Mount Nebo. Although universal grief and bewilderment overcame the refugees, a strange and different thing happened to Father and me. Instead of despair, Haj Ibrahim seemed to have come through a long, dark tunnel. He had snapped back to realism. He would follow Colonel Nasser no further. Indeed, he gave off a hint or two that life might have more in store for us than Aqbat Jabar. He did not speak directly of returning to Tabah or of making a deal with the Jews. He did, however, call on Dr. Mudhil a number of times. I felt he was fishing about to find an honourable way to end our exile.

Being out there in the desert, perhaps I had lulled myself with the stars and the stillness, but a surge of hope ran through my veins. Father listened to me. Given time and very careful planning, I might convince him it would not be the end if I went off to study. Surely, within a few years we could all be reunited and resettled in a decent place. Maybe even away from Palestine or the Arab countries.

Or was I crazy? What of Nada? Father must never know of her loss of virtue. That would be fatal to any plan. My first order of business was to try to make peace between them. At times they seemed to care for each other, but always their visits ended with acid.

Something was under their skins close to the surface and ready to flare. Nada had decried her life, but she never really spoke out directly against Ibrahim. Sometimes I felt she hated him. True, he would never come to terms with an independent woman, but they were both so great there had to be a way for them to find mutual respect.

Why did he always seem to pick an argument?

Yes, my first task would be to bring them into a friendly relationship. Then we could dream about a move.

I studied the sky. It didn’t look good. Nada was coming home tomorrow for three days, but I still had a section of corrugated roof to finish ahead of the weather.

I called Dr. Mudhil on the radio.

‘Yes, Ishmael.’

‘I think I’d better stay tomorrow and finish the roof,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to leave this section open for three days.’

‘Good man.’

‘Would you get a message home to Nada that I will be late?’

‘Yes, of course, I’ll take care of it. Everything else all right out there?’

‘Fine, just wonderful. I am happy here.’

Ibrahim had to admit to himself that he was actually looking forward to Nada’s visit the next day. Why not admit it? He had missed her. When Dr. Mudhil came with a message that Ishmael would be late in returning, a lovely new thought passed through his mind. Maybe, during this visit, with Ishmael late in returning, he would take Nada on a stroll and speak to her, person to person. He had never done that. She seemed to be learning much in Amman.

He had judged his children. Of the eleven who had been born, died, survived, married, he had to admit to himself that Nada was his favorite after Ishmael. On this visit he was determined that he would bite his tongue before he spoke harsh words to her. If he cared for her so, why did he always have to try to hurt and offend her? he wondered.

The women cackled over Nada as though they were in a chicken yard. How beautiful she looked! She had become even more so in just the few months since her last visit. There was something wonderful about Nada’s ways. She carried an air of surety that few women had.