41

When I left the café, the cold air hit my face and I felt my nose beginning to freeze. The dew of the wet night, and the Barada River and its vegetation, chased away the smell of tobacco and coffee. Instead, I breathed the smell of the water moss and the sound of the running water. The peaceful street, which was gradually moving into the slumberous mood of the night, helped me recover my balance after I had lost it with the pashas. I felt young again and I took long strides to catch up with Rabie. He was standing near the rail, looking at the flowing river and fretting, probably still mad at me because I had accepted the invitation of the pashas to drink tea, and told them about the siege, the Nakhshun plan, and the purpose of our presence in Damascus. He told me they did not deserve to be told anything, not even a joke. Angrily, as if he were spitting pebbles, he said: “Did you not know who they are?”

I did not reply. I was as angry as he was, maybe angrier, but I was considering the significance of their attitude, saying to myself: if those who are our compatriots and the leaders of Jerusalem said what they said, and did what they did, what will the Arab leaders do? What will they say? Would they be convinced? Would they respond? Would they answer our call? What would our leader’s position be if he was faced with failure? And I believed that it was coming. I hoped I was wrong or overly pessimistic. Was it our duty to tell him about our conversation with the pashas in the café, and the way they said that the Rescue Army represented them? The Rescue Army represented them? What about us? Whom do we represent? Should we tell him?

Rabie asked me what the pashas meant when they mentioned the American mustache of the leader being custom-made at the American University. I told him briefly the story of the leader and the American University, and explained its significance. I told him how he had been expelled from the American University in Beirut because of his nationalist activities. After his expulsion, he enrolled at the American University in Cairo and kept a low profile, discreetly promoting his political views, until his graduation. On graduation day, during the huge celebration, he stood at the podium, before the guests, the ambassadors, and the journalists, and revealed the background of the university president, his proselytizing activities, and the political mission of the university. He gave his speech and ran away with his degree under his arm. The university tried to cover up the explosive news and keep it under wraps, but the Egyptian press spread the news, with positive comments and praise for the young man. The university tried to revoke his diploma but failed, managing only to obtain an order for his expulsion with a ministerial ordinance, on the grounds that he was an undesirable troublemaking guest. He was expelled from Egypt, but with a university degree.

Al-Husseini had been active since his teen years. His personality, his temperament, and probably his growing up in the midst of a family that was at the forefront of the national struggle, had made him a rebel and a fighter at an early age. That was how he began and that was how he continued. He was not a mere fighter; he was a tactician as well. His education allowed him to continue his chemical experiments, improve the quality of the mines, and make more effective explosives. If we had the facilities, we would have developed factories to produce military weapons.

Rabie listened to all this with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Rabie was still young and easily shaken, and actions of this kind provoked his emotions and imagination. He asked wonderingly, with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, “Why then, they . . .” and pointed toward the café, repeating the question, puzzled and surprised. He knew, however, that the pashas had the same feelings toward America, Britain, and the rest of the Western countries. “Why do they resent him, then, while every one of them wishes to do what he does? Is it because they wish but they are incapable?”

I did not reply, so Rabie asked, confused, “Is this the reason? Or are there family reasons?”

I did not reply, and he kept guessing: “Party reasons?”

Again, I did not reply, and he asked, “Tribal reasons?”

I did not reply, so he kicked me.

I absentmindedly suggested, “Maybe because of the difference in age and background?”

Rabie said, laughing, “You mean the mustache, the titles, and the prayer beads?”

I waved my hand and walked away, head bent because I was concerned and worried. Then I said grudgingly, “Maybe for all those reasons. I don’t know!”