45

The mufti advised him to meet the general commander of the Arab forces before the official meeting with the rest of the members and the politicians. The mufti explained to him that the commander of the Arab forces did not understand the language of reports, numbers, and maps, nor did he understand the strategic importance of the siege around the settlements. He told him that reaching an understanding with every member separately, particularly with the general commander, might soften their stance and would make them inclined to adopt a decision without delay. This was the reason we arrived at the office of the general commander half an hour before the appointed time. The office was still closed, and the employees had not arrived yet, and neither had the secretary or the guardian. We stood at the door waiting for Rabie, who was searching the building, going up and down the stairs, looking for the concierge or the guardian.

As far as I was concerned, this was an evil omen; I was usually alarmed by such signs and indications. I might have inherited this from my mother, or possibly it was because of my suspicious and pessimistic nature. It might also be due to my lack of trust in people. This was the reason I began moving my feet as I leaned against the rail and watched the leader out of the corner of my eye, lest he got discouraged so soon. He was not concerned, or at any rate, that was how he appeared to me. He was sitting on the stairs, one step higher than me, and he had spread out the folders and the maps on the landing to review his presentation. He kept marking the locations on the map and indicating them with arrows, signs, and circles. I knew that he had organized the papers and revised them a few times before we came. I doubt he had slept properly the night before; he had probably stayed up reviewing and examining the documents, like a diligent student getting ready for a difficult exam, or a lawyer about to plead before the judge in a courthouse.

Finally, Rabie returned, followed by the concierge, still in his pajamas. He was wearing an old army coat or one that belonged to a guardian. He was holding a bunch of keys that made a noise with every step he took. It was obvious that he had been sleeping when Rabie dragged him out of bed. That explained his embarrassment, as he avoided looking us in the eye, probably resenting us for waking him up.

I asked him if it was a feast day or a holiday.

He did not reply, but opened the door and said rudely, “No one comes at this time. The regular hours are from nine a.m., but no one arrives before nine thirty.”

Rabie asked him, “What about the general commander?”

He said, without even looking at us, “The secretary comes at nine thirty and the director comes at ten. As for the general commander, he arrives at noon.”

“What?” said Rabie, his voice reverberating in the empty staircase. “The general commander comes at noon? We have an appointment with him at nine thirty.”

The man did not reply, but opened the door, retrieved the key from the keyhole, and returned to his room, the bunch of keys ringing with every step he took down the stairs.

Rabie turned to me and said, surprised and angry, “The general commander comes at noon!”

Our leader, who was standing behind me, said, “Go in, go. Do not pay any attention to him. He was asleep.”

“It looks like the whole place is asleep,” I grumbled.

He came down and nudged my shoulder, “Go in, go in, you optimist!”

He was making fun of me, of course he was, because he always described me as a pessimist. Today, however, he called me an optimist because he wanted to get rid of the designation of pessimism, to avoid upsetting the two of us. His intent was to have us face every stumbling block with an open mind and heart. He did not want us to become disheartened because, as he used to say, what mattered was the result. This was what I heard him say all the time, repeating, “People, what counts are results. People, what counts is the end goal. People, what counts is what is achieved. Understood? Understood?” Rabie would reply, “Understood. Ready,” while I would say, smiling, “Okay, all right.” Today, however, as I was entering the dark office and pulling the curtains open, while the smell of old tobacco and the dust of the files and dossiers hit me in the face, I remained silent and did not say “All right” and “Whatever you say.”

The concierge was not wrong: the employees did not start coming until after nine thirty. At ten, the director of the office arrived, as did the secretary and the office boy. We started to smell coffee and tea with aromatic herbs and anise. The office boy served the coffee and tea and herbal drinks. We were naturally offered all this as well—multiple cups. But suddenly we heard the sound of rapid footsteps on the stairs, as the attendants and the guards entered: the rattling of the weapons and the military salute and the pounding of their boots. Then the general commander entered as if he were royalty or nobility. The employees stood up in their offices and each one said, in a submissive voice, “Good morning, Sir,” but he did not reply to any of them. He expected us to say “Good morning, Sir,” but we did not; instead we stood up politely and respectfully, waiting for him to greet us, because he was the one entering the office where we had already settled. And he was the one arriving an hour and a half late, not us. And he was the one who had set the time of the appointment, not us. When he saw our solemn faces and observed that we uttered not a word of welcome, and nor did we address him as “sir,” he said, smiling without enthusiasm, as if he were surprised by our presence, “You are here? Welcome, welcome.”

Then he turned away, lest we see his red, swollen eyes. He called loudly, “Abu Mahmoud, where is the coffee? Bring coffee and tea for the beys.”

Our leader said, still sitting in his same place, in the office of the secretary general, located in front of the office of the general commander, “We drank coffee and tea an hour and a half ago.”

The general commander did not comment and did not turn toward us, but entered his office like a peacock, repeating, while keeping his back to us, “Welcome, welcome. You have honored us.” He waited for us to follow him but we did not. We remained sitting, looking at him from our location while he sat on his swivel chair, opened drawers, took some things from them, and put in other things, with an expression of seriousness and importance. A few minutes later, he looked at us with an inquiring expression on his face. Our leader said, “Let’s go in. We have no choice.” So we did, the leader and I, while Rabie waited for us in the secretary’s office, quite upset.

The general commander pointed to the two leather chairs in front of his desk, indicating that we should sit. But our leader went immediately to the luxurious meeting table and spread out the maps and the reports. He pointed to the documents and said to the general commander, politely and seriously, “If you please.”

After a moment of silence and vacillation, the general commander left his desk and went over to the table, looking at what was spread before him with cold dismay, and said, surprised, “What is this?”

Our leader tried to be patient, polite, and respectful, because, as he used to tell us, “You must follow the scoundrel to the entrance of his house,” and because what counted was the result.

While the commander looked down, following the leader’s hand as it indicated spots on the map, our leader began explaining, with enthusiasm, “This is Jerusalem and this is Bab al-Wad, and here is al-Qastal, and Deir Yassin, and Ezariya. This is such-and-such a settlement, and that one too. The supply caravans used to pass through Bab al-Wad and we stopped them. We closed all the roads—all of them, even the dirt roads—with roadblocks and barricades, and we closed the main road with tanks filled with explosives. We fortified the higher areas with mujahideen and the young men of the villages. All the villages and their people support us, men and women, even the children support us, but our problem is weapons, weapons and ammunition, this is our problem, our major problem, as without them the siege cannot hold. We are at present in a strong position; we made them endure hunger and they are beginning to cry and ask for help and intervention, while Shartok shouts in the United Nations that the settlers are eating weeds and sending emissaries and religious delegations to intervene in their favor. But we said: let them put down their arms and then we will debate and reach an understanding. Do you see, respected general, what we have done? We did indeed subdue them.”

“Okay, very well,” the general commander said, without looking up from the map.

Our leader pointed to the stack of files and reports. “Those reports, statistics, and numbers have all been examined and verified. I revised them personally, very carefully. All you need to do is to take a look at them, to see how organized and correct they are. All the details are here, all the names and the titles, everything, everything. Everything mentioned here has been verified carefully and is correct. I revised it. Please, take a look.”

The general commander pulled up a chair and sat at the table, looking carefully at the map, but he did not examine the files and the reports. He said indifferently, “Okay, great, good, good.” He placed his thumb over the blue color of the sea and asked, curious, “Where is Jaffa?”

Our leader pointed. “This is Jaffa.”

“And where is Haifa?”

“This is Haifa.”

“And Tel Aviv?”

“This is Tel Aviv, near Jaffa.”

He raised his head and asked, “Why don’t you surround Tel Aviv instead of Jerusalem?”

“Because the settlements in Jerusalem are in a weaker position. And the possibility of surrounding them by closing Bab al-Wad, with our villages being higher, makes it easier in practice.”

The general commander looked intently at the map. “Is Jaffa on the sea?”

“Yes, it is on the sea.”

“Is it a port?”

“Yes, it is a port.”

“What about Tel Aviv?”

“It is also a port.”

“And the port of Haifa?”

“It is full of British forces.”

“But Jerusalem is not overlooking the sea and is not a port.”

“Jerusalem is not a port, general commander, but its importance is well known, from a religious and historical perspective—you know that. It is also the heart of the country, the heart of Palestine. That is why they surrounded it with a series of settlements. Do you see this one and that one, and that one?”

The general commander interrupted him. “Okay, okay. But until now I am not convinced by your plans and this siege; I would prefer the siege of Tel Aviv because it is close to Jaffa.”

Our leader looked at me as I sat on a chair against the wall, watching the two men, depressed and sad. There was darkness in my heart and before my eyes, but I could see, hear, and understand what was taking place. The leader was looking at me, concerned that I would be depressed, and worried about what I would say after the meeting. He needed some moral support, so I smiled at him, but my smile must have been bitter, as he turned away from me and went back to his maps, while I whispered to myself, “Oh God, oh God!” It seemed like God listened to my call, because the members of the council started arriving, which gave the general commander an excellent opportunity to run away from the insistence of our leader, and the complex and confusing names of the villages and the cities he had or had not heard of, plus the piles of files and maps.