AS USUAL, Abou met his friends the next afternoon at the Camel’s Hump. Hamid had his mail in a stack, but it remained unopened. As Abou approached, he saw all in deep conversation, and Ammon, who seemed never to barber these days, greeted him with a smile. Even Absollah was there, taking time from his bank.
“Ah, Abou, come sit and have coffee,” Ammon insisted, raising his hand slightly to alert a waiter. He preferred the more delicate French moue to attract the waiter’s attention, but as crowds grew in the cafés, waiters seemed less able to keep up with these subtleties.
“We have interesting news,” Hamid said, fingering his letters and leaflets. “Just yesterday, Yasser had a dispute with Hafez, the tax collector, about taxes Yasser owes on the house. He said he could not even afford to house you, that you had to live in a tent in the back. Hafez was heard to say that it was well-known you were a man of wealth and could afford an addition to the house. According to those present, Yasser was dumbfounded. He yelled at Hafez that it was not true, that you were a poor man who depended on him for food and clothes, as well as magazines and newspapers. Yasser is most certainly having trouble paying his taxes.”
Abou was puzzled. “Then why would he want me to leave? I mean, it is true about the magazines and newspapers. He brings home what he doesn’t sell. The rest is nonsense. I give money to the household.”
Nobody spoke for a moment, looking at one another with inquiring eyes, wondering who would volunteer to explain the situation to Abou.
“We hear he owes a great deal of money in back taxes, as well as other debts,” Absollah finally said. “It is rumored that he cannot keep up the house. I suspect he wants you to move away to avoid the shame of your witnessing him and his family thrown into the streets.”
The waiter brought Abou his coffee. Slowly he stirred the syrupy brew, reflecting on what he’d heard. “Then what would happen to my daughter and the children?”
“It is rumored that he plans to divorce her. He will probably cast her out with the children,” Ammon suggested.
“She has done nothing but obey him and care for him and his children,” Abou murmured, almost as if talking to himself.
Absollah replied, “I took the liberty of stopping by Hafez’s office this morning and talking to him. Whoever pays the taxes will own the house. It is not a great amount. Buying the house for back taxes would be good business. That is certain.”
“I see,” Abou replied, sipping his coffee.
Hamid finally spoke. “Abou, good friend, I do not know if you have money enough to pay these taxes, but don’t do it while Yasser is there. It is one thing to secure a place for your daughter and your grandchildren, but do not pay this man’s taxes. He will only evict you anyway. I know . . . I know it is impolite to be so direct, but I worry about you. You are known to be too generous.”
Abou put his hand on Hamid’s. “Giving good advice to a friend is never impolite, Hamid. Your thoughts are welcome. But still . . . I had the passing thought that Yasser is not the type to lose his temper in public, as he did with Hafez, unless he wants rumors to circulate. Do you think that is possible?”
Absollah smiled. “You are a clever man, Abou. Dealing with you is like dealing with the Jews. I had not thought of that but, of course, you are right. He wanted you to hear his complaints. He thinks you will pay his taxes, and he will still be rid of you. You will be living far away, he will have his house secured, and nobody will be the wiser. Yes, that is Yasser’s plan.”
All those at the table smiled in appreciation of the complexity of Yasser’s duplicity. And even better was that Abou understood Yasser’s plan and could now counter it. This appealed to the trader’s spirit that lay deep within all of them.
“What you say about living far away rings true. I told Yasser that I would take the bus to Shomi and look at this room he has procured for me,” he told them, naming the distant village.
“I will drive you,” Absollah offered. “I have my car just off the street in the rear.”
“I can’t impose,” Abou replied, raising his hand.
“It will give us an opportunity to talk,” Absollah replied.
They were on the road within minutes and Abou asked, “Do I have enough money in the bank to pay the taxes?”
“I will speak to Hafez,” Absollah replied, driving carefully through the crowded, narrow streets. “I am sure he doesn’t want to seize the property. Something can be worked out. Perhaps he will settle for less than what is owed. It is never wise to give tax collectors what they ask. It makes them only want more. But the answer is yes, you have more than enough.”
“I will not pay it until Yasser has set Sophia aside. I paid a handsome dowry to him and he should have cared for her and the children. Or perhaps I will pay the taxes and put the house in her name. No! He will control it still if he doesn’t divorce her. Perhaps I shall retain the title myself. I must think this through.”
Absollah nodded. “Abou, if you do not wish to pay the taxes, I will do so. It is a good investment.”
“Another friend of mine,” Abou continued, ignoring Absollah’s suggestion, “said that it was a shame that Yasser wanted to move me from my tent. He thought it was a tent of historical significance and should stand as a display showing how our forefathers lived. He thinks I should stay there.”
Absollah looked at him briefly. “An interesting idea.”
Abou said little else until they found the address of Abou’s new home. The room was in a complex of whitewashed buildings, up a narrow outside staircase, a dark room with slits for windows, and a water tap and an outhouse in the back.
“Not where I would have my father-in-law reside,” Absollah remarked as they descended the stairs. “Seen enough?”
On the way home, Absollah suggested, “How would you like to move your tent to the lot behind the bank? You could use the bank’s facilities, at least during the day, where it is but a short walk to the Camel’s Hump. You could do this until Yasser is, shall we say, in extremis financially.”
Abou smiled.
“And,” Absollah continued, “it would show your tent to the world and display what a herdsman’s tent was like fifty years ago, while at the same time you will annoy Yasser. We will tell people it is a cultural event sponsored by the bank. Perhaps you could show it to the schoolchildren as they come home from school.”
“I would enjoy that.”
“Good. Forget that dreadful hovel. Tell Yasser you are making other arrangements. I will have the bank’s truck at your door at nine tomorrow.”
That evening over dinner, Yasser’s first question was, “What have you heard in the marketplace today?”
“Nothing really. I went and visited the room you found for me.”
Seemingly satisfied by his answer, Yasser offered one of his rare smiles. “Is it not a princely room that I found for you, father-in-law?”
“It is very far away,” Abou replied, prepared to enjoy the game.
“Yes, but you can visit us now and then. And Sophia can visit you on occasion.”
“I will miss the grandchildren,” Abou replied evenly, smiling at the serious Akbar and the gurgling baby girl. The little boy knew something was amiss and watched his elders with suspicion.
Yasser nodded, dipping into the pot early this evening, as he was very hungry from walking about town trying to borrow money. His business had become almost nonexistent, although he would never admit that in his home. “That is true, old one, but we all must make sacrifices. Think what I sacrifice for my family.”
“It is truly wonderful,” Abou replied, his face showing nothing.
Sophia was watching him, wondering at her father’s sanguine composure. He was an old man being dispossessed, but he seemed strangely at ease, even content. Abou smiled at her and then winked, something he had learned watching American films.
“I dislike the Israeli checkpoint,” he continued, watching Yasser slurp his food. Making noise while eating was a sign of appreciation and enjoyment, but his son-in-law managed to make it revolting.
“We all face problems, my father-in-law. We must accept adversity to better appreciate the blessings of Allah.”
“Yes, that is true. Very true. But I think I would rather make other arrangements.”
“Other arrangements? What other arrangements?” Yasser was suddenly alert.
Abou shrugged. “Nothing is settled as yet, but do not worry, son-in-law. I shall be out of your orchard tomorrow or the day after. I will find a place to live.”
“The place I found for you is better,” Yasser insisted.
“I am too old to go down a flight of stairs for a pail of water,” Abou told him. “I am looking for a place with water and lavatory indoors.”
“Indoors! Are you mad? That would cost a fortune.” Yasser exploded, and then a crafty expression crossed his face. “Have you that kind of money?”
Abou smiled. “There were some things I didn’t care for in America, but water and lavatories inside the house were a blessing. Nobody I met there had to wash outside and use outside facilities. For infidels, they were surprisingly clean.”
“Have you found such a place?”
Abou answered carefully. “With Allah’s blessing, something will come available.”
Yasser made a vulgar sound with his lips and returned to his dinner. “Two days then. If you haven’t found anything, I expect you to take the room I was so fortunate to find.”
As Abou prepared his sleeping pad, Akbar brought him a large pot of steaming tea and was quite solicitous of his grandfather, although usually he took him for granted. “I will miss you,” Akbar said as he prepared the cup, and Abou took the boy in his arms and said, “I will be nearby, young Akbar, to look after you, your baby sister, and your mother.”
This seemed to satisfy Akbar, who nestled down into the security of his grandfather’s arm. They sat together until it was time for the little boy to go to bed. As Akbar left the tent, Abou wished more than anything in the world that he could insure the little boy a safe and prosperous life.