“Think it over. They are full of stones, remember, not earth.”
“It would take weeks.”
“No, surely — days, perhaps.” After a long debate the idea was passed, not without reluctance, and that night they began work; that night too came the news that at long last the British had decided to seek a renewal of their Mandate from UNO. They heard the news as they were humping stones, men, women and children together; it sounded strange to hear the news in darkness, standing in the silence of the fields. Judith shivered with a new kind of anticipation and a surge of pleasure which she could not analyse.
Through his powerful glasses Towers, perched on a crag, carefully swept the perimeter of Ras Shamir as was his wont. Lately there had been signs of movement which suggested something more than the customary work upon the soil of those who planted, sowed and tilled. Those two toy-like tractors, for instance, had for the last week been ploughing out a crude lateral dune in the rich soil. “Outworks,” he said to himself, reminded of the shallow Roman barrows he had seen in England as a boy. With the first rain they would be covered in grass and weed — the raw marks of the tractors obliterated. Yet they would offer some sort of defensive position. “I wonder,” he said to himself. That evening, as he sat over the chessboard facing Daud, he said: “They are digging in at Ras Shamir.” Daud looked at him for a long time, but said nothing until he had made his move. Then he pursed his lips and said: “Aaron is no longer a friend.”
But Towers did not notice the careful cleaning-out of the two old granaries, for by day they were covered in branches and the kibbutz carpenter had run supports across them strong enough to enable them to take the strain of human beings.
The autumn came slowly on them as they worked, with its deceptive promises of peace and plenty — grapes and figs to be gathered, oranges beginning to become plump. Now, too, came the first rains, and those sudden unpredictable thunderstorms when, for days at a time, the ragged clouds rolled across the rock escarpments, bursting impartially over the desert and the sown, the valley or the encircling dunes. Torrents burst out and poured for a few hours, the Jordan’s waters swelled. And, like heavy gunfire, the premonitory thunder rolled across the ranges.
It was in November that the news of the UNO vote was first broadcast to the world, and there was a night of wild rejoicing in the kibbutz. They lit a bonfire for the children and everyone danced. But on the balcony above, looking down on the scene, Miss Peterson stood grave and preoccupied, gazing at the scene of happiness below. Aaron came and stood beside her, and placed his arm on her shoulder, saying: “What is it, Pete?”
“It’s too soon for rejoicing,” she said quietly. “We shall have much to go through before we can do that.”
“Perhaps not,” said Aaron. “One never knows. But it is glorious news; Israel can now emerge at last, and with the sanction of the civilized world… Worth dancing about, my love.” But Pete sighed and shook her head. “I fear they will contest it, the Arabs.”
“Let them!” said Aaron gaily. The news had made him also faintly euphoric. But next day he too became grave, for there came news that the British were issuing orders to regroup and reform for evacuation. The young man who brought him the news added: “First Army group are off down to Haifa in a fortnight, and that leaves the valley undefended except for…
“Well,” said Aaron with a sigh, “what can we do?”
“Be on your toes.”
“We are.”
20. Into Egypt
David and Saul turned the black Buick southward in the direction of Beersheba. They must, it appeared, first consult Abdul Sami about ways and means, and his place of habitation was a somewhat flexible one, David explained to Grete as they drove, consisting of large and ornate tents pitched in the middle of the desert. The whole encampment moved with the flocks, with the seasons; and with it moved his two hundred wives and his dozens of impish children. Abdul Sami was a large, prosperous-looking Arab who had had his own teeth replaced by a gold set for sheer boredom, and also to impress clients. His smile was one of the most expensive ever seen. It glittered, all gold. Despite his predilection for the desert life, he was a heavily modernized man, and owned several frigidaires, a helicopter, three Rolls-Royces of different colours, which were always getting stuck in the sand, and a complete womens’ hairdressing establishment. Here, in a long line under a marquee, one might see a dozen or so wives sitting under glittering globular dryers, while a French coiffeur walked sullenly up and down the row, and the mere concubines waited their fuzzy little turn.
When they arrived, Sami himself was sitting in the open before his state tent, being manicured by a young girl dressed as a BEA air hostess. He was expecting them, and amiably waved his disengaged hand, ordering chairs to be brought. They sat down and fell to business. It was Abdul Sami alone who could (by what mysterious feat of prestidigitation they knew not) get them in and out of Egypt on an illegal mission. The whole business was second nature to him, as he was a hashish smuggler whose fortune depended on the expertise with which he could get his loads of contraband across the Canal to his clients in Cairo.
“Yes,” he said in response to a question. “You could call it dangerous I suppose. My wives tend to worry unduly. But you know, so long as there is hashish in Syria and eager clients for it in Cairo, there will never be a completely sealed border. In the old days it was easier; and since the British installed their X-rays in order to peer into the intestines of my camels at the border, I have had to use less subtle methods. But partly by luck and partly by… He rubbed finger and thumb together. “I always find a hole in the net. My next trip will be in two days when there is no moon. If you wish, you will come with me. But if I am caught you will go to prison for smuggling, no? After all, fair is fair.”
So it was that they found themselves walking along the dark banks of the invisible Canal, accompanied by four Arabs and a heavily laden mule. Abdul Sami led the van, steering in the most professional manner upon Vega, and co-ordinating bearings with the help of an oil compass. He puffed and blew and talked far too loudly in their opinion, but presumably he knew his business. Nevertheless, sounds seemed to carry very far in the still air. The noise of twigs crackling in a distant fire came clearly to them in the stillness. Presently they halted and Abdul Sami told them to sit down and wait, an order which they obeyed with relief, for walking across the soft sand had been arduous and chilly. Even the mule showed signs of intelligence and obedience, for, once divested of its load, it lay down quietly near them and did not stir. It was pitch dark. All that they could faintly discern were the stars.
“Nothing to do but wait,” said Abdul Sami with resignation. “Pretty soon he will come.”
“Who will come?” said the long-nosed and sardonic-voiced Saul, who fiddled nervously with a safety catch on a Luger.
“The head of the Egyptian Customs, Elfi Bey Hamid,” said Sami in a courteous though laconic tone. “Who else? I pay him a big salary — much bigger than his official one.”
Saul laughed. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “Tell him I’ll double that.” Abdul Sami shook his head. “He would not work for a Jew!” he said. “He is too patriotic. But I am an Arab. For me he will do anything.”
They bantered for a while in this fashion, and suddenly David let out a sharp exclamation of surprise and awe.
“My God, what is that?” he cried, and instinctively everyone crouched down. It looked as if a castle of fireflies was advancing towards them across the desert.