The toothless man that had found him extended the warm cup and Nordhausen took it with a gracious smile. They both watched him very carefully as he tipped the cup and sipped the broth. It had a pungent taste, with a lot of cardamom spice as well. He slurped it down, and the two Arabs smiled at one another, obviously pleased. When he had finished, the second man, shorter and built more slightly than the first, began to pour a small kettle of hot water into a gourd. The aroma of the coffee was soon all that Nordhausen could think of.
He waited patiently as they served him in a small ceramic cup. When he sipped it he found that it was very strong, and sickly sweet with spice. He was grateful nonetheless, and nodded his approval while the Arabs smiled and took their portion. They sat about the fire for some time, sipping their coffee and listening to the night. The rain had abated, but there was still a low rumble in the distance. Nordhausen wondered if another front was moving in from the west, but the winds were wrong. He realized, at last, that he must be hearing the sound of the guns on the real front, many miles to the west at Gaza. He chanced to speak.
“Allenby,” he pointed west at the sound, and the Arabs gave him a blank look.
One man smiled knowingly. “English,” he said. “Boom, boom, boom.” He mimicked the sound of explosions.
“Yes,” said Nordhausen. “Artillery. English guns, or perhaps Turkish guns.” He smiled at them, but suddenly realized that the sound of the guns could be a clue to the date. He searched his mind, trying to recall the history he had been cramming into his head before they left. The whole point of this raid was that Lawrence was trying to create a distraction and disrupt the Turkish supply route on the rail line heading west from Deraa. The Yarmuk bridge over the gorge near Tell el Shehab was his primary objective, but they were discovered as they were trying to position the gelatine charges and the operation was a failure.
Allenby surprised the Turks at Beersheba on the last day of October, and the front, static for many months, suddenly came unhinged. It took Allenby a week or so to actually turn the flank at Beersheba, but with that place compromised on their left, the Turks gave up their positions anchored on the coast near Gaza and retreated north.
Nordhausen listened to the guns, smiling inwardly at the irony of the situation. The fighting in Gaza had started here in 1917, and it would continue on, in one way or another, for the next hundred years. Allenby would be pushing up the coast now, and closing on Junction Station, a key depot along the line to Jerusalem. He looked for the moon again, remembering that it would be half on the 7th and waning to dark on the 14th. It was somewhere between now, a waning crescent. Whatever Kelly did, he was very close to the target date they wanted, assuming they had the right month or year. He might just be listening to the first or second battle for Gaza in the distant west. They had been fought months before in March and April. He strained to see the sky, frustrated by the rifts of dark gray clouds. No, he thought. This is not the spring. It is Autumn. I’m listening to the third battle of Gaza and the advance on Junction Station. I’m sure of it.
He sipped his coffee, and his mind was clarified by the caffeine. A sudden thought came to him and he threw out a word to his Arab hosts. “Minifir,” he said, looking from one to the other.
The men reacted at once, staring at one another and then at Nordhausen with clear recognition.
“Minifir,” the professor said again. “I go there.” He patted his chest, then walked his fingers on the damp ground. “To Minifir. Yes?”
“He must be with Aurens,” the toothless man spoke to his brother. “Allah be praised. That would be the place they will look for a train tomorrow! This one may be lost.”
“He wishes to rejoin Aurens at Minifir.” The slight man returned, and he noted how their strange English guest in the robes of a Sherif reacted, his eyes brightening at the word. “I think we should take him there, Hassan. Perhaps we will be given some reward.” Enthusiasm brought life to his weathered, brown face, and his eyes, always moving this way and that, seemed to reflect the greed in his heart.
“We may even be allowed to join the raiding party!” The toothless man flashed a wide grin. “There will certainly be plunder when they blow up the train.”
“Yes, plunder! And if we take this man to Minifir we will certainly have a part in that. It would only be just, yes?”
“God’s will, my brother. But if we are to go to Minifir we cannot stay here tonight. We must go as soon as possible.”
“I will stow the camp.” The slight man began to hastily snatch up odds and ends about the campfire and stuff them into a burlap sack. “Minifir!” he smiled, and he seemed very pleased.
Nordhausen was still holding his small earthenware cup of coffee limply in one hand as he watched. “Yes,” he said, returning the man’s smile. “Minifir.” Then he realized that the men were gathering up their effects and making ready to break camp. “You mean now?” Nordhausen looked from one man to the other.
“Ana ismee, Hassan,” the toothless man said to him as he stood up. He indicated himself, placing both hands on his chest. Then he pointed at the other man. “Hakeem,” he said. The slight man nodded his head, and the professor followed their example, placing a hand over his heart.
“Nordhausen,” he exclaimed, getting a broad smile in return.
The toothless man named Hassan pointed into the darkness of the desert. “Kidha Minifir!”
They were soon ready to go, and Nordhausen struggled up, immediately feeling the pinch of the boots that were still too tight. He hoped the place was not far. He was very tired, though the soup and coffee had helped to restore him somewhat. His robes and uniform had dried out a bit while he sat by the fire and he gathered them close about him, bracing himself for what might be a long, cold march. Still, he was inwardly elated at the chance that had brought him upon these two men.
Paul is right, he thought. Great events turn on the insignificant, and the odd chance that pricks your finger as you muddle through the haystack of time. Where was Paul, he wondered? Would he have as much luck in the desert tonight? Nordhausen realized that he could lose all contact with him if he wandered off with these two Arabs now. There was nothing else he could do, however, and he set off, his feet aching with each step he took.
Part VII
The Least of Things
“The main of life is composed of small incidents and petty occurrences; of wishes for objects not remote, and grief for disappointments of no fatal consequence, of insect vexations which sting us and fly away… Of pleasures that pass before us and are dissipated…”
“…Seeing straight is only an illusion. We do these things in sheer vapidity of mind, not deliberately, not consciously even. To make out that we were reasoned cool minds, ruling our courses and contemporaries, is vanity. Things happen, and we do our best to keep in the saddle.”
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