"Who can tell what is educative, Mr. Stedman." he said soothingly. "Students come here from all over the world, but mostly from America to study at our university. Is it because we have better teachers? Not any better than America or the other advanced countries have. So what benefit do they derive by coming to school here? Not what they get in the classrooms, but what is available outside the classrooms, the life here, the people."
As soon as he had been assured by Mike Donahue that matters had been arranged. Dan Stedman had returned to Jerusalem to arrange for Roy's return to the States, only to find a note from him saying he had gone off for a few days to visit with friends and that he would call when he got back. Anxious to expedite matters. Dan had gone to the university to see what arrangements had to be made.
"I understand." said Dan. "but I was primarily interested in what could be done about credits and that sort of thing."
The dean smiled and spread his hands. "Obviously, we cannot give credit for courses in which your son has not taken the examinations, but we are very flexible in the matter of examinations. The student can take them at various times of the year. We have to have this kind of arrangement of course, because so many are called up for military duty throughout the year, faculty as well as students."
"But he can take nothing back with him to apply toward his degree at Rutgers?"
The dean shook his head slowly.
"Then he's wasted a year, because the educative value outside the classroom, getting to know the people and the life here. I don't think he got that either. He had almost no friends—"
"I'm sorry to hear that. Mr. Stedman. You sound disappointed, and I suppose that reflects your son's feelings. It is not easy for a student from an American college. I think our courses are a little harder, or at least they demand more work, but it's not that. Even the difficulty with the language is not the principle cause of the disappointment for some of our American students. It's that the tone is so different from what they're used to.
"We want them to come here, partly because they bring dollars of which we are in desperate need. But also, we hope that some of them will like what they find here and remain on or come back to settle. Because we need people as well as dollars. But we cannot change the university whose primary purpose is to serve our own students, merely to please the foreign student. Our students are older than yours by an average of three years — the time they spent in the Army. And at that time of life, three years is a considerable difference. But there is also the difference resulting from the maturing experience of the Army. For them college is not a relaxation, a vacation before going on with the serious work of making a living. It is the serious work. Most of them have jobs, and as soon as classes are over, they hurry off to them. We have no fraternities here. Mr. Stedman." He got up from his chair and came around to the front of the desk as if to remove a barrier between them.
"And yet. in a sense, everyone here belongs to a fraternity, but it is the fraternity of his Army squad. And this kind of fraternity is even more exclusive to the outsider than the most exclusive clubs in your colleges because their lives depend on it. They have no time and little inclination for friendships outside their circle. And it's no different with the women students. They are all of marriageable age, and it is more intelligent for them to date Israelis where there is a good chance of friendship resulting in marriage than some outsider who wants companionship while he is here and who will then leave the country at the end of his study. So all this makes it hard for the American student who comes here."
"It makes it damn close to impossible." said Dan.
"Not altogether, Mr. Stedman. There are some who come here properly motivated. They come from strong religious or Zionist backgrounds, and just being here is enough for them, at least at first. They persevere. They acquire a good command of the language. And they win out and integrate with the life of the country. And many of them elect to stay on."
"Well, Roy's background is neither strongly religious nor strongly Zionist," said Stedman. "My own sympathies are strongly with Israel, but I belong to no Zionist clubs or organizations."
The dean nodded. "Which brings us back to where we started. How do we know what is educative? Perhaps the experience your son had in living for several months among serious, dedicated young people, even if he couldn't participate, will have a greater influence on his future than if he had found here a duplicate of what he had back in America. Right now. he might feel only disappointment, but there may be also a feeling of grudging admiration. And when he is a little older and amusement and entertainment are not so important in his life, he may think back to this as an example worth following."
Stedman nodded. He even managed a smile. "It sounds convincing when you say it. Doctor. I wonder how it will sound when I tell it to the boy's mother."
Chapter Forty-Three
Every time Abdul shifted gears the car growled in protest and Roy dozing on the seat beside him stirred uneasily, shifted his position, and dozed off again. When they had first started out, he had pointed out that there must be something wrong with the transmission or the clutch.
"It's been this way for a couple of years." said Abdul. "Nothing to worry about."
The shock absorbers were not in good condition either, and whenever the road was the least bit rough, they were bounced around unmercifully. But as Abdul remarked cheerfully, "It's better than walking."
"Would you like me to drive for a while?" asked Roy.
"No— maybe when I get tired. Why don't you take a nap? When we get to my uncle's house, we may be staying up late."
"Oh, I'm all right. You know there's a knock in the engine?"
"A knock? Oh, you mean that little tick you hear? It's nothing, believe me. Mahmoud is very good with automobiles, and he keeps this one tuned like a watch. Well, maybe not like a watch, but like a good serviceable alarm clock. It is perhaps not so quiet as the cars you are used to. nor is the ride so smooth; but it always starts, and it always goes."
"Yeah, well...It's pretty good on gas. I'll say that for it.
We’ve been driving for over an hour and the needle on the tank gauge hasn't moved."
Abdul chuckled. "The gauge doesn't work. The needle never moves."
"Then how do you know when you need gas?"
"Mahmoud knows. Every now and then he fills it. Never once has he run out. He assured me we had enough gas to get to my uncle's house."
"Just where is your uncle's place. Abdul?"
"North, up in the Galilee. Not far from the border," he added lightly.
"I mean, is it in some town or—"
"Up there, in that area, there are only a few small villages. I'm sure no place you’ve ever heard of."
"He lives in the village?"
"He has a house in the village, several houses, but he lives on his farm which is away from the village. It is to his farm that we are going."
"You know the road all right?"
"Oh!" Abdul shrugged his shoulders expressively.
"And you're sure I'll be welcome? I mean, he doesn't know I'm coming."
"You don't understand about Arab hospitality. Roy. I am his nephew. That means more with us than it does with you. It means I am of his family— like a son. And you are my friend. His house is like mine, and if I invite you. it is just the same as if he invited you. Do you understand?"
"I think so." He lay back in his seat and stared up through the windshield at the bright stars in the inky sky. "And he will not mention that I am there? I mean—"
"I know what you mean. Rov. To whom would he mention it? To the police? Even if he thought they might be interested in you and that you were hiding from them, you would be perfectly safe. You are a guest, and a guest is sacred."