When he pulled up, Giovanni could see that the crowd were mainly older men, their black robes faded to grey. Their heads were covered with what were once white kafiyehs and as he got out of the car he could see there was a man lying near the front steps of the mosque. Giovanni found age amongst Arabs hard to fathom, but he judged the man on the ground to be about the same age as he was, somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties. He looked fit, but he wasn’t moving. Giovanni thought he might be dead, and mechanically wondered if he should offer the last rites. Just as quickly he realised his naivety. As he reached the crowd, a small man with a face like a blackened walnut gesticulated at him and started yelling in Arabic.
‘Can I help?’ Giovanni asked. He was met with sullen stares and was immediately conscious of the need to have a grasp of the local language. The walnut started yelling at him again, spitting invective through the gaps in his tobacco-stained teeth.
Giovanni held up his hands submissively.
‘Does anyone speak English?’ he asked, raising his voice to be heard. The men glared at him.
‘I do.’
Giovanni thought the boy could not have been more than about nine or ten. Like many Palestinian children he had dark olive skin with the same soulful eyes as the children Giovanni had seen earlier. Like most of the village children he wore shorts and had no shoes.
‘What happened?’
‘Imam Sartawi fell off the roof.’
Giovanni refrained from asking why his opposite number might have needed to be on the roof of the mosque. Probably a case of do-it-yourself, as it clearly would be for Giovanni. He moved towards the crumpled form and the men reluctantly drew aside to let him through. Once again the walnut protested.
‘Tell them I have first aid.’
The boy looked puzzled.
‘ Tebeeb, doctor,’ Giovanni said, stretching both the truth and his elementary Arabic in an attempt to communicate.
The boy nodded, recognition in his eyes.
‘ Tebeeb.’
The murmur was almost respectful now and the gap widened to allow Giovanni to kneel in the dust. He recalled the only first aid he had ever done, from way back in his football days, and took hold of the Imam’s wrist; the pulse was not strong but at least it was there and he was breathing. Giovanni checked around the man’s neck, and as he checked to see if his pupils were of equal size, the Imam groaned.
‘What is his name?’ he asked, beckoning to the boy. ‘Translate for me please.’
‘His name is Ahmed Sartawi, but you can talk to him.’
For a moment Giovanni was puzzled. ‘He speaks English?’
The boy nodded.
Ahmed groaned and tried to sit up but Giovanni motioned for him to lie still.
‘What is your name?’ Giovanni asked again, not noticing the quizzical look on the boy’s face.
The Imam squinted. ‘Ahmed. Ahmed Sartawi,’ he replied hoarsely.
‘And do you know where you are?’
‘Yes, in my village.’ It was Ahmed’s turn to look puzzled.
‘And do you know what day it is?’
‘Why are you asking me all these questions? I was fixing the roof when I fell,’ the Imam replied, agitation creeping into his voice.
Giovanni smiled at him. ‘It’s all right. You’ve been unconscious. Can you see clearly? Your vision is not blurred?’
‘A little, but it’s my ankle that really hurts.’
The blurred vision was not a good sign, Giovanni thought, more worried about that than Ahmed’s ankle. ‘Which one, left or right?’
‘Right.’
Giovanni checked for any sign of a break, but apart from the swelling there was no puncture or discoloration of the skin. ‘Can you move it?’
Ahmed slowly raised his leg and gingerly moved his foot from side to side.
‘I don’t suppose you have any ice around here?’ Giovanni asked the young boy who was watching intently. The boy laughed.
‘No. I didn’t think so. Can you get me some newspaper, lots of it, and some cord?’ Giovanni turned back to Ahmed. ‘I don’t think it is broken, but just to make sure I will drive you to Nazareth.’
Giovanni made two rolls out of the papers. The murmuring among those craning to see grew louder as he bound the makeshift splints together.
‘Now,’ Giovanni said, supporting Ahmed from behind, ‘let’s get you to the car.’ Their path was suddenly blocked by the walnut, waving his arms. A torrent of Arabic directed at Giovanni in particular and everyone else in general.
Not a happy nut, Giovanni thought wryly, stifling a smile as Ahmed intervened with a few sharp words and the walnut fell silent.
By the time they reached Nazareth the last of the sun’s rays were sliding from the dome of the Basilica of the Annunciation, the top of which looked like a massive lantern. It was the largest church in the Middle East, constructed on the site where legend had it that the angel Gabriel told Mary that she would bear the Christ child. Nazareth Hospital was perched on a prominent hill overlooking the basilica and the town.
‘I hope the hospital has a doctor on duty,’ Giovanni said dubiously as he drove as fast as he dared up the winding Wadi el-Juwani.
‘There will be. Nazareth may not be the most picturesque town on the map, but there are sixty thousand Arabs, not to mention another fifty thousand Jews in the new part of the town.’ Ahmed winced as Giovanni swerved, not entirely missing a large pothole.
‘Sorry,’ Giovanni offered. Ahmed looked relieved when they finally parked and Giovanni helped him to Casualty. The hospital staff seemed harassed and it took over an hour before Ahmed Sartawi’s name was called and he was taken through two plastic doors.
Giovanni looked up from his seat in the crowded waiting room to find a young Arab nurse standing in front of him.
‘We are going to keep him in for observation overnight.’ Her voice was strangely aggressive.
‘Is he all right?’
‘We’re not sure yet.’
‘How long before you will know?’ Giovanni asked, wondering why after nearly another hour they had not reached any decision.
‘There are other patients in this hospital,’ she replied curtly. ‘The Israelis have been shelling a village to the south of here and some of the casualties are not expected to live.’ As if to emphasise her point, sirens could be heard in the distance.
‘Why don’t you come back in the morning,’ she said, a little more gently. ‘By then the specialist will have had time to examine the X-rays and we will be able to tell you a little more.’
Giovanni nodded and the nurse quickly disappeared through the two plastic doors.
As Giovanni reached the main entrance the first of the ambulances roared past heading towards Casualty, the siren dying as it came to a halt. Orderlies in blood-spattered white raced to open the doors, and a young Arab boy, one leg missing, the other wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, was wheeled inside. Giovanni took a deep breath. He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine years old.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nablus
T he Hamas training centre looked like any other house in an ordinary street on the outskirts of Nablus. It was eight o’clock in the evening and curfew. The narrow and twisted laneways were deserted, save for the intermittent Israeli patrols. Since 1967 the Israelis had gradually imposed more and more restrictions on the Palestinian people and now they were forbidden to travel from one village or town to the next. Palestinians were imprisoned in what had once been their own country.
At just twenty-eight years of age, Yusef Sartawi was now the deputy chief sound engineer for Cohatek Events. It hadn’t been easy. Most nights he would wake up screaming, the images of his sisters being cut down by the Israeli sergeant burned into his memory. The only thing that kept him going was his hatred for the enemy and his dual role with his more sinister and shadowy employer, Hamas. His instinctive thirst for knowledge was being put to good use devising ways of destroying the Israelis, and he wouldn’t rest until every last one of them had been pushed into the Mediterranean. It was a hatred that was also directed at Ahmed, his cowardly peace-loving brother who had forced him to watch the massacre. Yusef had promised himself that Ahmed would pay and had marked out his house in Mar’Oth as a potential target. Normally Yusef would not be attending a lecture on pipe bombs, but too many of Hamas’ young suicide bombers were being detected before they could reach their target and Yusef was here to ensure they took the right precautions.