Leon Uris Read Free Page A

school in Ramle.’
    ‘Stop playing riddles with me!’
    ‘There are nine hundred and sixty-two separate parcels of land in Tabah,’ I gasped out, nearly choking on my fear. ‘There are eight hundred and twenty parcels in the other five villages. These do not count the communal land that is farmed together.’
    Ibrahim’s face grew somber, a hint that he was grasping my message. I controlled my trembling ... ‘In the account books that Kamal keeps, there are only nine hundred and ten listed for Tabah and eight hundred for the other villages.’
    I braced myself as I watched his face grow crimson. ‘You are certain of this, Ishmael.’
    ‘As Allah is my judge.’
    Ibrahim grunted and rocked back and forth in his large chair. He beckoned me to come close to him with a wiggle of his forefinger. I almost bit through my lip with fear. ‘What does it all add up to?’ he asked.
    ‘Kamal and Uncle Farouk are collecting rents for seventy-two parcels for themselves.’
    Ibrahim grunted again, reached out, and patted my head. I’ll never forget it, for it was the first time he had done so since time began. He patted my face softly where he had slapped it so many times before.
    ‘Will you let me go to school?’
    ‘Yes, Ishmael. You go to school and learn. But you are never to speak about this to another living soul or I’ll cut your fingers off and boil them. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    It happened so fast I had no time to explain or even to flee. Kamal, who was nineteen, seized me from behind in the barn and flung me down, leaped on me and choked me and slammed my head against the ground.
    ‘You dog!’ he screamed. ‘I’ll kill you!’ I kicked as hard as I could, three times, four, five. He bellowed in pain, released me, and doubled up on his knees. I scrambled to my feet and seized a pitchfork. Kamal crawled to his feet, still doubled over, and lunged at me. I jabbed out and hit him in the chest and he screamed again, then staggered around the barn, careening off the stalls. He found another pitchfork and menaced toward me deliberately.
    ‘Dog!’ he hissed.
    ‘Kamal!’
    He turned as our mother entered. ‘Do not touch Ishmael!’
    ‘What do you know, crazy old woman! You sow! Ibrahim does not even sleep with you!’
    ‘He has called me to his bed tonight,’ she said calmly. ‘I will have some interesting things to tell him.’
    Kamal had never been known as much of a fighter among those of his own age and size. He had been able to defend himself only because he was the muktar’s son and could read and write. He thought it over for only an instant, then dropped the pitchfork.
    ‘You will never touch Ishmael again,’ my mother repeated. She took the pitchfork from my hands, looked at us, one to the other. ‘Never again,’ she repeated, then left.
    ‘A day will come,’ Kamal said.
    ‘We do not have to be enemies,’ I said. ‘There are still thirty parcels I have not told Father about. If we go in on this together, I will want half.’
    ‘It is very early for you to be playing such games, Ishmael,’ he said.
    ‘I want half. You will give my half to Mother.’
    ‘What about Uncle Farouk?’
    ‘It must come from your, half. Uncle Farouk had better be careful because Father is ready to throw him out of the village. Well, do you agree or not?’ Fuming, he shook his head in agreement and left.
    When my mother and I slept together again in a few nights she stroked my head and kissed my face a hundred times over and cried of how proud she was of me. So before I was nine I had learned the basic canon of Arab life. It was me against my brother; me and my brother against our father; my family against my cousins and the clan; the clan against the tribe; and the tribe against the world. And all of us against the infidel.

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    ‘S UN, STAND THOU STILL at Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the Valley of Ayalon .’ Thus, Joshua requested the light by which to smite his enemies.
    The Village of Tabah