birthday.
-16-
Jerusalem 700 B.C.-1932.
Early one hot July morning in 1932 O'Sullivan Beare arrived at Haj Harun's barren shop and found the old man hiding in the back room, cowering deep in the corner behind the antique Turkish safe. The rust from his helmet had fallen into his eyes, streaking his face with tears. He was trembling violently and the look he gave the Irishman was one of total despair.
Jaysus, said Joe, easy man, get ahold of yourself. What's going on here?
Haj Harun cringed pathetically and wrapped his arms around his head as if expecting a blow.
Keep your voice down, he whispered, or they'll get you too.
Joe nodded gravely. He moved in closer and gripped the old man by the shoulders to try to stop the pitiful shaking. He bent over the crouching figure and spoke in a low voice.
What is it man?
I'm dizzy. You know how I always feel dizzy first thing in the morning.
Jaysus I do and no wonder. After what you've seen but there in the last three thousand years anybody would expect you to be dizzy when you suddenly had to take another look at it. A new day is always trouble so that's all right, calm down and give me a whisper of the problem we're facing.
Them. They're still out there.
Are they now. Where exactly?
In the front room. How did you manage to get around them?
Sneaking on my tiptoes along the wall, a mere shadow of myself. How many did you say there were?
At least a dozen.
Bad odds. Armed?
Only daggers. They left their lances back at the barracks.
Well there's that at least. What sort of cutthroats?
Charioteers, the worst kind. They'll cut a man down without thinking twice about it.
O'Sullivan Beare whistled softly.
Bloody bastards all right. Which conquering army are they from then?
The Babylonian, but I don't think any of them are regular Babylonian troops except perhaps the sergeant.
He may be, he's arrogant enough.
Irregulars are they? Working for loot like the Black and Tans? There's no meaner bunch.
Yes they're mercenaries, barbarians, by the looks of them hired horsemen from the Persian steppes, Medes, I'd say from their accents.
Medes, are they? Now there's a scruffy lot. When did they break in?
Last night when I was grinding my teeth and trying to fall asleep. They took me by surprise and I didn't have a chance to defend myself. They threw me in here and they've been out front ever since drinking and gambling over their spoils and bragging about the atrocities they've committed. I'm exhausted, I haven't had any sleep at all. They brought a sack of raw liver with them and they've been gorging themselves on it.
Do you say so. Why this particular article of meat?
To arouse their lust. The Medes have always believed the liver was the seat of sexual desire. Now they're talking about loin pie and they say they won't leave until I hand them over.
After them are they. Bad, very bad. Hand what over?
The boy prostitutes.
Ah.
They're terribly confused. They think this is a barbershop.
Jaysus they are confused.
Not so loud. It's true, barbershops in Jerusalem used to be a place to procure boys but wasn't that a long time ago?
More or less I'd say but the important thing now is for me to send them packing.
You'll have to be careful. You can't count on Medes to listen to reason.
I'm not and I won't. Just keep under cover here.
O'Sullivan Beare marched to the door between the two rooms and snapped to attention. He saluted smartly.
Sergeant, emergency orders from headquarters. All liberty's canceled, charioteers to return to barracks immediately. Carnage on the southern flank, the Egyptians have just launched a surprise attack. What?
That's right, the squadrons are grouping already. To your lances man. Double-time it.
Tell them you're Prester John, whispered Haj Harun urgently from behind the Turkish safe.
No need to, whispered Joe over his shoulder, they're going anyway.
What about the drunken one who passed out in the doorway across the alley?
The sergeant's giving him some bloody sound kicks, that's what. They're leaving, its safe to come out now.
Haj Harun crept out of the corner and tiptoed timidly over to peek into the front room. He tiptoed to the front door and peered up and down the alley.
Gone, thank God. Do you think the streets are safe?
They are. I saw that whole rabble of an army racing out through Jaffa Gate on my way over here.
Haj Harun sighed and his face brightened.
Wonderful, what a relief, let's take a walk. I need some fresh air, last night was a nightmare. I've always detested the Babylonians.
With reason I'd say. Well which route will we be taking today among the many?
The bazaar perhaps? All at once I'm thirsty.
The bazaar, you're right. So am I.
They passed down several alleys, made a turn and entered the bazaar. Haj Harun's mood had changed abruptly with his release from captivity. Now he was robust and smiling and talkative, exuberantly waving his arms as he pointed out the sights.
Hundreds of sweating shoppers jostled each other and squeezed in front of the open shops where hawkers cried out their wares. Haj Harun absentmindedly picked up a handful of juicy fresh figs from a stand and pressed half of them into O'Sullivan Beare's hand. Peeling and munching, their mouths dripping, they made their way slowly through the dense crowds, edging around loaded donkeys and pushcarts, putting their heads together and shouting to be heard above the noise.
See that shop that sells loquats? yelled Haj Harun. A very grand place in its day, the best cabaret in Jerusalem. Run by a former grand vizier of the Ottoman Empire who introduced the cabaret acts and led the applause at the end. Curious how a man of his former importance could be reduced to such a shabby role in life.
Curious, yes.
What?
Always thought so, shouted Joe.
And this corner here was where I was fined for public cheiromania in Hellenistic times.
What's that?
The man on the corner now? It's hard to say. Either he's had too much hashish or he's gone into a religious ecstasy.
No, I mean that offense the Greeks pinned on you.
Oh that, shouted Haj Harun with a laugh. An obsession with the hand but not what you're thinking.
Palmistry without a license was the problem, I used to be quite a good palmist. See that old building there? I was in jail there once.
They stepped up off the cobblestones into a fruit juice stand and Joe, ordered two large glasses.
Together they stood sipping their pomegranate juice and gazing at the building, Haj Harun beaming and laughing as he reminisced.
