“In your class on the Arab Revolt of 1936, you said that the so-called Arab heroes were really just gangs. They went about robbing villagers of their food and killing those who resisted, and all the time no one could take them on, because these killers were portrayed as the brave men standing up against the Zionists and the army. They ended up killing more Palestinians than Jewish farmers or British soldiers. You said that if the people had stood up to them early on, the gangs would have backed down and there could have been peace.”
“But I didn’t mean . . .”
“When you’re a stimulating teacher, you had better be careful. You never know what you might inspire people to do.” George laughed and put his hand on Omar Yussef’s. “Don’t worry, Abu Ramiz. It’s not your fault. I thought about it for days, every time they came to the neighborhood to shoot across the valley. Finally I knew I had to act. You see, I thought I understood the gunmen better than you, better than my Dad. In South America, I saw thugs like them. They were cowards when they were confronted. Remember, I lived in Chile when the military dictatorship was forced to give up power. But unfortunately there is no one here to back people up, no law. The criminals have made themselves the law. They shoot at some soldiers, and it transforms them into the representatives of the national struggle. That makes them unassailable and they can abuse anyone they want, particularly Christians who are weak already. That was my mistake. I didn’t see that clearly enough. But I don’t regret it.”
“Our town has changed terribly since you first went to Chile, George.”
“I’ve lived a life of many changes. I learned that change is a good thing. But here in Palestine change is always for the worse. Christian villages are overrun by new Muslim residents, and instead of living together in tranquility, it becomes a bad place for Christians. Even to change a situation of hatred, they only make still more hatred. Love is not an option. It’s the choice of an idiot who wants to end with nothing, robbed and abused and humiliated. The result is that, in the end, everyone’s convinced that the only way to alter the bad relations between Christians and Muslims, or between Israelis and Palestinians for that matter, is to wipe out the other side. To kill them all. Like they’ll kill me, now.”
Omar Yussef had seen that coming. “No, they won’t, George. They can’t.”
George Saba inclined his head, almost as though he pitied Omar Yussef. “When they bring a collaborator to this cell, it’s all over for him. It will be a public execution, like the ones they held in Gaza.”
“I will stop it, George,” Omar Yussef said. “I know that you’ve been set up by Hussein. I just need to prove it, and I will.”
“Abu Ramiz, don’t get into trouble.”
“I already have some proof. I will get more, and I will save you.”
“I have no desire to join the ranks of the martyrs, and of course as a collaborator I won’t get such a title. There will be no Paradise for me. But if there were, I wouldn’t expect to see you there for a long time yet. I warn you not to place yourself in danger. It will only result in two deaths, where these bastards would be satisfied with one.” George laughed. “Maybe I should rethink. If I’m going to die, it might be better to think of myself as a martyr, after all. I’m dying because of my religion, aren’t I?”
“You’re a Christian. You don’t believe in martyrdom.”
“Abu Ramiz, that isn’t true. All right, so we don’t believe like the Muslims do that anyone who’s killed just now goes up to claim his bliss with seventy-two beautiful black-eyed virgins
“I don’t think he’ll go. Not without you.”
“Abu Ramiz, for Heaven’s sake, they’re all in danger, too. You don’t know what those men will do.”
They heard quick footsteps along the corridor. Khamis Zey-dan came to the door and unlocked it.
“I’m not finished,” Omar Yussef said.
Khamis Zeydan concentrated on the final key. “I must leave the station now, so I’ll have to lock him up. Unless you want to spend the next twenty-four hours shivering in here with George, I suggest you get out of the cell now. Come on. I have to hurry.”
George stood up. He kissed Omar Yussef’s cheeks. “Tell my family what I said, uncle.”
“Allah lengthen your life,” Omar Yussef said. He touched George Saba’s face. The beard was prickly.
Khamis Zeydan called from the doorway and Omar Yussef went out. As the policeman locked the door, Omar Yussef looked through the bars at George. The coat he had left behind seemed pathetic, inadequate, stretching across the broad shoulders of his friend. He wished he had brought food or a book to leave with the prisoner. Then he followed Khamis Zeydan slowly along the corridor.
“Hurry up, Abu Ramiz, please. I have to go.”
“What’s the rush?” Omar Yussef was irritated to have his time with George cut short. The emotion of his meeting burst out of him now. “Can’t you have any decency?” he yelled at Khamis Zeydan. “Can’t you let me be with that boy a little longer, that innocent fucking victim?” He lowered his voice in case George could still hear, but he spat out the words angrily. “You bastards are going to kill the best student I ever had.”
Khamis Zeydan stepped close. He was about to speak. A police officer came to the head of the stairs. “Abu Adel,” the policeman said, “the squad is ready.”
Khamis Zeydan called back that he was on his way and the junior officer rushed out of sight. “It’s an emergency, as you can see,” he said to Omar Yussef.
“What is it? The Israelis have invaded Bethlehem once more and you have to run away?” Omar Yussef’s voice was bitter.
Khamis Zeydan looked grim. “No, Abu Ramiz. Someone has killed Dima Abdel Rahman.”
Omar Yussef couldn’t speak. He looked with disbelief at Khamis Zeydan.
