It was late morning. There was the bustle of traffic, and the cries of the hawkers, and the shouts of the traders, and there were three men hanging from three ropes from the scaffold. Their heads were hooded, their arms were pinioned behind their backs, their ankles were tied with rope. He knew they were men because under the long white robes in which they were draped he could see the ends of their trousers, and he could see also that they wore men's shoes. There was no movement in the three bodies because no freshness of wind could enter the confines of the square. Fastened to the robes on each man was a large black painted sign.
The driver split his face in a delighted grin.
'You like it?'
'Who are they?'
'Can you not read?'
'Who are they?'
'They are Iraqis.'
'What did they do?'
'Who knows what they did? They were accused of
'jeopardising state security to the Israeli enemy'. They are Iraqis, they let off bombs in Damascus, they killed many people…'
The jeep idled past the rough cut, fresh wood gallows.
Abu Hamid stared. He saw that the shoe lace of one man was undone, that his shoe was all but falling from his foot. A fast flash thought for Abu Hamid. He saw a man in terror, crouched on the floor of a cell. He heard the tramp of feet in a passageway. He felt the shame of a man who was to be taken out to be hanged in a public square and whose fingers would not allow the small dignity of retying his shoe lace.
'… That is what I heard, that they set bombs in the city. The government says they are agents of Israel.
Who am I to say they are not? They were hanged at dawn. You like to see it?'
The driver chuckled. Abu Hamid saw the stains at the groin of each man. Abu Hamid nodded dumbly.
'It is good,' the driver said. 'It is not often that they hang the enemies of the state where we can see them. It should be more often. .. '
The driver slammed his foot down onto the clutch, went up through his gears. He hit the horn.
They went fast out of the square. Within a few minutes they were back into the system of wide boulevards that were the public face of Damascus. They were heading for the air ministry headquarters.
'Did Major Said Hazan give orders that I was to be brought this way, that I was to see them?'
Abu Hamid saw the black tooth gaps, and the yellowed stumps, and he heard the cackle of the driver's mirth.
'Ourselves, we are not sure of him,' the Brother said.
'He has proven himself.'
'We are not certain of his determination.'
Major Said Hazan wriggled in his chair. He fancied he could still feel the sharpness of her nails in the skin at the small of his back. The skin on his back and down over his buttocks was of an especial sensitivity, because it was from there that the surgeons had taken the live tissue for grafting onto the uncovered flesh of his face. 'He was the top student in Simferopol, and in the military academy he showed us the extent of his determination.'
The Brother shrugged. It was many years since the Popular Front had been able to take decisions for themselves.
'If you are certain…'
'It is what I have decided.'
Major Said Hazan went to the door of his office. In the outer office he saw the young Palestinian sitting with his head drooped. He thought the young man seemed tired.
He made his pretence of a welcoming smile, he waved Abu Hamid into his office.
'You had a good journey, Hamid?'
'I had a good journey,' Abu Hamid muttered.
'You saw the sights of Damascus?'
'I saw the hanged bodies.'
Major Said Hazan stretched out his arms, rolled his shoulders. 'We are like an old city, Hamid, with enemies at every gate, but if we are ruthless in our struggle our enemies will never scale our walls nor force our gates. Please, Hamid, be seated.' Major Said Hazan took from a cabinet refrigerator a chilled bottle of fruit juice and poured it for Abu Hamid. He went back to his desk, he took from a drawer the plan of the Defence Ministry on Kaplan, and spread it over the surface of the desk. With the heel of the hand that had no fingers he smoothed the plan flat.
'You are a fortunate young man, Hamid. You have been chosen ahead of others. You have been chosen to strike a great blow for your p e o p l e.. '
The Brother said, 'We ask you to lead an attack into Israel.'
Major Said Hazan watched the young man's jaw tremble. He saw that the soles of his boots fretted on the pile of the carpet.
There was a syrup in the voice of Major Said Hazan,
'You hesitate, Hamid, of course you hesitate. You wonder to yourself, are your shoulders sufficiently broad to carry the weight of such responsibility? Your immediate concern is whether you have the competence to carry out a mission of this importance… Hamid, because you hesitate there might be others who would take such hesitation as a mark of cowardice, not I. Hamid, it is I who have faith in you. I could not believe that you have less courage than a girl child who would walk against her enemy with a donkey and with explosives.'
He saw Abu Hamid's eyes waver, stray to the Brother.
'I would refuse to believe that you had less courage than had Mohammed and Ibrahim, chosen by yourself, for the glory of carrying a bomb onto the Jerusalem b u s… '
He saw that the young man now held his head in his hands.
'… Look at me, Hamid, look at my face. I carry the scars of being in the front line of the struggle against Israel. I would not be amongst those who might say that because you hesitate you do not have the courage to follow where I lead…'
He saw Abu Hamid's head rise. He held him, eye to eye.
'I know, Hamid, that the money draft of the Central Bank of Syria has never been cashed. I know, too, that in the presence of the orphans of the Palestine revolution you pledged your loyalty to the struggle…'
He saw Abu Hamid's eyes gape open. He saw the confusion spread.
'Because I know everything of you, I have chosen you.'
'We ask you to lead an assault against the Defence Ministry of the Zionist state,' the Brother said.
'You would go from here to the bed of your girl.
You are the modern day inheritor of the mantle of the Assassins, Hamid. You are honoured amongst your equals, you are loved by the weak and the young and the aged who cannot fight, but who stand behind you, who pray for you.'
'We have to have your answer, Hamid,' the Brother said.
'You would go from the bed of your girl, from the perfume of her body… There is a clear choice, Hamid.
Either you are worthy of the love of your people, or you are branded a coward. You would not prove me wrong, Hamid, I who have trusted you.'
Major Said Hazan saw the trance in the eyes of Abu Hamid. He knew that he had won. He wondered why the shit scared bastard took so long to clear away his hesitation. It did not concern him that Abu Hamid would be shit scared when he led his squad against the Defence Ministry in Tel Aviv. No way out, no escape then, a rat under a boot, and the rat would fight. The rat would claw and bite for survival. Shit scared was desperate, shit scared was good. He thought the boy would fight well.
'I will,' Abu Hamid said.
It was over. Major Said Hazan said that the Brother could take Abu Hamid for an initial planning briefing, that he should stay the night in Damascus, that he should return to the camp in the Beqa'a and choose ten men who would accompany him into Israel.
Major Said Hazan turned briskly back to his desk. 'I have work,' he said curtly.
