The Samaritan's secret

Omar Yussef recalled his own marriage, more than thirty years before. He remembered that, at this moment in the ceremony, the sheikh had prayed for Omar and Maryam, for their families, their town and the broader Muslim community. He smiled. Omar and Maryam came out just about all right, he thought. On the other hand, their town and their community have had it pretty rough.

Sheikh Bader prayed for the grooms and their families. When he came to the prayer for the Muslims, he halted and raised a finger above his head. “Brothers, the community we pray for here, the community of all the Palestinians, is sinking into a time of ignorance.”

Omar Yussef glanced at Khamis Zeydan. His friend raised an eyebrow. The time of ignorance was the term Muslims used to refer to the days before Islam.

“There’s a rot among the leaders of our people,” the sheikh continued. “Brothers, you know the complaints- the corruption and violence and the collaboration with the Occupation Forces. None of this is new to you. And you know who the men behind it all are. Hamas fights them on your behalf. I call on you all to redouble your own commitment to this fight in the name of Allah, the Master of the Universe.”

Though the loudspeakers were at full volume, the sheikh barked himself hoarse, his voice cracking and his fist punctuating the swinging cadence of his speech. “What more urging does a man need than the commandments of the Prophet, blessings be upon him? You should require nothing more to impel you to oppose the present leaders of our people. Yet men say to me, does not the holy Koran also command us to obey the government? It’s true. But what kind of shameful government do we have, and must it still be obeyed in its shamefulness?”

The crowd murmured angry agreement.

“O Muslims, how far have our rulers deviated from the path of the rightly guided caliphs who were the companions of the Prophet, may Allah bless him with peace and still more peace? Today I offer you new evidence that the men of a certain political party are devils and monkeys who live their lives in contravention of all the proscriptions of the Prophet, may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him.”

Khamis Zeydan gave a little whistle. “I’m glad Sami and I didn’t wear our uniforms today. This speech would’ve made us unpopular.”

The sheikh lowered his voice. “The man who led that certain political party, the man who purported to lead the Palestinian people for decades, the man who cast the founders of Hamas into his jails-that man died of a shameful disease.”

“By Allah,” Khamis Zeydan said.

The men in the crowd stirred.

“Brothers, you’ll tell me that you have heard this rumor and that it’s a lie spread by the Jews and that in fact the Israelis poisoned him. While no evil is beyond the Jews, I tell you that this is not the case. We have obtained proof, documentary proof of the cause of this man’s end. This man, who was our president and who dared to call himself the symbol of our suffering-this man was autopsied in a foreign hospital and the leaders of his faction suppressed the results. But Hamas has obtained the autopsy report and we have learned that he did, indeed, die of the shameful disease whose name you all know and which is the result of immorality and forbidden acts.”

The murmur in the crowd grew. Nouri Awwadi’s horse shied and bumped the next stallion with his flanks. His iron shoes rattled on the stones of the square.

“Hamas knows what to do with this information,” the sheikh said. “When we pray now for our community, for the Muslims and for Palestine, think of these men whose only creed is immorality. Think of the power they wield over our honorable Palestinian people, and let us wrest that power from them. Allah is most great.”

The men joined Sheikh Bader in proclaiming the greatness of Allah, swaying and stumbling in the crush. Omar Yussef was pressed against the metal shutters of a vegetable store. The horsemen maneuvered their bucking mounts through the crowd to the social club at the end of the square and dismounted. As they entered the building, they accepted the happy kisses of the men around them like the victors of a sporting event.

As men followed the grooms into the social club, the throng in the square thinned out.

Omar Yussef put his face close to Khamis Zeydan’s ear. “Did you hear anything about an autopsy on the Old Man?”

“No. There never was an autopsy, as far as I heard,” Khamis Zeydan said. “But if the Old Man died of AIDS as Sheikh Bader implied, it’s conceivable the party chiefs would keep it even from senior officials like me.”

“He has been rumored to have died that way.”

“If such rumors were true, then famous people must have been immortal until that disease came along to strike them all down.”

Omar Yussef shook his head. “We aren’t talking about a pop star or an actor. This was our president. People expect different morals from such a figure.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t glad to hear this news. You hated the Chief, after all.”

“I didn’t hate him,” Omar Yussef said. “I thought his methods were distasteful, but so are yours, and I consider you my best friend.”

“Thanks be to Allah.” Khamis Zeydan picked at his teeth.

Sami linked his good arm around Khamis Zeydan’s elbow. “Are you coming to the party, or are you waiting for a ride on one of the horses?”

Omar Yussef looked around the square. The posters and banners and music had been irresistibly exciting to the mob that now pressed into the Hamas social club. It’s just as the sheikh told me, he thought. This shows that Hamas is working for the people. And the old president’s purported death from AIDS is a perfect moral contrast.

Sami and Khamis Zeydan moved toward the social club. Omar Yussef walked slowly to the dais where Sheikh Bader had stood. The horses had left neat piles of dark brown feces in a row before the platform. Omar Yussef wondered if the sheikh had seen the horses defecating, their tails lifted toward him as he gave his speech, or if he had smelled their dirt on the ground.

He crossed the square and followed his friends into the social club.

Chapter 13

Sheikh Bader stood unmoving and silent at the head of the receiving line. He acknowledged each handshake with a slow blink and the deceptive calm of a cruel father daring his children to call down his outrage.

Omar Yussef worked his way through the crush in the social club. The sheikh’s black eyebrows lowered when he spotted him.

“A thousand congratulations, Our Honored Sheikh,” Omar Yussef said.

Sheikh Bader’s hand was limp in Omar Yussef’s grasp. He inclined his head and whispered his welcome.

“This was more than just the political rally I predicted.” Omar Yussef kept the sheikh’s hand in his and pulled him close. “This was very dangerous.”

“Are you threatening me, ustaz?”

“Don’t worry. I’m only a teacher in a United Nations school, and corporal punishment has been banned.”

The sheikh’s nostrils twitched. “The danger is not in my statements. The danger is in our people’s leadership, which ignores the corruption and impropriety in its ranks.”

“I won’t argue with that.” Omar Yussef laid a second hand across the sheikh’s fingers. “But if you’re wrong-”

“I’m not wrong.”

“-there’ll be a price paid in violence. A backlash.”

“Allah is named in the holy Koran as the Executor of Justice. He will protect me in this struggle.”

Omar Yussef inhaled sharply. He was sure Khamis Zeydan was right to warn him off the case of the dead Samaritan, but the sheikh’s condescending certainty needled him and he had to strike back. “Maybe it’s in the name of Allah, the Executor of Justice, that you told Sami Jaffari to back off his investigation into the murder of Ishaq, the Samaritan?”

The sheikh took back his hand with a tug and touched it to his beard.

“Did Allah tell you about the three hundred million dollars in the possession of the dead Samaritan?” Omar