whether or not I can help; the other, whether or not I should.. The latter is prior, I think; morally, anyway. Hassan thought: I'd like to pick you up by the scruff of the neck and shake you. Maybe I can do that, at least figuratively. He said, 'Of course you should. You believe in our cause! It's not so simple. I'm asked to interfere in a contest between two people, both of whom are my friends.' 'But only one of them is in the right.' 'So I should help the one who is in the right-and betray the one who is in the wrong?' 'Of course.' 'Tbere isn't any 'of course' about it ... What will you do, if and when you find Dickstein?' 'I'm with Egyptian Intelligence, professor. But my loyalty-and, I believe, yours- lies with Palestine.' Ashford refused to take the bait. 'Go on,' he said noncommittally. 'I have to find out exactly when and where Dickstein plans to steal this uranium.' Hassan hesitated. 'Ttie Fedayeen will get there before Dickstein and steal it for themselves.' Ashford's eyes glittered. 'My God,' he said. 'How marvelous.' He's almost there, Hassan thought. He's frightened, but he's excited too. 'It's easy for you to be loyal to Palestine, here in Oxford, giving lectures, going to meetings. Things are a little more difficult for those of us who are out there fight. ing for the country. I'm here to ask you to do something concrete about your politics, to decide whether your ideals mean anything or not. This is where you and I find out whether the Arab cause is anything more to you than a romantic concept. This is the test, professor.' Ashford said, 'Perhaps you're right.' And Hassan thought: rve got you.
Suza had decided to tell her father that she was in love with Nat Dickstein. At first she had not been sure of it herself, not really. The few days they had spent together in London had been wild and happy and loving, but afterward she had realized that those feelings could be transient. She had resolved to make no resolutions. She would carry on normally and see how things turned out. Something had happened in Singapore to change her mind. Two of the cabin stewards on the trip were py, and used only one of the two hotel rooms allotted to them; so the crew could use the other room for a party. At the party the pilot .had made a pass at Suza. He was a quiet, smiling blond an with delicate bones and a delightfully wacky sense of humor. The stewardesses all agreed he was a piece of ass. Normally Suza would have got into bed with him Without thinking twice. But she had said no, astonishing the whole crew. Thinking about it later, she decided that she no longer wanted to get laid. She bad just gone off the whole idea. All she wanted was Nathaniel. It was like . . . it was a bit like five years ago when the second Beatles album came out, and she had gone through her pile of records by Elvis and Roy Orbison and the Evefly Brothers and realized that she did not want to play them, they held no more enchantment for her, the old familiar tunes had been heard once too often, and now she wanted music of a higher order. Well, it was a bit like that, but more so. Dickstein's letter bad been the clincher. It had been written God knew where and poited at Orly Airport, Paris. In his small neat handwriting with its incongruously curly loops on the g and y be had poured out his heart in a manner that was all the more devastating because it came from a normally taciturn man. She had cried over that letter.
She wished she could think of a way to explain all that to her father. She knew that he disapproved of Israelis. Dickstein was an old student, and her father had been genuinely pleased to see him and prepared to overlook the fact that the old student was on the enemy side. But now she planned to make Dickstein a permanent p.~rt of her life, a member of the family. His letter said 'Forever is what I want,' and Suza could hardly wait to tell him, 'Oh, yes; me, too.' She, thought both sides were in the wrong in the Middle But The plight of the refugees was unjust and pitiful, but she thought they ought to set about making themselves new homes-it was not easy, but it was easier than war, and she despised the theatrical heroics which so many Arab men found irresistible. On the other hand, it was clear that the whole damn mess was originally the fault of the Zionists, who had taken over a country that belonged to other people. Such a cynical view had no appeal for her father, who saw Right on one side and Wrong on the other, and the beautiful ghost of his wife on the side of Right It would be hard for him. She had long ago scotched his dreams of walking up the aisle with his daughter beside him in a white wedding dress; but he still talked occasionally of her setding down and giving him a granddaughter. The idea that this grandchild might be Israeli would come as a terrible blow. SO, that was the price of being a parent, Suza thought as she entered the house. She called, 'Daddy, I'm home,' as she took off her coat and put down her airline bag. There was no reply, but his briefcase was in the hall: he must be in the garden. She,put the kettle on and walked out of the kitchen and down toward the river, still searching in her mind for the right words with which to tell him her news. Maybe she should begin by talking about her trip, and gradually work around- She heard voices as she approached the hedge. 'And what will you do with him?' It was her father's voice. Suza stopped, wondering whether she ought to interrupt or not. 'Just follow him,' said another voice, a strange one. 'Dickstein must not be killed until afterwards, of course.'
She put her band over her mouth to stifle a gasp of horror. Then, terrified, she turned around and ran, soft- footed, back to the house.
'Well, now,' said Professor Ashford, 'following what we might call the Rostov Method, let us recall everything we know about Nat Dickstein.' Do it any way you want, Hassan thought, but for Gods sake come up with something. Ashford went on: 'He was born in the East End of London. His father died when he was a boy. What about the motherr 'Shies dead, too, according to our files.' 'Ah. Well, he went into the army midway through the war-1943, I think it was. Anyway he was in time to be part of the attack on Sicily. He was taken prisoner soon afterward, about halfway up the leg of Italy, I can't remember the place. It was rumored-you'll remember this, I'm sure-that he had a particularly bad time in the concentration camps, being Jewish. After the war he came here. He-~ 'Sicily,' Hassan interrupted. 'Yes?' 'Sicily is mentiobed in his file. He is supposed to have been involved in the theft of a boatload of guns. Our people had bought the guns from a gang of criminals in Sicily.' 'If we are to believe what we read in the newspapers,' said Ashford, 'there is only one gang of criminals in Sicily.' Hassan added, 'Our people suspected that the hijackers had bribed the Sicilians for a tip-off.' 'Wasn't it Sicily where he saved that man's life?' Hassan wondered what Ashford was talking about He controlled his impatience, thinking: Let him ranible-thaes the whole idea. 'He saved someone's life?' 'The American. Don't you remember? Ive never forgotten it Dickstein brought the man here. A rather brutish G.I. He told me the whole story, right here at this house. Now were getting somewhere. You must have met the man, you were here that day, don't you remember?' 'I can't say I do,' Hassan muttered. He was embarrassed . he had probably been in the kitchen feeling Eila up. 'It was . . . unsettling,' Ashford said. He stared at the slowly moving water as his mind went back twenty years, and his face was shadowed by sadness for a moment, as if he were remembering his wife. Then he said, 'Here we all were, a gathering of academics and students, probably discussing atonal music or eidstentialism while we sipped our sherry, when in came a big soldier and started talking about snipers and tanks and blood and death. it cast a real chill: thafs why I recall it so clearly. He said his family originated in Sicily, And his cousins had fated Dickstein after the life-saving incident Did you say a Sicilian gang had tipped off Dickstein, about the boatland of guns?' 'It's possible, that's all.' 'Perhaps he didn't have to bribe them.' Hassan shook his head. This was information, the kind of trivial information Rostov always seemed to make something of-but how was he going to use it? 'I don't see what use all this is going to be to us,' he said. 'How could Dickstein's ancient hijack be connected with the Mafia?' 'The Mafia,' said Ashford. 'Mat's the word I was looking for. And the mazes name wag Cortone-Tony Cortone-no, Al Cortone, from Buffalo. I told you, I remember every detail.' 'But the connectionT' Hassan said impatiently. Ashford shrugged. 'Simply this. Once before , Dickstein used his connection with Cortone to call on the Sicilian Mafia for help with an act of piracy in'the Mediterranean. People repeat their youth, you know: he may do the same thing again.' Hassan began to see: and, as enlightenment dawned, so did hope. It was a long shot, a guess, but it made sense, the chance was real, maybe he could catch up with Dickstein again. Ashford looked pleased with himself 'It's a nice piece of speculative reasoning- wish I could publish it, -with footnotes.', 'I wonder,' said Hassan longingly. 'I wonder.' 'It's getting cool, let's go into the house.' As they walked up the garden Hassan thought fleetingly that he had not learned to be Me Rostov; he had merely found in Ashford a substitute. Perhaps his former proud independence had gone forever. There was something unmanly ,about it. He wondered if the other Fedayeen felt the same way, and if that was why they were so bloodthirsty.
Ashford said, 'The trouble is, I don't suppose Cortone will tell you anything, whatever he knows.' .Would he tell you?' 'Why should he? HaT hardly remember me. Now, if Eila were alive, she could have gone to see him and told him somestory... Vell . . .- Hassan wished Eila would stay out of the conversation. ITU haveto try myself.' They entered the house. Stepping into the kitchen, they saw Suza; and then they looked at each other and know they had found the answer.
By the time the two men came into the house Suza had almost convinced herself that she had been mistaken when, in the garden, she thought she heard them talk about killing Nat Dickstein. It was simply unreal: the garden, the river, the autumn sunshine, a professor and his guest ... murder had no place there, the whole idea was fantastic, like a polar bear in the Sahara Desert. Besides, there was a very good psycbological explanation for her
