'Let the man take his pictures,' said a man with a bandaged jaw and swollen lips, the words coming out slurred. He grinned at the Japanese, said in Arabic: 'Take my picture, yellow brother.'
The Hebron ruffians laughed.
'And mine.'
'Mine, too, I want to be a movie star!'
The Japanese reacted to the shouts and smiles by snapping his shutter.
Hajab tugged at the Japanese man's arm, which was hard as a block of limestone and just as difficult to budge. 'No, no! Forbidden, forbidden!'
'Why can't he take his pictures?' a patient demanded.
'U.N. rules.'
'Always rules! Let us in-we're sick!'
Several patients pushed forward. One of them managed to get around Hajab. The watchman said, 'Stop, you!' and the sneak halted. Stooped-over little fellow with sallow skin and a worried ace, he pointed to his throat and his belly.
'Card?' said Hajab.
'I lost it,' said the man, talking with effort in a low croak, still holding his belly.
'The doctor won't see you without it.'
The man moaned in pain.
'Let him in!' shouted someone. 'He vomited in the truck, stunk it up.'
'Let me in-I have to vomit too,' said another voice from the crowd.
'Me, too. I have loose bowels as well.'
Laughter, followed by more crudities.
The Japanese seemed to think the merriment was directed at him; he responded to each jest and rude remark with a click of his shutter.
A circus, thought Hajab, all because of this camera-laden monkey. As he reached up to pull down the Nikon, several rowdies made for the door.
'Stop your pictures!' he said. 'Forbidden!' The Japanese smiled, kept clicking away.
More patients were pushing through now. Heading for the front door, not a single of them bothering to show his card.
Click, click.
'Forbidden!'
The Japanese stopped, lowered his camera and let it rest against his broad chest.
Probably out of film, thought Hajab. No way would he be permitted to reload on hospital property.
But instead of reaching into his pocket for film, the Japanese smiled at Hajab and held out his hand for a shake.
Hajab took it briefly, withdrew his hand, and held it palm up. 'Twenty dollars, American. U.N. rules.'
The Japanese smiled again, bowed, and walked away.
'Twenty dollars,' laughed a patient as he walked.by.
'Twenty dollars for what, a kiss?' said another.
Hajab thought of going after them, stepped aside instead. The Japanese stood in the middle of the road again, pulled a third camera, a smaller one, out of his jacket pocket and took more of his damned pictures, then finally got in his Subaru and drove off.
Nearby all the Hebron patients had gotten to the door. Only a few stragglers remained, limping or walking the stingy, halting steps of the truly disabled.
Hajab headed back to the shade of his chair. Hot day like this, it didn't pay to expend precious energy. He settled his haunches on the thin plastic seat and wiped his brow. If things got crazy inside, that wasn't his problem.
He sat back, stretched his legs, and took a long sip of tea. Unfolding the paper, he turned to the classified section, became engrossed in the used car ads. Forgetting his surroundings, forgetting the Japanese, the jokers and malingerers. Not paying the stragglers one bit of attention, and certainly not noticing two of them who hadn't arrived on the truck with the others. Who'd emerged, instead, during the height of the commotion created by the Japanese, from a thicket of pines growing just outside the chain-link border at the rear of the hospital compound.
They wore long, heavy robes, these two, and dangling burnooses that concealed their faces. And though they hadn't been required to use them, in their pockets were refugee cards closely resembling the ones issued by UNRWA. Reasonable facsimiles, printed up just hours before.
Inside the hospital, things were indeed crazy. The air-conditioning system had broken down, turning the building into a steam bath. Two volunteer doctors hadn't shown up, appointments were already running an hour behind schedule, and the patient load was heavy, injured and sick men spilling out of the waiting room and into the main hallway, where they stood, squatted, sat, and leaned against the plaster walls.
The stagnant air was fouled by unwashed bodies and infection. Nahum Shmeltzer staked out a place against
