“… But the time for you has not come yet,” said Simeon, and I felt as if he had deliberately cut the contact. “They need you at our ivory tower. Moshe is right about carrying on with the job as long as there is a possibility. When we need you we shall let you know.”
“I haven’t said yet that I agree,” I said. But Simeon merely smiled:
“Do you think I would have told you the things I did, if I didn’t know that we can trust you?”
The visiting hour was drawing to its end and all over the ward people gathered themselves up and lingered by the beds in the elaborate process of leave-taking. Simeon seemed to shrink again to a sick man in a hospital bed dreading to be left alone. I felt pity for him—the pity for the strong which is more painful than pity for the weak.
“Oh, Simeon,” I said, pressing his damp yellow fingers, “why can’t we stay on in our ivory tower? You with your saplings and I with my old boots and Pepys. Is that too much to ask?”
He withdrew his hand. “Ask from whom?” he said drily. “From God or from the British?”
“Time, please,” called the fat nurse—but she dared not come close to Simeon’s bed.
“What will you live on in the town?” I asked; and only now did it occur to me that after altogether six years’ work with the Commune, Simeon was to leave us without a shilling or a spare shirt of his own.
Simeon shrugged. “I shall be a professional killer,” he said. I couldn’t even make out whether he was joking or not.
“Time, please,” called the nurse, looking at us.
“Remember one thing, Joseph,” said Simeon. “A phrase which you yourself once said to me. ‘It is the deed which counts and not its inner shadow.’ Each of our acts goes on record. It is weighed on objective scales and not on the individual balance.”
“Time, please,” called the nurse. I was the last visitor in the ward.
Days of Wrath
(1939)
“Ireland, they say, has the honour of being the only country which never persecuted the Jews. Do you know why?”
“Why, sir?” Stephen asked.
“Because she never let them in,” Mr. Deasy said solemnly.
JAMES JOYCE, “Ulysses”
Days of Wrath (1939)
1
“And the king of Babylon smote them, and slew them at Riblah in the land of Hamath. So Judah was carried away out of their land. And they burnt the house of God, and brake down the wall of Jerusalem, and burnt all the palaces thereof with fire, and destroyed all the goodly vessels thereof. And them that had escaped from the sword carried he away to Babylon; where they were servants to him and his sons until the reign of the kingdom of Persia.”
(Kings and Chronicles)
2
“Now in the first year of Cyrus king of Persia, the Lord stirred up the spirit of Cyrus king of Persia, that he made a proclamation throughout all his kingdom, and put it also in writing, saying: The Lord God of heaven has given me all the kingdoms of the earth; and he has charged me to build him an house at Jerusalem, which is in Judah. Who is there among you of all his people? his God be with him and let him go.
“Now these are the children of the province that went up out of captivity, and came again unto Jerusalem and Judah. And they set the altar upon his bases; for fear was upon them because of the people of those countries. And when the builders laid the foundation of the temple of the Lord, they set the priests in their apparel with trumpets, and the Levites with cymbals, and they sang together by course in praising because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid. But many of the priests, who were ancient men, that had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy: so that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping.
“Now when the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin heard that the children of the captivity builded the temple, then they troubled them in building, and hired counsellors against them to frustrate their purpose all the days of Cyrus king of Persia, even until the reign of Darius king of Persia. And in the reign of Ahasuerus wrote they unto him an accusation against the inhabitants of Judah and Jerusalem. And in the days of Ar-taxerxes wrote Rehum the chancellor and Shimshai the scribe and the rest of their companions a letter against Jerusalem. This is the copy of the letter that they sent unto Artaxerxes the king:
“Thy servants the men on this side of the river, and at such a time. Be it known unto the king, that the Jews that came up from thee to us are come unto Jerusalem, building the rebellious and the bad city, and have set up the walls thereof and joined the foundations. Be it known now unto the king, that, if this city be builded, and the walls set up again, then will they not pay toll, tribute, and custom, and so thou shalt endamage the revenue of the kings.
“Then sent the king an answer unto Rehum the chancellor, and to Shimshai the scribe, and to the rest of their companions: Peace, and at such a time. The letter which ye sent unto us has been plainly read before me. And I commanded, and search has been made, and it is found that this city of old time has made insurrection against kings, and that rebellion and sedition have been made therein. Give ye now commandment to cause these men to cease, and that this city be not builded, until another commandment shall be given from me.
“Now when the copy of king Artaxerxes’ letter was read before Rehum, and Shimshai the scribe, and their companions, they went up in haste to Jerusalem unto the Jews, and made them to cease by force and power.”
(From the Book of Ezra)
3
The desk of the Hon. Patrick Gordon-Smith, O.B.E., Assistant Chief Commissioner to the Government of Palestine, was an ordinary polished mahogany desk such as one might see in any department store. As if to compensate him for the desk’s lack of history and tradition, the tall windows of the temporary Government offices in the Hospice of St. Paul opened on the noble sight of the wall of the Old City of Jerusalem, built by Soleiman the Magnificent of huge, ochre-coloured squared stones, some of which betrayed by their relief-work Roman origin and had once formed the outer wall of Herod’s Temple. Bending to the left in his armchair, the Assistant Chief Commissioner could also obtain a partial view of the bustling life in front of the Damascus Gate—a dusty and smelly but extremely attractive medley of donkeys, camels, and Arabs in all kinds of attire, which, despite the noisy cries of lemonade vendors, the roar of the cracked gramophone on the terrace of the nearby Arab coffee-house, the occasional tinkling of sheep-bells and the constant hooting of motor-cars, had a strangely dream-like quality, as if a scene from a mediaeval etching, illustrating a pilgrim’s tale, had come to life. It was one of the few parts of Jerusalem as yet unspoiled by the vulgarity of modern Hebrew architecture, and one to which Jews rarely ventured these days as the whole Arab quarter north of the Old City Wall was considered unsafe for them.
The A.Ch.C. was reading with a harassed air the topmost document of this morning’s yellow in-tray, concerning a protest of the Armenian community against an alleged infringement of the status quo in the Basilica of the Nativity in Bethlehem, said to have been committed by Greek Orthodox priests by attaching the curtain of their chapel to the upper nail No. 1 on the pillar south-east of the left-hand set of steps leading to the Manger.
It was the A.Ch.C.’s habit to read in the morning the papers in the non-urgent yellow tray first, before turning to the urgent blue and so to the top-urgent red tray. As the years passed, this habit had grown such firm roots that to adopt the opposite procedure now appeared to him as an eccentricity of doubtful taste. Once, when pressed for an explanation—though he disliked explanations of a personal character which smacked of psychology—he had tried to improvise one.
“I suppose,” he had said in his halting, groping manner, “I suppose it’s one of those things you can’t explain. However, if you come to think of it, it’s rather obvious. The so-called urgent matters get attended to in any case, whereas the other ones are apt to fall into neglect. It’s rather like mothers trying t
o get their plain daughters married first—a kind of compensatory social justice, if you see what I mean.”
The girl who had asked the question—a pretty little Jewess employed as a translator and apt to take liberties with a kittenish air—had looked rather puzzled. She had meant to taunt him and had been defeated by her own weapons, that kind of logical feint they were all so fond of. Hovering over the short plump girl from the lean height of his six feet two inches, the A.Ch.C. was having his quiet fun. For he knew of course that the explanation he had given was at the best a first approximation to the truth. A closer examination, however, would have led back to the A.Ch.C.’s early school days and would have proved far too embarrassingly “psychological” to be discussed. It would have led back to the commandment, implanted during those early days, that it was bad form to be too “keen” on anything except on games, and to the conditioned reflex to restrain one’s rash impulses—established to a degree where the suppression almost preceded the impulse itself and second thoughts came before first. Now the A.Ch.C. was in truth rather keen on his job, a weakness which he successfully hid behind a discreetly bored and harassed air; hence it seemed to him all the less permissible to rush into one’s office, throw one’s hat down and jump at the urgent entries like a shopkeeper tearing open his envelopes to see what orders had come in overnight.
To turn to the yellow tray first and leave the red one to the last was thus not only a matter of sheer common sense, as he had pointed out to the intrusive translator, but also a question touching upon things which one did not mention explicitly for fear of sounding pompous and a prig: tradition, dignity and form. The value of the ritual became enhanced by the fact that it was performed while the A.Ch.C. was alone in his room. In the presence of a subordinate he occasionally even went so far as to reverse the order; for courtesy demanded that one should sometimes adapt good manners to bad ones so as to avoid giving offence—like eating with one’s fingers at an Arab meal pretending that one enjoyed it, or arguing with Jews about legal niceties pretending that they mattered.
The A.Ch.C. rang the hand-bell on his desk, a wrought-iron camel-bell whose touch gave him each time a sensuous pleasure, and ordered his private secretary, Miss Clark, to search among the files relating to the division of rights and duties among the various communities at the Holy Places, for the one concerning the status quo in the Basilica of the Nativity in Bethlehem. Before he had finished reading the next document, which was a vigorous protest of the orthodox Rabbinate of the anti-Zionist Agudath faction against alleged unorthodoxies occurring in the ritual slaughter-houses controlled by the orthodox pro-Zionist Mizrakhi faction, Miss Clark had come back with the required document. It was a report by an Arab Sub-Inspector addressed to the then Governor of Jerusalem, Sir Ronald Storrs, in 1920, and containing an admirably concise definition of those contested privileges, infringements of which led, at an average twice a year, to blows and bloodshed among the clergy of the various denominations. Under the heading “Basilica of the Nativity, cleaning thereof”, the record stated:
(1) That the Greek Orthodox Community may open the windows of the Basilica throwing Southward, for the time of cleaning only.
(2) That the Greek Orthodox Community may place a ladder on the floor of the Armenian chapel for cleaning the upper part of this chapel above the Cornice.
(3) That the Armenians have the right to clean the North face of the pillar on which the Greek Orthodox pulpit is placed, up to the Cornice only.
(4) That by mutual agreement the following has also been arranged:
(a) That the Greeks should attach their curtain tight to the lower nail No. 2 at the foot of the pillar which lies South East of the left hand set of steps leading to the Manger.
[This paragraph the A.Ch.C. underlined with a blue pencil.]
(b) That the Latins should have their curtain fall naturally down the same pillar, leaving a space of 16 cm. between it and that of the Greek Orthodox.
(c) That nail No. 1 be left mused by any of the communities.
[This the A.Ch.C. underlined twice.]
(5) That whenever the Government is to clean any part of the Basilica, the necessary implements should be Government’s.
(6) That the above arrangement, however, is subject to alterations in case of any official documents in favour of any of the above communities being produced before next year’s cleaning.
“Look,” the A.Ch.C. said to Miss Clark, “‘No. 1 nail to be left unused by any of the communities.’ A nice, clear-cut case. I wish they were all like that.”
Miss Clark gave one of her fervently affirmative little gasps. She had an unlimited admiration for the A.Ch.C., always harassed by those beastly native sects and communities and whatnots, and yet always patient, polite and kind. She tried to alleviate his burden by her quick, silent, self-effacing diligence, and expressed her opinions mainly in the form of that affirmative sigh or gasp consisting in a sudden sharp catching of her breath, in which all her repressed and disciplined feelings were exploded. At first the A.Ch.C. had been a little startled by these recurrent inhalatory reports, but he soon became accustomed to regarding them as a time-saving equivalent for “Yes, Mr. Gordon-Smith”, while the emotional implications he chose quietly to ignore.
He dictated two short notes to Dunby, the Junior Secretary, who was to draft an answer to the Armenian protest, and to promise an inquiry (the sixth or seventh) into the ritual slaughter business; then turned to the next entry. It consisted of about a dozen letters, pinned together with translations attached, from various Arab notables and village mukhtars adhering to the moderate Nashashibi party, who expressed their loyalty to the Government and asked for protection from the Arab terrorist bands. Two of the letters contained the naïve question whether the rumour was true that the Government approved of terrorism as a means of getting rid of the Hebrews; and if so, would the Government tell the terrorists to stop extracting money from Arabs and leave their property alone.— This, however, concerned the Military and the C.I.D. While handing the letter to Miss Clark, the A.Ch.C. permitted his thoughts to dwell for a second on his nephew Jimmy who served as a junior officer in the Black Watch, and who had had his leg amputated last week after an engagement with terrorist bands attacking a Hebrew settlement. But it only lasted for a second; with a slight feeling of guilt for letting personal emotions creep into public business he turned to the blue, semi-urgent tray.
The first document in it bore the familiar Hebrew heading of the Zionist Executive and the familiar signature of Mr. Glickstein, requesting an interview with His Excellency re admission of the 10,000 children from Germany. Across the top was written in H.E.’s pithy handwriting: “No. Matter definitely settled by statement Col. Sec. Hse. Commons Nov. 24 and Hse. of Lords Dec. 8.” The A.Ch.C. turned to Miss Clark with his worried smile.
“He is an insistent fellow, our Mr. Glickstein, isn’t he?”
Miss Clark uttered her little gasp. It was tinged with commiseration for her chief whom H.E. had left once more to hold the baby, and with disapproval for the insistent Mr. Glickstein with his gold-toothed smile.
“Write that His Excellency regrets he is unable to see him, but that I shall be glad to have a talk with him Monday next at 11 A.M.”
Turning to the next item in the tray, he thought that H.E. went indeed a bit far in demonstrating his dislike of the Hebrew community. For the last year or so he had persistently refused to see Glickstein, and at this year’s official Garden Party practically none of them had been invited. Glickstein was a trying person, and his insistence on pushing a matter which had been settled at Cabinet level was both unpolitic and in deplorable taste, but equally deplorable was H.E.’s demonstrative rudeness to them. It put one in the wrong with an otherwise perfectly good case and laid the Administration open to tiresome attacks in the House and in Geneva, which Mr. Glickstein and his friends were so clever at staging. However …
The next item was a digest of yesterday’s Hebrew and Arabic Press, teeming as usual
with gross inexactitudes and venomous attacks on each other, on dissenting factions in each party’s own camp, and mainly on the Government. He skipped the leader columns with their ever-repeated emotional tirades and concentrated instead on the shorter notes with some factual content.
“We hear”, wrote the leading Hebrew paper, “that there is at present no permanent Hebrew physician to attend to Hebrew patients at the Government Hospital in Jerusalem. We are also informed that the Government Health Department does not employ a sufficient number of Hebrew officials. Arabic reigns supreme in that Department. The British heads of the Department prefer talking Arabic to the Hebrew officials rather than Hebrew. One of the heads requested to be greeted in Arabic and not in Hebrew….”
To this page efficient Miss Clark had attached on her own initiative a typewritten note which said: “Facts ascertained from Health Dept. In Government Hospital Jerusalem 4 out of 10 doctors on the establishment are Jews. So are 21 out of 53 nurses. The three members of the Hospital clerical staff are all Jews. Out of 75 medical officers in the whole Department at present 31 are Jewish and of 331 nurses 38% are Jewish.”
“Excellent,” said the A.Ch.C. “We’ll send them a rectification.”
He leant back for a moment in his chair, both arms resting on the supports, his tall, lean upper body bent over the desk in a curve. He looked out at Soleiman the Magnificent’s wall, behind which ran King Solomon’s Street through the shuks to the Temple Area with the Dome of the Rock (whose main preacher, Sheikh Abdul el Khatib, had just been murdered by extremists of the Mufti’s clan).
“The pettiness of it all,” said the A.Ch.C.
Miss Clark gave her little gasp. “One sometimes wonders whether they will ever become really civilised,” she ventured.
Thieves in the Night Page 20