8 Great Hebrew Short Novels

by Неизвестный

  The drums were lowered to the ground, the flags were furled, and the masses of people sat down and the armed men took off their weapons. Some of them spread their abbayehs or sheepskins on the ground to lie on, or folded them under their heads. Others squatted on their heels, or lay on their stomachs, leaning on their elbows. All movement in the camp gradually died down, until it stopped utterly and there was stillness, like the stillness that comes when night spreads its wings.

  Abu Il-Shawarab roamed around on his horse, riding around the plain and observing everything. He told the cooks and their assistants to pour the rice and meat they had cooked that night into pots and basins for serving. He summoned the camel drivers, who made their camels kneel while they opened the saddlebags they were carrying and gave the horsemen grain for their horses. He moved quickly from group to group, loudly berating those who had still not managed to find a resting place. When all, people and animals alike, were completely engrossed in their eating, their champing teeth sounding like grasshoppers in fields of grain, he rode back to his officers and led them to the large tent that had stood waiting since morning at the end of the plain, with its flaps rolled up.

  They all dismounted several paces away from the tent and tied their horses to its pegs. For a long while they stood by the entrance, each trying to persuade the other to accept the honor of being the first to enter. On the carpets and pillows which lined the floor of the tent they all spread out contentedly forming a half-circle, their faces to the camp and their backs to the road. Calmly, serenely, they lit their pipes and lethargically puffed out smoke with half-closed eyes, as if asleep.

  Now the procession from Hebron, which had been making its way slowly along the winding valley paths, approached the plain. From the hilltop came an incessant flow of heads of people who, mounting the crest, rose to full stature, only to be pushed down the hillside by the masses of men. Through the clouds of dust spreading around them bobbed the necks and heads of camels, the packsaddles on their backs shaking to and fro like boats upon the waves. Among them swayed the horsemen, the tops of their flags, spears, and lances crossing and recrossing, their polished blades gleaming like a wide wreath of fires. The path down which this crowd now poured seemed to be moving and alive. In the rear came the carriers of implements, beasts of burden and the stragglers, followed by a long line of carriages and carts. As those in the van reached the space where the path met the edge of the plain, they stopped in bewilderment, not knowing whether to turn off onto the plain or to continue along the path.

  What had astonished them was the sight of the Nablus camp, which stretched across the plain as far as the eye could see. Not one of the Nablusites made a move to greet them. Some were holding large chunks of meat, which they chewed at their leisure; others were shoving large handfuls of rice into their mouths, the grease dribbling through the spaces of their abbayehs and down their chins and beards. The horses of the leaders stood tethered around the tent, their heads inside feedbags. The Hebronites exchanged glances of amazement, their mouths ajar and their shoulders shaking. Those in the foremost lines turned about and called for their spokesmen. Those further back found themselves inexplicably stopped, and anxiously asked each other why. Meanwhile more people kept streaming down the hillside, adding to the confusion and din. Angry voices were raised, and grumblers and slanderers had a field day. Those who tried to calm and quiet the uproar only added to the clamor. People crammed in the middle of the crowd called to those in the front to move forward again, urging them on with curses and oaths. Those in front angrily pushed them back, and called in desperation for their leaders.

  The leaders of the Hebronites, who had moved aside to take counsel, did not hurry forward. Abu Faris, seeing the confusion their absence had caused, interrupted the discussion and ordered his officers to take up positions at the heads of their groups. His order was not heeded, so he charged forward alone into the agitated crowd, leading his piebald horse behind him. Waving his staff above his head he ran back and forth in a frenzy, ordering the crowd back to form ranks with proper spaces in between. Those who didn’t obey him found themselves leaping aside with a scream, staring at him in wonder as they rubbed their shoulders, which now burned with the blows he had rained upon them. Others, seeing this, moved back quickly to avoid him, and by the time he reached the forward lines the whole camp was properly lined up in a single column.

  A hush of anticipation followed. Abu Faris stood unmoving, his forehead creased, as if considering what his next tactic was to be. His horse nuzzled its moist nostrils in his hand and knelt down, as if inviting him to mount. At this, Abu Faris seemed to wake from his stupor; the shadows of doubt that had darkened his face were driven off as if by a lightning flash of decision. The pupils of his eyes, which had been staring vacantly ahead, focused sharply again and gleamed like steel, fired by a fierce determination. His entire bearing bespoke anger. Mounting quickly, he surveyed the horizon. Then he turned, called his flag-bearer to him, snatched the flag from him, brandished it high in the air, and signaled to his officers to come to him. His signals did not reach them, so he sent out couriers to them, with terse commands. Not waiting for the couriers to return, he called out an order, and the entire host moved off at once with rapid steps.

  As they passed the place where the Nablusites were camped, Abu Il-Shawarab and his officers emerged from their tent and stood beside the path, waiting for the Hebronite leader to approach them. Abu Faris did not turn toward them, but when he recognized them, his eyes flashed, his pale face contorted with rage, and the sparse hairs of his gray beard trembled with hatred. Muttering a fierce curse between his teeth, he turned around to face his own people. In order not to have to see the Nablusites, he unfurled the large flag and placed it on one side, to block them out from view. He himself seemed to shrink and be swallowed up among his riders.

  Abu Faris rode around the entire Nablus camp and then led his followers onto the plain too, setting up camp at some distance from the Nablusites, in an area they had not managed to occupy. As the masses of people poured toward him, he directed them to positions on the upper slopes, where he grouped them close together, to increase the space between the two camps. In this space he assembled his horsemen and, deploying them as a barrier, strictly ordered them not to allow anyone to cross from one side to the other.

  He instructed them to wait here until the Jerusalemites arrived. Meanwhile, the Nablus horsemen also rode up quickly and took up positions in front of their own lines. The horsemen of the two camps now faced each other as if before a battle.

  Many Hebronites as yet knew nothing of the dissension between the leaders, and now moved toward the wings, hoping to cross over and mingle with the Nablusites, as was the custom. To prevent this, and at the same time to impress the Nablusites, Abu Faris selected ten of his best riders, divided them into two groups, and sent them out to the two wings. He himself rode down the entire line, straightening it here and there, and by means of a rope, divided it into two equal lengths. In the center he placed a rider. Having completed his preparations, he drew his sword, and signaled the riders to begin the horse race.

  The riders, their legs against their horses’ sides, and with spears raised high above their heads, charged at each other in a powerful gallop, shouting wild battle cries as they rode. Taking care not to cross the line, each rider tried to strike a rider of the opposite side on the head with his spear; as the combatants approached each other they all lowered their heads at once, pulled hard at their horses’ reins, and pulled up; then they advanced again with loud cries, only to stop and withdraw again. They retraced their steps and stopped, breathing heavily, their faces toward the horizon and their spears on their shoulders.

  The Hebronites challenged the Nablusites to take part in their games. Ten riders from Beit Shean, who were considered part of the Nablus camp, came out. They held palm fronds, with which they struck their big horses, and their raised sleeves revealed muscular arms lined with blue veins taut like strings. They g
azed contemptuously at the Hebronite camp, which was half the size of their own, and sneered at their short, scrawny horses. Lined up, their horses capering proudly, they looked quite confident of their victory, as they carelessly struck their red boots with the palm fronds, their entire attitude one of scorn.

  At a sign given by Abu Faris the original competitors now left the line and were replaced by ten other riders, of the Negev Bedouin. The aridity of the desert and its blazing sun were evident in the charred dark skin of their faces; from behind the colorful kefiyehs protruded sharp noses, bent like beaks of birds of prey, and eyes that gleamed like burning fires; their small horses, lithe as snakes and fleet as deer, snorted and whinnied impatiently, biting at their reins and stomping their hoofs. They galloped several times up and down the entire line, and then returned to stand at the starting point in silence.

  The goats in both camps, not easily subdued by commands, broke through lines of horsemen, ran madly about, some rearing up on their hind legs, some even climbing up onto camels and other high places to get a better look at the proceedings. Excited people, jammed together, noisily shoved and bustled about like bees. Suddenly they all fell silent, to watch the contest with bated breath.

  The competitors threw down their staffs, drew their swords, and whirled them around their heads. Then, replacing them in their sheaths, they grasped their spears and galloped off as one man, their white abbayehs fanning out and lifting in the breeze like sails, while clouds of dust rose from under their horses’ hoofs and enveloped them up to their waists.

  The contest went on for a long time. The Negev horsemen, who clung to their saddles like cats, ran the Beit Shean riders to the line scores of times. Shrewdly calculating the strength of their opponents’ mounts, they kept up a murderous pace, until the big heavy horses were trembling with exhaustion and their broad backs were foaming with sweat. Their red eyes bulged out of their sockets, and froth mixed with blood flowed from their mouths and nostrils. Only then did the Bedouin charge at their opponents, with a roar suppressed through gritted teeth. Several paces from the line they suddenly swung from their saddles and hid under their horses’ bellies—and in a flash swung up again to sit upright on their steeds. Before the Beit Shean riders could recover, to raise their spears for a renewed attack or to retreat, the Hebronites were upon them. Savagely snatching the headbands off the Nablusites’ heads, they threw their trophies up into the air and caught them in mid-flight on the points of their spears, and then dashed off toward their own camp with their booty.

  A thunderous uproar followed. Had a storm arisen among the thou-sands of trees in the nearby woods, its noise would not have been as loud as the one that now greeted the riders. This was a sound of triumph and pride, a wild and prolonged roar of victory and joy, which burst out among the Hebronites who thronged around their champions, kissing them on the shoulders, slapping them on the back, shaking their hands violently, even lifting them from their saddles and affectionately stroking the necks of the thick-maned horses, whose hair was now dark and gleaming with sweat as their riders led them proudly by the reins through the dense lines of people.

  The Nablusites stood there dumbfounded. The unexpectedness of this total defeat left them staring at each other in disbelief, as if waiting for some event that might deny the spectacle they had just witnessed.

  The defeated riders walked back with eyes lowered, as if looking for a place to hide with their shame. The people from Nablus heard the cheers rising from the Hebronite camp and felt themselves disgraced. They writhed in agony and bit their lips in anger. Then, roaring like wounded beasts, they started running forward in disorder, rushing toward the Hebronite camp to take their revenge. Fists clenched, heads thrust forward like bulls about to butt, the spate of their fury increased as they ran, until the Hebronites, frightened by the sight, fell silent and began to retreat.

  But just as the flame of their wrath was about to ignite the surroundings, Abu Il-Shawarab swept down on his horse into the narrow space now separating the two camps. Waving his sword above his head he called on his people to stop, and on hearing his raging voice they all turned aside. Even the more impudent and violent among them, who raised their eyes to him for a moment, quickly lowered them again in shame. Slackening their grips on the daggers in their belts, they sullenly retraced their steps.

  His rapid ride had brought Abu Il-Shawarab very close to the Hebronite camp, which now seethed over the plain like the leaves of a tree on a stormy day. Suddenly he caught sight of Abu Faris rushing around desperately in an attempt to control his own people, who were fleeing in panic in all directions. In all the confusion he had lost his headdress, and his bald pate gleamed in the sun. On seeing Abu Il-Shawarab approaching him he reined in his horse, straightened up, and raised his head high with a victor’s pride, looking for all the world like a cock ruffling his feathers at the sight of a rival encroaching into his territory, at which he stretches out his throat, follows the intruder with his eyes, and waits for the slightest movement on his antagonist’s part before falling upon him and latching on to his comb.

  Abu Il-Shawarab looked straight into his eyes for a long while, in ominous silence. He felt as if a wave of hatred had struck at his heart. The wave rose up to his throat, strangling him. His face paled and his moustache trembled. Completely overwhelmed by his sudden and violent rage, his eyes dilated and blurred. It seemed to him that the arrogant face of Abu Faris, mocking and scornful like that of an old fox, was becoming vague and distant. All he could see was the closely shaven skull, bluish-white like an ostrich egg. The skull now began circling around him like a point of light, exciting his eyelids until they hurt, yet drawing him toward it as if by magic cords. He felt such a fierce and burning hatred for this skull that the thought flashed through him that he had to smash it with his sword, as one smashes the head of a venomous snake. Still watching the skull, the hand in which he held his sword suddenly tightened around the handle, while his other hand pounded fiercely on his horse’s head. His thighs pressed tightly against the horse’s belly. The horse shuddered, reared up, and raised its forelegs, ready to leap upon the other horse. But at that very moment he was thrust aside, to fall back and stand motionless, quivering from the force of the unexpected blow. Abu Il-Shawarab almost fell to the ground, but managed to drop his sword and the reins in time to free his hands and grab the horse’s mane. As he swayed in the saddle, his foot groping for the stirrup, he turned to look at the rider who had ridden up so suddenly and given his horse that powerful kick which had turned it aside. This rider had dashed on and then turned about in mid-gallop, and now stood in the narrow space between the two flag-masters.

  The rider was Abu Za’id. When the uproar began he had seen Abu Il-Shawarab rush forward in his lone attempt to hold back the furious Nablusites, and had ridden up to assist him. When order was restored he had turned to go back. But as he rode around the fringes of the camp he had caught sight of the two leaders bristling on their horses’ backs, necks forward, faces pale, looking as if they were about to swallow each other alive.

  Though not lacking experience in such affairs, Abu Za’id was startled at first. He reined in his horse and stood stock-still as if trying to find a way to prevent this mischief. But when he saw the movement of Abu Il-Shawarab’s hand he roused himself from his bewilderment, stuck his spurs into his horse, and rode straight at the two adversaries. He passed between them like an arrow, pushing them both aside at the same time, and then returned and placed himself between them. Shaking his shoulders and his head, he said:

  “Allah preserve us from your inflictions…Return to your camps and do not bring disgrace upon us…The Jerusalemites already await us on the main road …” Controlling his own anger, he turned to Abu Faris and said:

  “Order your riders to return what they have plundered…I will be warrant: the riders from Beit Shean will not escape, nor will they evade Arab justice…The ten suits of clothes due to you as lawful prizes for your victory, as well as the kefiy
ehs and the abbayehs, you will receive from me…” To assure him further he pounded his breast with his bony hand, and then offered it to the other to shake. Then he turned to Abu Il-Shawarab and whispered in his ear:

  “Avoid evil and anger…They defeated us fairly and justly, and we have no grounds for complaint against them…Your people are a rebellious lot, and such is not the way of Arabs…By Allah and by his Prophet, were it not for my respect for your father, I would already have left here with my people.”

  Like a sleepwalker who is suddenly woken while he walks confidently toward a dangerous pit, Abu Il-Shawarab started with a sudden shock of horror. He passed his hand across his brow several times, as if to wipe away the dreadful sights still hovering before his inner eye. He remained there like this for a long while, staring uncomprehendingly at Abu Za’id. When the buzzing in his ears finally stopped and his reason returned to him, he lowered his head in embarrassment and bit his moustache in remorse. Like one caught in a crime he moved his lips as if struggling to say some words that might be suitable to the occasion, that might wash him clean and prove his innocence. But his empty brain could think no thought or find any words and he could feel only one desire—to get away from here. He turned the horse’s reins, struck them down quietly, and moved away hesitantly with averted eyes. After several paces he beat violently upon the horse’s back and broke into a furious gallop, and did not stop until he was deep inside his own camp, among his own people.

  Many of his people had set out to search for him in the midst of the surging crowd. Seeing him return they all hurried to him, impatiently and vigorously pointing toward the road. On reaching him they all began to urge him to order the camp to move on.