Complete Works of Talbot Mundy

by Talbot Mundy

  So I returned to ben Nazir’s house, and found old Sheikh Anazeh sitting outside on the step, as motionless as a tobacco-store Indian but twice as picturesque. He still had his own rifle over his knees, and the plundered one slung over his shoulder by a strap; he never stirred abroad unarmed.

  I asked him what the conference of notables was going to be about, and he told me to mind my own business. That struck me as an excellent idea, so, not having slept at all the previous night, I went upstairs and lay on the bed. There was no lock on the door, so I set the chair against it.

  Ben Nazir was a man who had traveled a great deal, and picked up western notions of hospitality to add to the inborn eastern sense of sacredness in the relation between host and guest. It seems that an hour or two later he came to take me down to a Gargantuan meal, but, feeling the chair against the door, and hearing snores, he decided it was better manners to let me lie in peace.

  So I did not wake up again until after midnight. The moonlight was streaming through a little high-perched window, and fell on the white-robed, ghostly-looking figure of a man, who sat with crossed legs on the end of the bed. I thought I was dead and in hell.

  That is no picturesque exaggeration about a man’s hair standing when he is terrified. It really does. I would have yelled aloud, if the breath would have come, but there is a trick of sudden fear that seems to grip your lungs and hold them impotent. The thing on the end of the bed had no eye-brows. It grinned as if it knew all about evil, and were hungry, and living men were its food.

  I don’t know how long I stared at the thing, but it seemed like a week. At last it spoke, and I burst into a sweat with the reaction.

  “Good job you don’t know how to fasten a door with a chair. I’ll have to show you that trick, or you’ll be dying before your time. Sh-h-h! Don’t make a noise!”

  I sat up and looked more closely at him. It was the Ichwan of the afternoon — Sheikh Suliman ben Saoud. And he was speaking unmistakable American. I began again to believe I was dreaming. He chuckled quietly and lit a cigarette.

  “Aren’t you wise to me yet?”

  “Grim?”

  “Who else?”

  “But what’s happened to your face? You’re all one-sided.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. I just take out my false teeth. The rest is done with a razor and some brown stain. I thought you were going to spot me when you first came. Did you? I didn’t think so. Did you act as well as all that?”

  “No. Looked all over town for you afterward.”

  “Uh-huh. I thought that was too natural to be acting. Pick up any news in town?”

  “Saw a hanging, and met a man who calls himself Mahommed ben

  Hamza. He’s waiting at the house of Abu Shamah.”

  “Any men with him?”

  “Nine.”

  “Three more than he promised. Ben Hamza is the most honest thief and dependable liar in Palestine — a cheerful murderer who sticks closer than a brother. I saved him once from being hung, because he smiles so nicely. Any more news?”

  “I expect none that you don’t know. There’s a sheikh named Abdul

  Ali from Damascus, preaching a raid into Palestine.”

  Grim nodded.

  “I’m here to bag that bird.”

  “Where do I come in?” I asked.

  “You are the plausible excuse, that’s all. Thanks to you old Anazeh got into El-Kerak with twenty men. Two might not have been enough, even with ben Hamza and his nine.”

  “Then our host ben Nazir is in on your game?”

  “Not he! Up at headquarters in Jerusalem we knew all about this coming conference. These folk are ready to explode. The only way to stop it is to pull the plug — The plug is Abdul Ali. We knew we could count on old Anazeh. But the puzzle was how to get him and his men into El-Kerak. When you told me ben Nazir had invited you, I saw the way to do it. There wasn’t anybody else except Anazeh that ben Nazir could have sent to fetch you, and the old boy is a dependable friend of ours.”

  “That did not stop him from raiding two villages on the British side of the Dead Sea,” I answered.

  “Did he?”

  “Sure. I had part of a raided sheep for breakfast.”

  “Um-m-m! Well of all the — damn his impudence! The shrewd old devil must have figured that we can’t get after him for it, seeing how he’s playing our game. Bloody old horse-thief! Well, he gets away with it, this time. You’ll have to be mighty careful not to seem to recognize me. One slip and we’re done for. You’re safe enough. If they once get wise to me they’ll pull me in pieces between four horses.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  “It’s vague yet. Got to be an opportunist. I’m supposed to be a member of the ben Saoud family, recruiting members for the new sect — biggest thing in Arabia. I’m invited to the conference on the strength of my supposed connection with the big Ichwan movement.”

  “D’you propose to murder this Abdul Ali person, then, or have him murdered?” I asked.

  “Uh-uh! Murder’s out of my line. Besides, that’ud do no good. Worse than useless. They’d all cut loose. Abdul Ali has got them together. What with bribes and a lot of promises he has them keen on this raid. If he were killed they’d say one of our spies did it. They’d add vengeance to their other motives, which at present are mainly a desire for loot. No, no. Abdul Ali has got to disappear. Then they’ll believe he has betrayed them. Then, instead of raiding Palestine they’ll confiscate his property and curse his ancestors. D’you see the point?”

  “More or less. But what good can I do?”

  “Do you mind if I use you?”

  I laughed. “That’s a hell of a silly question. Any use my minding? You’ve already used me. You will do it again without consulting me. I like it, as it happens. But a fat lot you care whether I like it or not. Isn’t it a bit late in the day to ask permission?”

  “Oh, well. You know the hangmen always used to beg the victim’s pardon. Will you obey orders?”

  “Yes. But it might be easier if I know what I’m doing.”

  “As soon as I know I’ll explain,” he answered. “Where you can fit into the puzzle at the moment is by rooting for the school idea. The worst robber chieftain from the farthest cluster of huts he calls his home town would like to see an American school here in El-Kerak. If there were one he’d send his sons to it.”

  “Okay. I’ll root like a dog for a buried bone.”

  “Go to it. That gives you the right to ask questions. That will oblige ben Nazir to introduce you to any one you want to interview. That will explain without any further argument whatever weakness you seem to have for talking to men in the street like Mahommed ben Hamza. It would even explain away any politeness that I might show you in my capacity of Ichwan. For safety’s sake, and to create an impression, I take the line of being rude to every one; but I might reasonably toss a few crumbs of condescension to an altruist from foreign parts. At any rate, I’ll have to take that chance. D’you get me?”

  “You mean, you’ll use me as intermediary? Messages to and from ben Hamza and that sort of thing?”

  “That’s the idea, but there’s more to it. Did you bring that Bible along? Are you superstitious? Any notions like Long John Silver’s about its being bad luck to spoil a Bible? All right. Keep it in your pocket to make notes in. If you can’t get the whole book to me, tear a page out and send that, or give it to me, with the message spelled in dots under the words. Make the dots faint, I’ve good eyes.”

  “What sort of notes do you want from me?”

  “You mustn’t mistake me for the prophet Ezekiel,” he answered, grinning. “‘Thus saith the Lord’ is all right when you know what you’re talking about. All I know for certain is that I’ve got to bag Abdul Ali. If you get information that looks important to you, get it to me in the way I’ve told you, that’s all. Don’t be caught talking to me. Don’t look friendly. Don’t seem interested.”

  “What else?”

  “If you ca
n, keep old Anazeh sober.”

  “Oh!”

  Grim nodded meaningly: “I’ve known easier jobs!”

  “The old sport thinks no more of me than of an express package he’d been hired to deliver,” I answered. “Drunk or sober, he’d brush me aside like a fly.”

  “Well — wits were given us to use. I guess you’ll have to use yours. Have you any?”

  “How the hell should I know?” I retorted.

  “If you find I haven’t any, don’t blame me.”

  “I won’t,” he answered, and I believed him.

  “What else besides being dry-nurse to the king of the

  Amalekites?” I asked.

  “Don’t trust Ahmed.”

  “He’s a good interpreter.”

  “Yeh — and a poor peg. You’ll have to use him — some. But don’t trust him.”

  “Does old Anazeh know you in that disguise?” I asked.

  “No, and he mustn’t. I’ll tell you why. All these people are religious fanatics. A horrible death is the only fate they would consider for a man caught masquerading as a holy personage the way I’m doing. But their fanaticism has a way of petering out when the gang’s not there to see. In his own village I think Anazeh would laugh if I talked this ruse over with him — afterwards. But if he knew about it here, with all these other fanatics alert and fanning, he wouldn’t dare not to expose me. It’s a good job you asked that. If I send any message to Anazeh through you, be sure you don’t give me away.”

  “How shall I make him believe the message is from you, then?”

  “Begin with ‘Jimgrim says.’ He’ll recognize the formula. But if he questions that, say ‘A lion knows a lion in the dark.’ That’ll serve a double purpose — convince him and jog his memory. He ignored a request of mine — once, and I was able to get back at him. Tell you the story some day. Nowadays he’s more or less dependable, unless he gets a skin-full of redeye. Well, make the most of your chance to sleep; you may have to go short later. I’m going to saw off a cord or two myself.”

  He left the room as silently as a ghost. I don’t doubt that he slept peacefully. Subsequent acquaintance with him convinced me that he can go to sleep almost anywhere in any circumstances. And that is a very great gift, for it enables its owner to wear down any dozen who must sleep for stated hours at fixed intervals. Grim snatches his whenever the chance comes, and goes without with apparent indifference. He told me once that he dreams nearly all the time he is asleep. But the dreams don’t seem to trouble him. I believe he dreams out the key to whatever problem puzzles him at the moment.

  My own sleep was done for that night, his advice notwithstanding. I lay listening to Anazeh’s thunderous snores and naturally enough imagining every possible contingency and dozens that were totally impossible. Nothing turned out in the least like any of my forecasts; but that was not for want of trying to foresee it all. I don’t seem to possess any of that quiet gift of waiting to deal with each development on its merits, as and when it comes. I have to speculate, and speculation is the ene my of peace.

  Looking back, I don’t think I felt a bit afraid of the immediate future; but that was due to ignorance of nearly all that the present held. I think that was part of Grim’s reason for helping me to reach El-Kerak in the first place; he counted on my ignorance of danger to keep me cool-headed. It is true, it did dawn on me that if my host were to suspect me of intriguing under cover of his protection, the protection might cease with disconcerting abruptness. I realized to some extent what a predicament that would be. But on the whole, I think the only real worry was the definite task Grim had given me — the thankless, and very likely desperate, inglorious one of trying to keep old Anazeh sober.

  Of course, the Koran forbids wine. But whiskey is not wine. And if you mix whiskey and wine together they cease to be either; they become a commodity of which the Prophet knew nothing and which he therefore did not forbid. But if you introduce such a mixture into the stomach, and thence into the brain of an already fiery Bedouin; and then introduce the Bedouin to trouble; and if, in addition to the trouble, you provide impertinent, alien, and what he calls infidel restraint, it is fair to presume that the mixture might explode.

  It seemed to me I had been given too much to do. In order to get introductions to the notables I must first get ben Nazir into a proper frame of mind. Then, stammering in an alien tongue, I must make friends with chieftains who had never even heard of me; and that, when their minds were busy with another matter. I must keep in touch with ben Hamza, and convey his messages to Grim without being seen or arousing suspicion. In addition to all that I must keep sober by some means an old savage armed with two rifles and a knife, who had twenty cut-throats at his beck and call!

  While I pondered the problem in all its impossible bearings, loud snores to right and left of me, tenor and bass by turns, announced that Jimgrim and Anazeh were as blissfully oblivious to my worries as the bedbugs were that had come out of hiding and discovered me. I began to feel homesick.

  Chapter Six

  “That man will repay study.”

  I got my first shot at Anazeh at dawn, when the muezzin began wailing over the city; and I missed badly with both barrels. The old sheikh looked into my room, presumably to see if I was still alive, since he had guaranteed to see me safely back again across the Jordan, before rounding up his rascals for morning prayer. They prayed together whenever possible, Anazeh keeping count of their genuflections.

  You could tell he had been drinking the night before the minute he thrust his head into the room. He smelt like the lees of a rum barrel, and the rims of his eyes were red.

  Seeing I was awake he gave me the courteous, full-sounding “Allah ysabbhak bilkhair,” and I asked him where he had dined the night before. He mumbled something into his beard that I could not catch, but he could not have told me much more plainly to go to hell, even in plain English. However, I had to get a foothold somewhere, so I said that I had heard that the liquor in El-Kerak was poisonous.

  As far as I understood his answer, he implied that it likely would be poisonous in the sort of place where I would buy it, but that he, Anazeh, need not be told how to suck eggs by any such a greenhorn as me.

  I tried him again. I said that liquor taken in quantity would kill a man.

  “So will one bullet!” he answered. “But, whereas a bullet in the belly causes pain before death, moiyit ilfadda (aqua fortis) causes pleasure; and a man dies either way.”

  He turned to go, rattling two rifle-butts against the door, but I had one last try to get on terms and said I hoped to see him at breakfast, or shortly afterward.

  “God is the giver both of eyesight and the things to see,” he answered. “I go to pray. God will guide my footsteps afterward.”

  I did not feel I had really made much headway, but I fared rather better with my host downstairs, who either did not pray with such enthusiasm or else had forestalled the muezzin. At any rate, he was waiting for me near a table spread with sweet cakes and good French coffee. After the usual string of pleasantries he became suddenly confidential, over-acting the part a little, as a man does who has something rather disagreeable up his sleeve that he means to spring on you presently.

  “I have been busy since an hour before dawn. I have been consulting with my friend Suliman ben Saoud. The situation here is very serious. As long as you are my guest you are perfectly safe; but if I were to send you away, the assembled notables might suspect you of being a spy, and might accuse me of harbouring a spy. Do you see? They would suppose you were returning to Jerusalem with information for the British. That would have most unpleasant consequences — for both of us!”

  Clearly, Grim in the guise of ben Saoud had been busy, and it was up to me to seize my cue alertly. I was at pains to look alarmed. Ben Nazir grew solicitous.

  “Rest assured, you are safe as my guest. But Suliman ben Saoud was annoyed to think a stranger should be here at such a time as this. He took me to task about you. He is also my
guest, as I reminded him, but he is a truculent fellow. He insisted that the assembled notables have the right to satisfaction regarding your bona fides. It was no use my saying, as I did repeatedly, that I personally guarantee you. He asked me how much I know about you. I had to confess that what I actually know amounts to very little.”

  “Well?” I said. “What does the old grouch want?”

  “He thinks that you should be presented to the assembled notables at noon today. In fact, he demands that they should catechize you regarding your ideas about a school.”

  “I have no objection.”

  “But, I am sorry to have to add this: it is probable the notables will insist on your remaining in El-Kerak until after that shall have taken place which they have been summoned to decide on. They will not risk your returning before the—”

  “Before what?”

  “The — ah — they contemplate a raid!”

  “So I’m a prisoner?”

  “No, no! Mon dieu, what do you think of me! Even the fanatical Suliman ben Saoud saw the force of the argument when I spoke of the sanctity of any guest here on my invitation. But he thinks — and I agree with him, that as a precaution you should first call on Sheikh Abdul Ali. You will find him a very agreeable man, who will receive you with proper courtesy. He is here from Damascus, and exercises a great influence. Once his mind is at ease about you, he will satisfy all the others. Are you agreeable?”

  “Why not?”

  So we smoked a cigarette together after the coffee, and then set forth on foot, for the distance was not great, preceded and surrounded by armed retainers. I imagine the armed men were more for the sake of appearance than protection. Ben Nazir seemed popular. But the escort drove other pedestrians out of the way as roughly as they did the unspeakable dogs that infested every offal-heap. The street that we followed was, of course, the open sewer for the houses on either hand, and its condition was a credit to the mangy curs that so resented our intrusion.

  Abdul Ali’s house, if his it was, was a fairly big square building near the middle of the town. It did not look unlike one of the old-time New York precinct stations, with its big windows protected by iron grilles, and a flight of stone steps leading up to a door exactly in the middle of the front wall.