Mr. Mani

by A. B. Yehoshua

  Ivor, a medium-height, chubby, bespectacled young man, tried unsuccessfully to obtain a position as a regimental clerk and in April 1916 was sent to the front—where, between the French villages of Dompierre and Méricur, he saw action in nine weeks of hard fighting and was nearly killed twice. In late June his request was granted to be sent to a hastily improvised officers’ training camp in Normandy that turned out replacements for the depleted ranks. Meanwhile, having suffered heavy casualties, his regiment was pulled out of line for rest and regrouping.

  In early September 1916 Ivor rejoined his regiment, which was then stationed at Compiegne, north of Paris. No position of command could be found for him, however, and so he was posted to the adjutant’s office, where he served as a liaison officer with the French forces, especially in matters concerning order and discipline. Seeing that a knowledge of French would be most valuable for carrying out his duties, he set about learning the language with characteristic diligence, doing everything to make himself administratively indispensable so as to avoid being sent back to the trenches, the very thought of which made him quail. Nevertheless, despite all his efforts, a last-minute reshuffling of the regiment before its return to the front at Verdun compelled him to leave his new post and become a platoon commander.

  However, on the twenty-fourth of November, 1916, Ivor Horowitz chanced to meet a former law don from Cambridge, Major Harwell Shapiro, now chief advocate of the 37th Division. Due to growing infringements of military discipline after two years of inconclusive fighting, the advocate-general’s corps was rapidly expanding, and Ivor succeeded in convincing his ex-teacher that he could be of use. Major Shapiro managed to have the young officer transferred to the 37th’s military police shortly before the division moved into line in December 1916. Divisional headquarters were near Lille, within range of the German artillery.

  In the early spring of 1917 sweeping changes were made in the British high command, especially in the Middle East theater. After General Murray’s abortive attack on Gaza in March, Sir Edmund Allenby, who was nicknamed “the Bull,” was given command of the 52nd Division. Allenby sailed from Europe with a large complement of senior officers to restaff the division before renewing the campaign against the Turks in Palestine.

  In May 1917 Ivor Horowitz, to his great delight, set out with Allenby for Egypt, a country he found most congenial and enjoyable. Henceforward he traveled with Allenby’s general staff, on which he served as a military advocate. In late October 1917 he crossed the border into Palestine with Allenby’s forces, and in January 1918, a month after the fall of Jerusalem, he was promoted from second to first lieutenant.

  COLONEL MICHAEL WOODHOUSE Born in Wales in 1877. His father, Sir Ashley Woodhouse, was a Tory M.P. and Attorney General under Disraeli. As a boy Michael was sent to a boarding school in Sussex, after which he joined the army in 1896. He served in the Far East, India, Malaya, and Ceylon, and gradually rose through the ranks. In 1912 he returned to Great Britain to take command of the 3rd Welsh Regiment. In 1914, now a major, he arrived with the first wave of the British Expeditionary Force in France, where his unit was among the first to see combat against the Germans. Major Woodhouse fought in holding actions on the Marne and the Somme in 1915 and was promoted to lieutenant colonel, in which capacity he served as chief operations officer of the 6th Battalion. He was taken prisoner, escaped, and rejoined his regiment, but in late June 1916 he was seriously wounded in the trenches of Verdun, losing his right arm and part of his vision. For three months he was hospitalized in Chenonceaux Castle in the Loire Valley, which had been converted into a military hospital. In early 1917 he was released, promoted to colonel, and awarded the Distinguished Service Order, but he refused to return to England and insisted on remaining in active service. At first he served in a staff position, but after growing friction with his superiors, accompanied by excessive drinking and fits of depression, he asked one of Allenby’s generals to arrange an overseas transfer In September 1917 he arrived in Allenby’s Cairo headquarters and was assigned to the military police. Soon he began to serve as a presiding judge at military trials, a role he relished despite his lack of legal education.

  His half of the conversation is missing.

  ***

  —Colonel, sir. Lieutenant Ivor Stephen Horowitz of the advocate-general’s corps, attached to the adjutant’s office of the 52nd Division. I’m most grateful to you for finding time to discuss with me this matter of—

  —Horowitz, Colonel, with two “o’s.”

  —British, of course. Born in Manchester, sir.

  —1897, sir.

  —Yes, sir.

  —My father, sir, did not have the good fortune to be born in the United Kingdom, although he arrived in it as a young lad. My mother, on the other hand—

  —From Russia, sir. But as a very small child. What deucedly foul weather!

  —It surprised us too, Colonel. We never thought we’d encounter such a stormy winter in Jerusalem, which our British imaginations had pictured, or at least mine had, as a sun-scorched sort of place. And yet it’s done nothing but rain in the months since we’ve been here and the city elders swear that it’s the wettest winter in memory. Still, sir, no matter how glumly a day like this begins, there are bound to be a few hours of clear skies. It’s not your eternal Leeds or Glasgow drizzle...

  —There’s hope even on a day like this, Colonel.

  —No, sir. We still haven’t any dependable or even regular weather forecasts, sir, because the balloons sent up by the Royal Meteorological Service in Cairo do not cover Palestine. However, the barometer outside the house of the French consul does give reliable notice for up to a few hours. I took a look at it on my way over here, sir, and I’m happy to inform you that there’s hope for better weather this afternoon.

  —Horowitz, sir.

  —That’s correct, sir, with two “o’s.” I hope you had a good night’s sleep, Colonel.

  —Oh.

  —Oh...

  —Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry to hear that It’s considered, sir, the best establishment in Jerusalem. General Allenby himself stayed there after entering the city, and to the best of my knowledge, there were no particular complaints from his staff. I’m most distressed to hear you say that, sir.

  —Quite so, sir. I daresay that their cook hasn’t learned to make proper British food yet. It’s no secret that you can’t find a decent side of bacon in all of Jerusalem. Our governor’s wife, Lady Humphrey, was just saying as much to the brigadier. Although I’ve heard say that the same cook has acquired the knack of a quite traditional British porridge. You might want to try it, sir.

  —I see, Colonel.

  —The city itself, sir, is a small and shabby place, and after a few months here I’m quite prepared to say that it’s a frightfully dull one as well. The population is extremely mixed, a hodgepodge of small, unsociable communities that are as indigent and ignorant as they are endowed with a messianic sense of superiority. As usual, there seems to be no relation between the reputation of the place, which it owes to the great books written in and about it, and the sordid reality, sir.

  —What does it have to offer? Jolly little, Colonel. One renowned and quite impressive mosque, the Dome of the Rock, which you no doubt know about, sir. A few important churches, chiefly, the Holy Sepulchre—which if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, is rather a disappointment. A few of the little churches outside the walled city are far more charming and harmoniously proportioned. Any time you would like a tour, sir, the advocate-general’s office will be pleased to put a first-rate guide at your disposal.

  —As usual, sir, the Jews have little to offer except themselves. To our great surprise it turns out that they are a majority here, even though many of them were banished or fled during the war. Architecturally, they have only a few poor synagogues. And of course, there’s that big white wall they stand in front of, which is supposedly a remnant of their Temple.

  —Yes, sir. They simply stand there and pray, as if the
y were rooted to the spot.

  —Half a day, sir, is more than enough to do the holy places at your leisure. Everything is at frightfully close quarters, and the distances are so absurdly small as to be, I would say, almost tragic.

  —Outside the walls, sir, are some new neighborhoods scattered over the hills. A few of them, so I’ve discovered in the course of this dismal winter, actually begin to grow on you. But it takes a while, sir, I should think, before you can see their charm...

  —The environs, sir, are poor indeed. If you’re familiar at all with Greece, you’ll be reminded of the southern Peloponnese.

  —I’m sorry to say, sir, that I’ve never been to Greece, but those who have speak of a resemblance, and I’m merely passing on their judgment. The olive groves and vineyards, for example, or the bare, round hills, primitive villages, and black-robed shepherds. And of course, one musn’t forget Bethlehem, which is only a few miles away. It’s a pleasant, gentle sort of place that nestles in the hills quite gracefully; there’s the famous Church of the Nativity, and a most jovial Anglican priest who can tell you all about it in biblical English—he’s really quite entertaining. I would also recommend, sir, an excursion to Jericho, and to the Dead Sea and the mouth of the Jordan, where the Australians are encamped. If Baedeker is right about its being the lowest spot in the world, then having come this far, sir, you wouldn’t want to miss it. It’s certainly a sight closer than the world’s highest spot, what?

  —I’m sorry, sir, but I didn’t quite catch the name.

  —I’ll make a note of it at once, sir. Is it a new label?

  —There’s an Irish officer in our section who’s quite a grog fancier, sir. He has excellent connections with the Armenian church, which has a most presentable cellar. I’ll ask him to see to a bottle.

  —Very well, sir, five...

  —I’ve made a note of it, sir. Will any other label do as well?

  —In that case, sir, we’ll spare no effort. In any event, I’ll report back to you during the day. Will there be anything else, sir? Cigarettes? Tobacco?

  —Very well, sir. The trial begins tomorrow morning. There will be a car waiting for you in front of your hotel at eight o’clock sharp. It’s about a five-minute drive. A small courtroom has been prepared in the Russian Compound, which is outside the walls, not far from the Eastern Orthodox Church. I believe it’s fairly comfortable, sir, as local standards go.

  —Sir?

  —Ah, yes. I haven’t looked into the matter, sir, but I’m quite sure we’ll have no acoustical problems. The fact is, Colonel, that there won’t be many of us, and the prosecution will ask the court to conduct part of the proceedings in camera so as to protect our sources of information behind enemy lines, which have done excellent work. Indeed, sir, barring the unexpected, the trial is unlikely to last more than a few days...

  —No doubt you know their names already, Colonel. They’re listed in the brief that the sergeant gave you yesterday, and I believe you’ll meet them tonight at the governor’s reception in your honor. On your right will be Lieutenant Colonel Keypore of the Australian Battalion, who drove up from the Jordan yesterday, and on your left Major Jahawala, an Indian from Intelligence. As for counsel, sir, the defendant has none, nor could he be persuaded to take any, neither Jew, Arab, nor Englishman. He’s quite determined to defend himself, having studied law for a year or two in Beirut when he was young, and he seems confident he can do it. However, I’ve asked First Lieutenant Brian Oswald to be prepared to assist him, if necessary. I believe that’s all, sir. Saving the witnesses, of course.

  —Oh, dear, sir, of course. I beg your pardon. I myself will prosecute, with the help of First Lieutenant Harold Gray.

  —Yes, sir.

  —Quite so, sir.

  —Yes, sir. Major Clark is our chief advocate.

  —Oh. I thought, Colonel, that you already knew of Major Clark’s absence. His personal correspondence to you should be in this brief.

  —I see. Well, sir, in short, Major Clark sailed for England three weeks ago for his wedding in Oxfordshire. With the brigadier’s permission, of course.

  —There’s not much I can tell you, sir. I only know that the young lady is the daughter of Lord Barton, and that the wedding was best held without delay to prevent any possible embarrassment. I believe that’s enough said, sir.

  —He made her acquaintance in Paris, sir. Did you never meet Major Clark? A most delightful chap.

  —I’m afraid that’s all I know, sir. But I can find out if you wish whether the young lady is Lord Barton’s elder or younger daughter.

  —As you wish, sir. In any event, that is the reason Major Clark could not prosecute the case and I shall be taking his place.

  —Quite so, Colonel. I am not the ranking officer in his absence. But Major Clark preferred to entrust the task to me.

  —I read law at Cambridge, sir, from 1913 until my call-up in October 1915.

  —King’s, sir.

  —I was unable to take my degree, sir, because of the war.

  —No, sir. I was first in France.

  —No, sir. With the 38th Infantry Regiment, 42nd Division.

  —From March through August of 1916, Colonel.

  —No, sir. I was at the front. In eastern France.

  —No, sir. I was a private at the time.

  —Naturally, sir, in the trenches, sir, in combat and in frontal assaults, sir. What else could I have been doing at the front?

  —In April and May of 1916.

  —On the Somme, sir. Between Dompierre and Maricourt.

  —On the northern flank.

  —Quite so, sir. The night of May seventeenth is a horror to remember. It was the ghastliest of them all.

  —I’m speaking for myself, of course. We lost three hundred men in two hours, including two platoon commanders.

  —So he was, sir. How astounding that you knew him!

  —I was fortunate, sir. Just a bit of shrapnel.

  —Thank you, sir, I’d be glad to. It’s very kind of you. If you don’t mind, Colonel, I’d prefer to sit by your side, so that I can show you a few documents.

  —Thank you, sir. We can manage without the desk. I won’t be long and you needn’t trouble yourself. Now that the main features of the case are clear to you, there is something ... something else that I wish to take up with you ... I mean now, before the trial begins ... since once it does, I shan’t be free to raise the matter with the court, as you will have seen for yourself from the brief...

  —I beg your pardon, sir.

  —Indeed, sir, I was afraid you might not have time to read it all.

  —Oh.

  —Oh, dear...

  —Oh, dear me, Colonel, we had no idea. I’m flabbergasted.

  —Oh, dear, sir. I’m so dreadfully sorry. I’m quite devastated. We knew, of course, that you were wounded at Verdun. Your name, sir, has been a byword in our division ever since the Battle of the Marne.

  —I’m so sorry, sir. No one breathed a word to us. Had anyone told me, I would have come to read the brief to you myself.

  —Now? Well, why not! I’d be delighted to, Colonel. I’m entirely at your disposal, and I’m quite prepared to read you the brief and all its documents.

  —I’d be delighted to, sir. A résumé, as the French say. It will be both jollier and quicker...

  —Thank you, sir. With pleasure.

  —Just a bit, sir ... that will do for this hour of the morning ... cheers, sir...

  —So this is the whiskey, then, is it? It’s superb ... no wonder you insist on it, Colonel!

  —Indeed, it is ... that, sir ... I mean ... that’s the very subject ... you’ve hit the nail on the head, sir! The prosecution will ask for the death penalty in accord with wartime regulations, whereas ... you see, that’s just what I wished to talk to you about...

  —Sir?

  —Quite so. It’s best to begin from the beginning. But just where is the beginning, sir, if you’ll allow me to reflect for a moment? Supp
ose we say on the twenty-eighth of February, on a cold, foggy, rainy night, indeed, on a sleety night turning to real snow in the morning, the kind that falls here no more than once a year to the great consternation of the natives. That, sir, was the night the accused was apprehended. It happened some ten miles north of Jerusalem, just outside a small town called Ramallah, which means the hill of God, in a hamlet called el-Bireh, which is the biblical Bethel, I believe. It’s a small village of olive groves and little vegetable gardens that marks the farthest point of Allenby’s advance after taking Jerusalem in December. It’s not at all clear why he stopped there—perhaps he wished to rest his forces after the excitement of Jerusalem. But since he didn’t strike while the iron was hot, it grew cold and gray until its jagged lines hardened like fate. That’s where the front runs now, with the Turks sitting on the other side of it, out of sight behind a ridge of hills. It cuts right through the village, several of the houses on the lower slope of which are in no-man’s land. The Arabs living in them are poor shepherds who are allowed to come and go, and one of our more enterprising officers even issued them certificates of good conduct granting them freedom of movement among the hills and between the two armies. There’s a platoon of Ulstermen there with a brave bucko of a commander who’s actually just a first sergeant. They’ve dug trenches and deployed their machine guns, and they sit there breathing the winter fog that rolls in from the sea to the desert and thinking of Ulster. Now and then they cluck to the goats, or call to some shepherd grazing his flock down the hill to come show them his certificate. Since they speak no Arabic and have no interpreters, they have no dealings with the natives, who pay them as much attention as you would to a lot of flitting shadows. Which is what makes it so extraordinary that he was even noticed that foggy dawn, let alone apprehended. And it’s even more remarkable that, once he was apprehended, it was decided to detain him ... so that, looking back on it now, I can’t swear that he didn’t do it deliberately ... that he didn’t do everything, in fact, for the sole purpose of being caught, so that he could have his day in court...