Khirbet Khizeh Read Online Free PDF Page B

came toward us with outstretched arms.
    â€œ Ya khawaja ,” said the Arab, who had a short white beard, talking while he was still walking.
    Immediately Sha’ul raised his rifle at him and shouted to us: “Look who’s coming!”
    â€œ Ya khawaja ,” repeated the old man in the voice of one who has decided come-what-may, “ Allah ya’atik, ya khawaja ,” God grant you favor, Sir …
    â€œ Yallah! ” said Sha’ul, slipping a bullet into his rifle.
    â€œ Ya khawaja ,” wailed the old man, alternately spreading his hands and pointing to the camel, breathing heavily, from fear not from frailty. “The camel, ya khawaja , let us take the camel and go,” and while he spoke he was already next to his beast, holding on to its girth with his wrinkled brown hand.
    â€œWhat’s he mumbling,” said Sha’ul to Moishe, who was sitting in the back of the jeep. Immediately the jeep reversed and approached the camel in a single movement that so agitated the beast that it pulled the rope free from the donkey’s saddle (the latter gave a momentary start, as the bundles fell off its back, and immediately returned to chewing the succulent grass in the recesses of the hedge with equanimity) and shook the old man from his place with a sudden blow; terrified, he turned toward the camel and said a single word to it, a word it deserved, and how, and then he turned and clung so hard to the saddle that he became part of it, staring in alarm at the jeep that was pressing right up against him.
    â€œWho are you, what are you, where are you from, and what do you want?” all these questions were somehow bound up in the single word that Moishe spoke to him: “ Esh ?”—What?—in a singsong with a gesture of his thumb and two fingers.
    â€œThe camel, ya khawaja , the belongings, let us take them and we’ll go away, may blessing come upon you, let us take the camel and go…”
    â€œ Isma , ya khtiar !” Moishe said to him—listen old man!
    â€œ Hai na’am, ya khawaja , Allah ya’atik, ya khawaja .” The old man, sensing a turn for the better, became submissive and yielding, hoping and praying and ready for anything.
    â€œChoose for yourself,” said Moishe. “Your life or the camel.”
    â€œ Khawaja ,” said the old man in alarm.
    â€œ Ya nafsak ya jamal ,” Moishe insisted, drawing out his syllables and furrowing his brow: “Just be happy we’re not killing you.”
    â€œ Khawaja ,” the old man was close to tears, he placed his hand on his heart. “ Allah ,” he tried to say. “ Bihyat Allah , by the life of God,” he suddenly swore, striking his gray-haired chest, it was evident that he lacked one single great compelling word that might explain. “We’re going—going,” the old man said. “We have nothing, we’re leaving everything behind,” he pointed to the ground all around or to a particular house, “only a few clothes and some bedding,” his tongue ran fast, so as to compress a lot of explanation into a little time, and his hands spread, like a man before his god.
    â€œ Yallah ,” Moishe decreed, “ imshi yallah —get going.”
    â€œAll right,” the old man said, “all right we’re going,” with a slight bow of submission that was close to a shudder, and took a few steps backward, “we’re going, ya khawaja .” He stopped again and tried to say something more.
    Aryeh fired over his head. The man was emptied of his breath and his knees trembled. He turned and groped in the air after a moment with his hands and started trudging along again. We all, it seemed, were sharing a certain unease, or else various thoughts were stirring. But then Aryeh said:
    â€œLet me, Moishe, best to let me finish him off here. What do you want with this scum? Let them learn once and for all that