The Collaborator of Bethlehem Read Online Free PDF Page B

lip. He felt adrenaline filling him with rage. Steadman repeated his question. His innocent tone infuriated Omar Yussef.
    “I don’t expect you to be absolutely politically correct, Abu Ramiz. You’re too old for that,” Steadman said. “But I cannot accept this kind of thing. We work in cooperation with the local administration and we’re not supposed to be breeding revolutionaries, or encouraging acts of violence.”
    This stupid man really thought I wanted the children to attack their parents . “The children were already violent. They attacked the soldiers. I hope it’s not revolutionary to point out that this is still an act of violence, whatever their reasons for doing so. I was suggesting to the children that the guiltiest target is not always the most obvious one,” he said.
    “That is outrageous,” the government inspector said. “To place parents and the government before the Occupation Forces as criminals against the Palestinian people.”
    “It’s politically correct these days to blow yourself up in a crowd of civilians. It’s politically correct to praise those who detonate themselves and to laud them in the newspapers and in the mosques.” Omar Yussef banged the edge of his hand on the desk. “But you say that it’s outrageous for me to encourage intellectual inquiry?”
    “You have a bad record, Abu Ramiz,” the government man said. “Your file is a lengthy one. I will have to institute official proceedings against you, if you do not agree to Mr. Stead-man’s proposals.”
    Omar Yussef looked at Steadman. The square American jaw was firm. The lips were tight. Steadman adjusted his small round spectacles. He squinted and watched Omar Yussef calmly with his little, blue eyes.
    So this bastard already told Abdel Hadi he wants me out of here. Who knows if they didn’t cook this up between them? He decided he wouldn’t make it easy for them. He would never retire. They could put him in a jail cell with George Saba before he’d accede to Steadman’s weakness and pandering. “This would never have happened when the school was run by Mister Fer-gus or Miss Pilar. They would never threaten me. Yes, I consider this a threat, not just from the government but from you, too, Christopher. I end this conversation.” He went to the door.
    “Abu Ramiz, you may not leave yet,” Steadman said. “We need to clear this up.”
    “I am happy that you listened to my lecture about ‘Abu’ meaning ‘father of,’” Omar Yussef said. “Would you like me to refer to you as Abu Scott, as you suggested, after all?”
    Steadman seemed taken aback by Omar Yussef’s change in direction, and he answered warily. “Yes. Like I told you, I always figured I’d call my son Scott, if I had one. So that makes me the father of Scott. Sure, you can call me Abu Scott.”
    “It is a most appropriate name. In Arabic, Scott means shut up .” Omar Yussef stared at the confused American and the furious government inspector. “Excuse me, but I have a condolence call to pay in Irtas. The husband of one of my former pupils has been killed by political correctness.”

Chapter 4
    T he path through the valley was marked by a languid stream of mourners for the martyr. They sauntered along the track to the Abdel Rahman house, chatting idly. Omar Yussef cursed himself for wearing only a jacket that morning, as the wind rushed down the valley of Irtas and through his tweed. He decided to put on a coat every day until April, no matter how bright the weather looked from his bedroom window when he awoke. He moved as fast as he could, but was passed by almost everyone, though they seemed to be in no hurry. He was thankful at least that he wore a beige flat cap of soft cashmere to warm his bald head and to keep his strands of hair under control in the stiff breeze.
    Omar Yussef came to the end of the path. There were two oil drums with the palm fronds and black flags of mourning bending in the wind. The flags were mounted on