[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

slipped in. They went straight to the dead but unmarked body spread across the
low dais, lifted it between them, and carried it out.
When the doors closed behind them, the room swiftly regressed to black.
KHAYED AND DAOUD. DISPLACED AND FOUND
They were not truly Jordanians. Asil Khayed and Youssef Daoud were born, in
fact, as displaced persons, their families having fled Palestine when the
Independent State of Israel was declared in May
1948. Their parents were of the same clan and came from the same village,
which was close to
Jerusalem. They had been led to believe by those who had their own political
motives that the Zionist forces would destroy their homes and meagre crops,
would slaughter their children and livestock, would rape their women, would
torture and murder the men. Flight to the River Jordan was their only hope.
They came to the refugee camp at Ein es Sultan, one of many such sites
scattered around the city of
Jericho and along the West Bank. There the two Arab boys were born within
weeks of each other, to be raised in the squalor of a vast tent city
containing tens of thousands of grieving migrants, where there were no
toilets, kitchens, or medical facilities, and where most days were spent
awaiting the arrival of water trucks and supply convoys from Damascus and
Amman. The tents provided by the International Red
Cross were of thin canvas which, unlike the tough Bedouin tents of animal
skins and furs, were virtually useless against the rains and sandstorms. Their
beds were nothing more than light sleeping mats. Running, open sewers and
hills of rotting garbage were everywhere, attracting flies and mosquitoes by
the millions.
Severe dysentery was rife. Cholera, typhoid and other diseases claimed
thousands of lives. Fierce rainfalls and then intolerable heat brought in by
hamsin winds from the desert weakened all.
The muktar of their old village, whom the clans gathered around, could offer
no comfort, for his spirit had been broken by the ignoble flight of his people
and the hopelessness he saw all around. Hate with all your heart, he could
only tell them, despise the Zionist dogs who have brought you to this. Nurture
the hatred, live for revenge against the Jews.
Typhoid took Youssef's father, along with his two older brothers and a sister.
That the young baby and his mother survived was no miracle, for death was
indiscriminate. The widow and her child came under the protection of Asil's
Page 108
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
father, there being no energy for jealousy among the women. And the Koran,
which spoke severely against adultery and fornication, also preached the
blessedness of caring for cripples, idiots, blind men and widows. The boys
grew up together and became closer than natural brothers.
Although rough hovels of mud bricks gradually replaced the tents, a form of
rough villages taking shape along the Jordan, the rule of kaif a passivity
that might be described as idleness prevailed. Few businesses were set up, no
industries were started. There were no schools for the younger exiles, no
games or activities organised for them. The demoralised Palestinians relied on
the charity of others, as if content to wallow in their own hatred for the
Jews and the foreign powers that had betrayed them. The
Moslem Brotherhood were eager to exploit the persecution and never tired of
stoking the fires of vengeance against these infamous 'invaders', while at the
same time extolling the virtues of martyrdom for the great Arab cause of
repatriation.
Asil and Youssef were children of a nibbled ghetto, existing on whatever was
sparingly given, thriving on bitterness which was generously supplied. When
Asil's father was killed in a riot against the reviled Arab
Legion of Jordan's King Abdullah who, along with certain leaders of other Arab
states, saw the political advantages in keeping the Palestinians a nation in
exile rather than welcoming and absorbing them as true
brothers (acceptance of the State of Israel would be a threat to his own power
in the Middle East), the boys took on the responsibility for their family. By
then the United Nations had taken charge over the welfare of the refugee camps
and at least some progress was taking place in these humble villages. In Ein
es Sultan there were mosques, a ritual slaughterhouse, stores, warehouses and
food distribution centres.
The boys were lucky enough to find jobs as coffee vendors, passing from shop
to kiosk with their trays bearing coffee finjans, cups and sticky sweets,
often trekking out to the lines of lorries awaiting customs clearance at the
Allenby Bridge.
For pleasure they hung around the cafes and listened to the elders reminiscing
about the old life in their villages, of the main square always awash with the
aromas of pungent spices, cardamom in coffee, incense, and camel, donkey, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]