The Mandelbaum Gate (33 page)

‘A mild
case of the scarlet fever,’ Dr Russeifa said. ‘The temperature is not too high,
one hundred degrees is nothing.’

‘Well
really,’ Freddy had said, ‘ought you not to report all cases of the disease?’

‘I
shall report the case. You must assure me she will be kept in isolation two
weeks. The treatment is simple. Only tell me she will be kept in isolation and
looked after in bed. Then I report that the case is all right and has left the
country. I give all the instructions necessary to the young woman Ramdez, who
will, in turn, give them —’ Alexandros’s hand was in the doctor’s and they were
suddenly exchanging profuse smiling words in Arabic while the doctor was being
propelled by Alexandros to the door. Alexandros escorted Russeifa heavily
downstairs, he could be heard decisively locking the shop door and marching up
again. He rubbed his hands together once and said, ‘Now we know what to do. Goodbye
to Dr Russeifa.’

Barbara,
on the sofa, said. ‘There’s a woman in Jerusalem who’s chasing me. The
headmistress—’

‘Just
lie quiet, my dear,’ Freddy said, thinking her delirious.

‘We
leave for Jericho as soon as we are ready,’ Suzi said.

‘Jericho?’
Freddy said. Everything had been out of his hands since Suzi and Alexandros had
conferred together. ‘My father’s first wife lives there,’ Suzi said. ‘She is in
seclusion, and if we pay her a little she will keep Barbara, as she has kept
other friends so often.’

‘Do you
know,’ Freddy said. ‘I think Barbara ought to go to hospital.’

Alexandros
went to a table beside the sofa on which lay a heavily gilt leather-bound book.
‘The Koran,’ he remarked, as he took from between its pages a folded half-sheet
of newspaper. He said, ‘I received the newspaper of Israel early today. I get
it on all Sundays and burn when it is read. But this piece I have kept.’ He
handed it to Freddy, who saw the photograph of a bespectacled man under a
heading: ‘London Consultant for Eichmann Trial.’ Under the photograph was the
title ‘Mr Michael Aaronson’. And beneath that again he read, while Suzi came
and looked at it too: Mr Michael Aaronson of London, an international law
expert who took part in the Nuremberg trials, has been in Israel on a short
visit for consultation on the Eichmann trial. Mr Aaronson, who declined to
reveal the precise legal points of the discussions with the authorities, said
he was greatly impressed by the conduct of the trial from the point of view of
International Law. He said he was not in agreement with that section of the
British press which continues to question the right of Israel to hold such a
trial on her own territory.

Mr
Aaronson, who is in general law practice in London, also said that what little
he had seen of the country had proved a strong incentive to return at leisure,
which he hopes to do one day with his wife and three children.

While
in Jerusalem, Mr Aaronson was able to spend some time with his cousin, Miss
Barbara Vaughan, who has been spending a vacation in Israel. Miss Vaughan, who
teaches school in England, is a Roman Catholic convert. She claims that her new
religion is not in conflict with her Jewish blood and background, and is
enthusiastic about Israel and the Israelis. Miss Vaughan left on Friday for a
tour of Jordan.

‘Does
this paper get round, here?’ Freddy said.

‘It
comes to the authorities, of course, and you may be sure the Army Intelligence.’
Alexandros said. ‘By now they are on the watch for her. You know, this rumour
will reach the people that there is a Jew from Israel in Jordan, and there
could be a hue and cry among the people. The government has made the people
think in a certain way of a Jew, and so whatever is the law for a British
subject is neither here nor there when they have to contend with their own
people’s voices. Many Arabs here have voices that they will use to their own
advantage. So now you take her away to Jericho where she can remain till she is
able to leave the country.’ Alexandros sat down, so dejected that Suzi said, ‘I
would come over to console you in my arms, Alexandros, but I might carry to you
the scarlet fever.’

Alexandros
got up and went to the silver-framed icon in the wall, from behind which he
produced a bulky envelope. He then unscrewed the base of the mosaic lampstand,
from which he took a small cardboard box. ‘I give you the rest of the money,’
he said.

‘Are
you sure you can cash a large English cheque?’

‘Oh
yes, I can cash through London. It is illegal.’

Alexandros
opened the envelope and brought out a batch of English five-pound notes, which
he counted. Then he opened the small box and extracted four fifty-dollar notes.
Suzi said, ‘What a lot of money, but Barbara says she couldn’t care less. I
hold her travellers’ cheques also.’

‘If it
comes to the point where she does need money, then money will be the answer,’
Freddy observed. ‘Travellers’ cheques are less useful in certain cases.’

Alexandros
thought this funny, and began to throw off the weight of the affair. He said, ‘She
may yet finish the pilgrimage. What is two, three weeks in bed? Then,’ he said,
his voice rising in a chant of triumph and hope, ‘the police are no longer
looking for her, and we see she will go to Bethlehem, she will go to see the
Shepherd’s Field and the Milk Grotto perhaps; she will go to the Mount of
Olives, the Garden of Gethsemane, and the Basilica of the Agony; she will visit
the palace of the High Priest Calaphas and the church of St Peter in
Gallicantu, also Absalom’s Pillar, also the Tombs of Zacharias and James, along
the Kidron Valley and the Valley of Jehosophat, by the Tombs of Kings, and she
will go to Bethany and the Tomb of Lazarus.’ Now Alexandros was standing large,
seeming to occupy most of the room, like an Arab lord of ancient times calling
over the sites of past victories, or a prophet the titles of the Lord’s decreed
grounds of abode: ‘She will see the house of Martha and Mary, also Jericho and
the River Jordan at the spot where Christ was baptized by John the Baptist, the
dove descending; and the Dead Sea and the Wilderness of Temptation.’

Suzi Ramdez always said
that the main thing about herself was that she was ambitious. Her strength lay
in her vagueness about the limitations of her life; and her weakness derived
from its actual limitations which she stood ready to demolish at any time.
Beyond any rational expectation she enjoyed the respect of her father, Joe
Ramdez. His character twisted around him, spreading and clinging like a vine,
while hers was a solitary palm-tree outlined sharp against the sky. Her
acceptance of him was total. She knew he was in business for political
purposes, that he was in political things to enable him to score off personal
vendettas; she knew he was also in business for business purposes, and was a
political informer for the Jordanian Secret Service, that he passed
intelligence to the United Arab Republic concerning the Jordanian Government;
and that these activities were all balanced to a fine point which so depended
on instinct that he could no more have put them down on paper than he could
actually see his own face. They all revolved around blackmail of sorts, the
arranging for forged visas and other papers, and, when dealing with foreigners,
a plausible technique of feigned misunderstandings. Suzi did not think of her
father as a crook or a traitor, but she knew that he was. He thought of himself
as a patriot, an Arab, and overwhelmingly as a man who, in all his actions, did
justice to himself. In a world of officials and businessmen who continually and
piously did themselves justice he was at home. His indulgence towards Suzi was
a secret weakness. He put her in charge of the travel agency over the heads of
her mother and her elder sister Lia, who was married to a poor hotel clerk.
Suzi was the manager of the Joe Ramdez Company, travel agents. Joe had put her
at the top because she never asked the sort of questions that betrayed civic
fear, as did his wife. He tolerated her outspoken ways because she took the
place of his son Abdul, and he felt he might eventually lean on her, as on a
son, in his old age. When she had refused to marry any of the men he had
procured for her, he had not insisted. When she had turned twenty-eight he had
given up urging her to marry. She was now thirty-three. Privately, she bossed
her mother and sister as if she were a man, but with everyone else Suzi was at
pains to be accommodating. When she went out with the family she was the most
demure of them all, so that it was difficult for their friends to place an
actual finger on Suzi’s difference from other daughters. Alexandros told her he
knew of a rich Lebanese, a widower, who would want her for a wife even though
she was not a virgin. She said, ‘I don’t need to marry an old widower. I could
marry a young man, and if he was looking for a virgin, that’s all right,
because Abdul has told me of a clever surgeon in Cairo who could stitch me up.
But I don’t want to marry a man who wants a virgin; maybe I’ll go to Tangiers
and marry a European or an American who looks for a woman, not a virgin.’ Alexandros
had been her lover for more than four years. She made him laugh and feel strong
like no other woman. He respected the women of Islam generally, and Christian
Arab women, like his wife, were good women. But they did not have the power of
provoking laughter as Suzi did; and they made a man feel strong only because
they were weak, not because they were free. The nearest thing to Suzi he had
ever seen had been a lovely Indian princess who had done business with him in
Beirut. She had been educated abroad, was freely-spoken, and had made her
husband laugh as he stood, in turbaned elegance, watching business being done.

Suzi
had told her father that morning that she was taking Freddy on a sightseeing
tour. She did not mention Barbara, having been warned by Alexandros not to
mention Barbara. Joe Ramdez had been excited to hear of Freddy’s tour of the
country-side. He told Suzi to remember Freddy’s position, by which he meant her
to see what she could get out of him by way of information.

‘Naturally
I am keeping his position in mind. Otherwise, why do you think I am doing this
job myself rather than give him a hired guide?’ He was proud of Suzi. He said, ‘No
matter if it does not appear to be secret, or if it is not secret, any
information is valuable.’ It was difficult for the government officials, all of
whom were spies of some sort, to know what was secret or not, in any case. They
would frequently be dazzled by a report already available in publications
which had not reached them, or which lay forgotten in their files. He said to
Suzi, ‘Don’t be too friendly with him. Remember you are an Arab. He will
communicate more if you make him feel an intruder in our land; that’s always
the way of the British.’ When she left the house he said, ‘Take a proposal form
for the life insurance.’ She said she already had a proposal form, and bounced
off.

The
life-insurance agency served many purposes, as did the travel agency. Mainly,
it gave basic information about visiting and resident foreigners, from which
could be traced, through the Ramdez network of Arabs who had fled for politics
or crime to other parts of the world, even more personal and professional information.
Information was always good. It could be turned into money more often than not.
Every government bureau throughout the world prized information; however
irrelevant it might seem today, it might be relevant one day. To know of a
Foreign Service man’s private habits, for instance, his friends, his parents
and his blood-pressure, could be very rewarding, very useful.

Suzi
had driven off to the Potter’s Field in independent spirits. She was the
manager and fairly rich. She had met Alexandros in the night, which was good.
She liked to do something for Alexandros. She remembered meeting Mr Hamilton
and Miss Vaughan before, on the day the family had visited the Cartwrights.
They had drunk fruit juice in the garden. Mr Hamilton was called Freddy and had
a lovely smile.

Barbara said from the back
of the car, ‘If you’re going to catch it, I’ll feel awful.’ At present she felt
less awful than she had felt earlier in the day. Suzi at the wheel was making a
cheerful tumble of talk. She said, ‘It will be the blame of your religious high
principles.’

‘I’ll
try to live them down.’

‘I
think I’ve already had the scarlet fever. I know I had a rash and
was to be kept in bed with aspirins one time when I was seven. Latifa, my
father’s first wife, will know.’

Freddy
said, ‘I haven’t had it.’

‘Oh
dear!’ Barbara said.

‘But I
don’t feel I’m going to catch it, somehow or other,’ he said.

‘It
would be the penultimate straw,’ Suzi said. ‘The worst straw would be for
Barbara to be captured.’ She had made Barbara curl up with her head down when
she passed the first sentry post on the road to Jericho. Her conversation was
like the turning wheels of a fast car. Freddy began to sing ‘The Eton Boating
Song’ in a tuneful, unpractised voice.

‘What
is this?’ Suzi said.

‘“The
Eton Boating Song.”‘

‘You
went to Eton when a little boy?’

‘No,
Lancing. But I sang in the choir.’ Freddy looked round at Barbara and inquired
with only his facial expression how she was getting on. Barbara raised her veil
and winked back. Freddy sat up straight again and was silent for a while,
staring at the desert hills. Then he said, ‘The last time I sang it was in my cabin
with a few fellow officers one night outside Montevideo harbour. We sang others
songs as well, my dear. We were celebrating the scuttling of the Graf Spee on
18 December 1939.’ This had to be explained in detail to Suzi, who was, Barbara
thought, as splendid a listener as Freddy was a waffler. She was feverishly
delighted with them. ‘We refer to it as the Battle of the River Plate,’ Freddy
was saying, ‘but there was very little battle, really. We just made it too hot
for her, so she couldn’t stay in and she couldn’t come out.’ Suzi said, ‘Who
was she?’