Edward Whittemore - Jericho Mosaic

Looking back later, Halim was able to see it all clearly enough. Wars marked the great changes in the life of the Runner: the Six-Day War in June 1967, the Yom Kippur War in October 1973. Up until the June war he had lived as two people, as Yossi and Halim, with part of himself still in Israel and another part in Syria. From then until the October war he had gone through the painful process of learning to be but one man in Damascus — Halim. And thereafter came the third great shift in his career, which was to involve him so intimately with Lebanon.

Of course both Halim and Tajar had always known this third stage would come. It was only to be expected that sooner or later, one of the important Syrian intelligence agencies would make Halim an offer he couldn't refuse.

FIVE

Halim had come to know Bell at Tajar's suggestion, in order to add a different dimension of time to the Runner's life, as Tajar had said then, when Jericho was still part of Jordan. Yet Tajar didn't renew his own acquaintance with Bell when the opportunity came after the Six-Day War. The reason Tajar gave himself for this was professional. It was a matter of security. Assaf had become closely connected to the house in the orange grove in Jericho, through his friendship with the fugitive Yousef.

The excuse was plausible and even real, but it wasn't in Tajar's nature to fool himself, and he also knew how easily the demands of security could be adapted to personal needs. The secrecy of espionage wasn't always a mask presented to others. It could also be a mask to oneself, a hiding place, and in fact there were deeply personal reasons why Tajar hadn't gone to see Bell.

The most important was that Bell had once lived Tajar's kind of life but had gone on to choose a different path.

Tajar was a little afraid of that. And then there was the fact that Bell had once been the grand master of espionage and Tajar the novitiate, long ago in the Monastery in Egypt. And finally, there were Anna's feelings for Bell.

So it was complicated and there were many subtle reasons why Tajar had put off his journey to Jericho. But the passage of the years changed that, especially the profound despair Tajar felt after the Yom Kippur War.

Suddenly delay and caution seemed futile. Why go on avoiding Bell? All at once it seemed a cowardly act of omission in facing himself. He decided to make his pilgrimage to Jericho and not surprisingly, the decision brought a kind of relief that lightened his heart.

***

Everything having to do with Bell tended to be unique in Tajar's eyes, and he would never forget their first meeting after a lapse of thirty years. Tajar turned up at Bell's gate early one summer morning when it was likely Bell would be alone on his front porch. The iron gate creaked noisily under his hand. He took a deep breath and called out: Anyone at home among God's oranges?

The insects buzzed in the orange grove. Tajar imagined his feet being studied beneath the trees, from the porch. No, Bell wouldn't recognize these old shoes with the aluminum crutches planted beside them. A generous, welcoming voice came back: But for the grace of God we are all strangers at a strange gate.

And so it began. Tajar shuffled forward through the orange grove and there was Bell standing in front of his dilapidated chair, looking exactly as Tajar remembered him. With a face like that, a man didn't change. Tajar stopped in front of the porch, smiling broadly.

The last time we met was by the Nile, said Tajar. I learned a great deal from you then, but it's the student who remembers the teacher, isn't it? I had legs in those days and you took me for a walk in the desert to help me and calm me, because I was frightened. I was leaving on a mission that night which seemed very dangerous, and you said . . .

***

Bell was pleased to see Tajar, who was surprised at how well Bell remembered him. When he had served under Bell during the Second World War, Tajar had been no one of any particular importance, merely another of those experts in disguise, the anonymous Monks, who were sent on long-range missions by Bell's secret organization hidden away in the desert near Cairo. Yet as soon as Bell placed him, which he did very quickly, the recollections came back at once.

Just as surprising, Bell seemed totally unconcerned that Tajar had turned up on his porch that morning.

Without quite putting it in words, Tajar hinted that intelligence had become his career. Yet Bell seemed to accept his unexpected appearance as a commonplace event. For the hermit, apparently, all things were equally routine and fantastic. Bell was as relaxed as Tajar himself would have been at home in his hammock, contemplating his rosebushes.

They talked of many things, going back to the time when they had known each other three decades ago in Egypt.

And so you went on to do important work, said Bell. You must be very proud of that. It's a splendid way to spend one's life. If I'd had a cause such as yours ahead of me, the building of a homeland, my life would have been very different. But there was nothing so grand waiting for me at the end of the Second World War, in fact nothing grand at all. Quite the contrary. What lay ahead seemed petty and mean and narrow. The days of the British Empire were over and it was obvious they would be trying to withdraw with a measure of order, which meant fighting ugly little wars of retreat. I wanted no part of it. And because I'd been born in India and had never really lived in England, I suddenly found myself a man without a country. Permanent exile seemed to be all there was, so I ended up here.

Bell smiled in his strange twisted way.

Like all men I was born at the wrong time, he said. A mostly blind Argentine wrote that. It's miraculous to. me what people see despite the darkness and anguish they live in. Mostly we hear the roar of the world but there are real tunes of glory and this land, more than most, has heard them. Perhaps that's why it has always been fought over. . . .

When he opened Bell's gate that morning Tajar still hadn't decided whether to mention Anna, which also meant speaking of Assaf. He had hoped the candor between Bell and himself would go that far, and now after only a few hours it seemed completely natural to speak of them. Bell was excited and pleased and showed it.

How fortunate you are to have known her all these years, he said. Bell spoke of his fondness for Assaf, and then of the lost Yousef and the dead Ali. After that, he fell silent.

Better to say it? asked Tajar at last.

Oh yes, replied Bell. I was thinking of Anna. Of all my acts of cowardice and stupidity, none compares to that piece of folly. Once in Jerusalem I had the whole world within reach and I let it go, let her go, turned away. It was utterly inexcusable and I've never forgiven myself for it. Fools that we are, we learn everything too late. It seems unimaginable to me now. Why did I do it? How? But there are no answers to comfort a human heart, or to justify or explain it, and the tragedy is always the same. Love was there and I lost it, I turned away. Oh yes. . . .

The time came for Tajar to leave, the long morning of remembrance and renewal at an end. Bell walked with him to the gate.

My car is just down the way, said Tajar. I'll come again.

They embraced and Tajar began hobbling away. Bell leaned on the gate watching him go. The road was deserted in the midday heat and Tajar hadn't gone very far when a thought came to Bell.

That evening we walked in the desert, Bell called out. The time when you were leaving that night. Where were you going?

Tajar stopped and turned his head. To Syria, he called back. I was on my way to Damascus and it seemed very dangerous, but you pulled me through.