Edward Whittemore - Jerusalem Poker

Exactly. It was.

And the Fifth through the Ninth Crusades will amount to very little.

I'm glad to hear that. It means you and I will have some time to ease up around here and get some rest.

Well I see you're carrying your reliable ram's horn. Some blast that was, the number you gave us a few minutes back.

I was at the end of the tunnel approaching the ladder.

I see. Were you just treating yourself to a toot or was there deadly intent behind the signal?

I thought I saw someone lurking behind a rock.

Ah.

But it was only my imagination.

Only that, you say?

Yes, it was a shadow cast by my torch.

They do that, I know it. And how was it down there? Anything special to report?

No. I was just doing my laundry down on the Persian level.

Why that era precisely?

Their mountain water is very fresh and sparkling.

I see.

And then I was waiting for it to dry. I like to hang my laundry out overnight.

Do you now. And why might that be?

It gets much whiter.

So it does. But why?

The moon.

Of course, I forgot.

Laundry gets much whiter in moonlight, you see.

I do now although I didn't before. Fresh facts have a way of just popping up.

Look here, Prester John. Have you ever seen dishcloths as white as these?

Surely never. Remarkably white they are.

Thank you. Would you like to go for a walk?

Fine, very fine. I do sense the need for fresh air, to clear the mind after a smoky night at the table. A walk, yes, that's the job wanted.

They locked the ram's horn in the safe and left, Haj Harun taking his dishcloths with him and proudly holding them up to show to the people they passed on the street.

That's it, thought Joe, the evidence is continuing to mount in the cause of lunacy. Just no holding it back as time goes on and comes around. Striking, it is. Impressive, it is. More so every day I live.

— 7-

Haj Harun

It wasn't my physical condition that caused me trouble during the Persian occupation. It was the fact that as a result of those sexual experiences, I was incoherent for the next hundred years.

Haj Harun and O'Sullivan Beare were strolling through the Moslem Quarter in a generally easterly direction.

Just ahead, said Haj Harun, is a famous Crusader church. Do you know it?

St Ann's, you mean. I do.

And have you visited the grotto?

Birthplace of the mother of our Blessed Virgin. I have.

Haj Harun nodded pensively.

Then perhaps you can tell me why so many important events in the Gospels took place in grottoes. Why was that so? Why did everything happen in caves? Was it more comforting?

Caves, muttered Joe. It started out as an underground religion, like most I suppose. But listen, why is it you talk so little when Cairo and Munk are around? Don't you like them?

Oh yes I do, said Haj Harun shyly. In fact I like them very much. They're kind and gentle and I admire their determination. They're good men.

And so? Why don't you feel you can talk around them?

Haj Harun turned to Joe and opened his mouth. Most of his teeth were gone, only a few stumps remained.

Rocks, he whispered. For two thousand years people have thrown rocks at me and run after me yelling insults because they said I was a fool. Well maybe I am.

Joe put his arm around the old man's shoulders.

Here now, what's this all of a sudden? You're not a fool, we know that. The city depends on you, it's survived because of you. You're the one who patrols the walls and guards the gates and sounds the alarm when the enemy's coming. If you weren't here who would rebuild the city after it's destroyed? How would the mountain keep growing higher? Who would take care of the caverns?

Haj Harun lowered his head. He was weeping quietly.

Thank you, Prester John. I know I've always failed but it still means a great deal to me to have someone know I've tried.

Not tried man, said Joe, you did it. Now get ahold of yourself and let's forget this nonsense.

Haj Harun wiped his eyes. As he did his helmet tipped and released a new shower of rust in his face. The tears began to flow again.

Thank you, he whispered. But you see it's going to take me time to get used to having friends again. To be able to trust people again. After so much ridicule and humiliation, and the slaps and the kicks and the punches that go with it, you can't help but be afraid. When we met and you believed what I said rather than beating me when I said it, that was wonderful, the best thing that had happened to me in two thousand years, ever since I lost my credibility in Jerusalem. But I don't want to rush things with Munk and Cairo, I have to have some confidence in myself again. I'm so afraid they might think I was mad and it's terrible when people think that, it hurts much more than the slaps and the kicks and the punches. You can understand that, can't you? Please? A little?

Of course I can, all of it. Now then, let's both of us stand up straight. It's a March morning and spring is coming and we're walking through the streets of your city. Let's smile too.

Haj Harun tried to smile and a shy little twisted grin flickered across his face. Two well-dressed young men were going by and he tentatively held up one of his newly laundered dishcloths to show them. With a single glance they took in the dishcloth and the old man's faded yellow cloak, his spindly legs and bare feet, his rusty Crusader's helmet with the two green ribbons tied under his chin.

As if on command the two young men noisily coughed up phlegm and spat into the gutter. They both turned their heads away as they went striding by, one holding his nose and the other making an obscene gesture.

Haj Harun dropped the dishcloth to his side and shrank back against the wall, cringing pathetically. An enormous sigh escaped his lips.

You see? he whispered sadly. The younger generation doesn't believe in me at all. They think I'm just a useless old man.

What? said Joe. Those fat werewolves from the merchant class? Who cares about them? They've already taken a turn on their morning hookahs and they're so dazed they couldn't believe in anything. The hell with them, we were talking about Munk and Cairo, two very fine gents. I mean I don't think you have to worry with the likes of a Munk or a Cairo.

Maybe I don't, but I still feel shy around them. Anyway a time will come, Prester John, and I'd rather wait until I feel easy about it. I do like them though. Isn't that enough for now?

It is, certainly, so let's be on our way. Say, did I ever tell you I used to have a regular name before I came to Jerusalem five years ago?

Everyone always has other names before they come here.

I believe it. But how would you like to call me by this other name once in a while?

Haj Harun looked puzzled.

Why?

Just so I won't be confused, just because it was the name I was born with. Sometimes I do get confused when we're together. You know, time and all, it can be a jumble.

Time is, murmured Haj Harun.

By God I know it, but just occasionally. O'Sullivan Beare's the name. Or just O'Sullivan if that seems too long.

That's Irish.

That's what it is all right. Now can you use it now and then so I can keep myself straight?

If you wish.

Yes, that would be nice.

They walked into the garden in front of St Ann's and sat down on a bench. Haj Harun untied the two green ribbons under his chin, removed his rusty helmet and held it out to Joe.

Do you see these parallel dents on each side, O'Rourke? I got them one day five or six hundred years ago when I was on my way out of the grotto in this church.

A fight to the finish, was it? You were emerging from the caverns and the Crusaders had the exits blocked?