“He must help his father first,” said Um Taher. “He is the eldest, though his father’s wife has more children.”
“Bas I think we can expect great things, ya Khalto,” said Um Jamil. “Throw him into the sea and he will rise with a fish in his mouth.”
Um Taher bowed her head, as if she already knew.
While Um Taher entertained her ladies in the salon on Mount Gerizim, Haj Taher went to visit the British military governor of Nablus, in the old limestone municipal building on Northern Street, which was until last year the headquarters of the Turkish high representative and his advisory council.
Taher greeted the guard in English. He was here to see Colonel John Hubbard please, he had a special request. Please to tell him it is his friend, Mister Haj Taher Kamal. The guard bowed and gestured that Haj Taher should enter, then disappeared around a corner. After a few moments, Hubbard called:
“Kamal, come on in. Good morning, how are you today? Take a seat.”
Hubbard was dressed in a khaki uniform with a red collar. He had a youthful face, which had at first caused some dissension among the Nablus notables, who took it as an insult to be sent a foreign principal who had barely grown his first beard. On a closer look, however, one could see the fine lines over Hubbard’s forehead and grey hairs at his temples and in his moustache. Haj Taher first met Hubbard at a reception to inaugurate his appointment, ostensibly a celebration but really an attempt to curry favour with the local men of influence by making them feel included in the affair. After Hubbard made his speech the room relaxed into smaller groups, and Taher found himself in a corner with the governor himself. Hubbard told Haj Taher that until recently he was stationed in Cairo, and the pair spoke of the different neighbourhoods, and when Taher described his business and his patronage of various ventures in the town, including the new high school and the municipal hospital, Hubbard seemed impressed. A few days later he turned up at the Kamal store in the khan. He took coffee with Haj Taher and before he left purchased a small cotton bag with a red lining as a gift for his wife.
“Good morning Colonel John, a fine morning. How do you do today?”
“I am very well Mister Kamal. And yourself?”
“I am quite well, thank you.” Haj Taher bowed and showed the tassel on his tarbush. “I have travelled from Cairo for the trade, and I will be leaving soon for Damascus.”
“Excellent. It’s extremely hot, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is very hot.”
“So. What can I help you with?” Hubbard rested his lips on steepled fingers.
“I have a question.”
“Fire away.”
Uncertain what this phrase meant, Taher paused for an additional cue. When Hubbard said nothing, he continued.
“Do you speak French?”
“Yes, I speak French. Some anyway, not a great deal.”
“Would you please read this for me?”
He reached into his pocket, and standing up from his chair handed Hubbard the lilac envelope.
“Of course.”
Hubbard pulled out a folded pair of wire spectacles from his pocket, swung them open, and peered down through the lenses.
“Monsieur—Mister—Midhat Kamal, Kamal Family Home, Nablus, Palestine.”
He looked up at Taher, then turned the envelope over, pulled out the letter, and cleared his throat.
“Dear Midhat.”
It has been now four years since you left us in Montpellier. Four years!—I cannot believe it even while I write it. I find myself thinking about you often. Thank you for your letter. To tell you the truth it causes me a certain distress to discover that you have been in Paris—the thought that we might have communicated before now. You may also wonder why I have not tried to write to you—the truth is that for a long time I was angry and in pain. And I suppose that above all else I was muddled.
“Embarrassed or confused, actually. Sort of jumbled up that means.”
I am afraid this might not reach you before you leave, so I am sending it to Nablus—which means that you are reading this at home. I hope the journey was safe and enjoyable.
Oh—I wanted to write to you for so long—and now that I am here at last with a pen I don’t know what to write—All the things I had thought to say are suddenly difficult to
“Exprimer, to express.”
When you left, the warmth of the house followed after you. I think we had not noticed how much your