I

One evening, my friend knocked on the door of my room. I recognized his knock. I also recognized his walk. I liked him. But there was someone else I didn’t know walking with him. Who could this be? Before I could answer, my door opened. My friend knew: he was always an invited guest at my place. This time, he was not alone. Together with him, at his very heel, there entered the room a Bedouin whose face I had never seen before.

“Faisal… Sheikh Hasan has sent him to us…” said my friend in brief, as was his wont, and introduced his guest to me. A man of about thirty, wearing short, wide, red boots, a black cloak, and a white kufiya wrapped with a black agal covering his head and face, his forehead and his mouth, and only his shining black eyes looked at me with curiosity and good will. He greeted me briefly, putting his right hand first on his heart and then on his eyes, and added:

“Sheikh Hasan sends you his blessing…”

“Blessed be Sheikh Hasan and all near to him…” I greeted him in return and asked my guests to sit down.

Faisal sat with difficulty on the chair I offered him, a type of sitting he was not accustomed to, and my good friend shot me a glance of rebuke and censure. How many times by now had he rebuked me with that look, when he came to my room accompanied by one of the men of this country, that I had not adapted my room to guests such as this. His room had a very low divan, fringed mats, and he even had carpets and pillows and thick blankets that he would spread out on the ground for his guests to recline on…

Sheik Hasan had been the close acquaintance and faithful friend of my friend for a long time. He was one of the Bedouin sheikhs of the south, the tents of his tribe pitched on the edge of the desert. Each year, when he brought the fleece of his sheep to sale in Jaffa, he came to visit his friend, my friend in the moshava. And my friend would prepare for him a special feast in his room. And each year, following the grape harvest, my friend would go to the south to visit him, riding his mare and spend several days as a guest among his tents. And sometimes I would join him on his journey. And the two of us would pass by, alone, riding our horses, through three days and three nights, until we reached the tents of Sheikh Hasan. And Sheikh Hasan and the sons of his tribe would welcome us joyously with cheers of celebration, take our horses to feed from the bags of barley opened wide before them, lead us into the large guests’ tent, luxuriously decked in endless carpets, pillows, duvets, and blankets, and seat us at its head. Meanwhile, they would begin to grind the coffee beans in the adjacent tent and cook the fragrant, pungent, and delicious drink. They would summon the shepherds on the double and command them to choose from the flock the choicest lambs for slaughter…And for the heavily-laden evening feast we would be joined by all sorts of nobles of the tribe and its dignitaries.

Faisal hailed from the Bedouins on the other side of the Jordan. Due to an unfortunate turn of events – concerning the black eyes of a woman – he had killed a man in anger. He had been condemned to leave his place and his family and to seek refuge and sanctuary far away, with Sheikh Hasan, who was his blood relation. From there, the Sheikh’s recommendation had brought him to us, to our moshava, asking for a watchman’s job in the vineyards. Now my friend had brought him to me, so that I might recommend him to the moshava board.

“And have you a horse to ride?”

Faisal looked at me with the eyes of one insulted, as if to say: “What kind of question is this?” Is he not a Bedouin – how would he not have a riding mare? Did I take him for some Fellah, to go on foot or ride on the back of a donkey? And my friend looked grudgingly at me again for hurting the guest’s pride.

“Faisal has a thoroughbred, of the famous mares of the Atiya tribe on the edge of the desert to the south,” my friend answered in the guest’s stead. And on the face of our guest, who in his excitement had removed the covering from his face, shone a laughing look of pride and joy.

“Ere I gave my strength to a woman, I had a mare,” added Faisal proudly to what my friend had said.

I knew I had done wrong and I sought to appease my guest and remove from his heart any suspicion of insult. So I said:

“I have no mare, and no wife either…”

A look of wonder and empathy passed over the guest’s face. For a moment, he cast me a look of pity… And to my friend he turned his face in amazement, as if to say: And why did you tell me that this poor wretch could help me?”

Indeed, what power has a man who has no mare and no wife?

“I have no wife either,” my friend said, seeking to include himself in my misfortune, “But we both have riding stallions.”

“Stallions?” The expression of dismissal burst forth involuntarily from Faisal’s mouth, mixed with a pinch of contempt. My friend’s face blushed slightly. This really was his weak spot… All his days he regretted the fact that he could not afford a riding mare.

“We…” my friend said trying to apologize, “…have vineyards. The stallions plow the vineyards in winter… And in summer, when the work is done, we set off riding to travel the country…”

My poor friend! This time he had committed an error for which there was no atoning. Faisal’s face was completely smitten with surprise. His mouth was gaping and his eyes opened very wide.

“The same stallion you ride – you also harness to a plow?” asked Faisal, and my friend was ashamed and buried his gaze in the floor.

The cups of fragrant coffee, that my good landlady had prepared at my request, after the fashion of the locals, did well with Faisal’s heart and went some way to bringing closer the hearts of the two distant worlds. And when I served him, after the drinking of the coffee, clusters of juicy grapes, figs, and almonds, his heart opened merrily, and he told us at length of the eastern side of the Jordan, his fair and pleasant homeland, the fields of grain, the grass for pasture, the cultivated grapes, and… the beautiful girls, their lips sweeter than grapes.

We parted like friends and comrades.

That same evening I recommended Faisal before the members of the board, who had grown daughters and for this they graced and favored me and I was able to tilt their hearts toward him. The next day he was appointed chief watchman of our vineyards.

II

Faisal worked with us faithfully and devotedly for many years. During his tenure there was no breaking in and no complaining in the vineyards. His good name and the name of his mighty friends and acquaintances in the south and the east stood for him, and all around feared him. No one dared send his livestock to graze in vineyards that bore Faisal’s name. And he was loyal and faithful to the both of us, to my friend and to me. But affection he had mostly for my friend. My friend had the advantage of good taste in mares, and his share was greater than mine in the kisses of girls, and these virtues of his increased his worth in Faisal’s eyes and endeared him to him. He became devoted to him and loved him as a friend and as a natural born brother. Together they rode on dark nights to guard the vineyards, and together they went out from the vineyards on hidden paths known only to them, through the olive and fig groves of the region, to the eyes darker than night that waited for them apprehensively… They had made a covenant between them, the grandson of Isaac and the grandson of Ishmael, and there was nothing the one would ask that the other would not do for him.

And during the dead season, in the months between the harvest of grapes and the rainy months, when there was no work in the vineyards and no watch there either, after the fruits had been picked and the grass so dear to the hearts of cows had not yet sprouted, my friend and Faisal would leave to tour the country in all its breadth and width. Only the Jordan did they not cross to the east, for a blood vendetta guarded Faisal’s footsteps there…

And sometimes I too would provide them with company. We would come again to Sheikh Hasan, and to the tents of other sheikhs in the south as well, who knew and were acquainted with Faisal. And everywhere we came, Faisal’s name went before us, and with warm greetings the people welcomed him and his Hebrew friends. Everywhere they slaughtered sheep for us, ground coffee beans, and opened leatherskin bags of pure olive oil. And in the evenings there would assemble in the sheikh’s tent, in the guests’ honor, elders and dignified men. And at the feast’s end, with cups of coffee circulating around to all assembled, began the long talks… One does not talk during the meal; then a sacred silence prevails… and the long talks concern countries and states, nations and peoples, heroes and saints. There are stories of the wondrous queen, who dwells on an island in the sea, and her government stretches to all continents… Of the sons of isra’il, who have sinned to God and he has banished them from the land that he had given to them and placed it for safekeeping in the hands of the sons of Araby, until Allah shows mercy to his people once more and returns them to their country, to their land and inheritance… And of the great sheikh in the desert of Arabia, who guards the roads to the holy cities of Mecca and Medina… Of mighty mares, fine horses of the desert, noble are they, whose pedigree is kept back to the mare of the prophet Muhammed… And of woman, sister of Satan, flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone, who if indeed man has need for her, for without her no human seed would rise up, he must take the utmost caution with her lest she rule over him and drive him from his senses and lead his footsteps to Satan. For hard as the netherworld are woman’s eyes, Satan’s web is cast in them…

And from among the tentflaps, from the adjacent tents, the transgressing black eyes shine and glitter… Do they take in anything from the men’s talk? And what do they say and think amongst themselves? Do they speak of Faisal and his Hebrew companions?

Faisal denied his Hebrew friend nothing, and only one thing did his friend not ask him, and if he had, his request would not have been granted… his mare, the purebread, he would not let him ride… Since he had first mounted her, she had never known another. And my friend’s soul pined for Faisal’s mare.

And one time Faisal granted this request too of my friend’s, even though he had not asked with his mouth, only his eyes had pleaded it… The “king” of the Jews came to the country in those days and visited the moshava too, and the moshava’s riders made ready to meet him on the high road leading to the moshava… but they had no prized mare; all of their horses were beasts of burden… And my friend’s eyes gazed at Faisal’s mare and ached… Then Faisal came to my friend leading his horse in hand and said to him:

“Here, take her… Mount, ride her, and meet your king!”

My friend’s joy knew no bounds. And he swore then an oath to remain faithful to his friend Faisal forever, and enjoined me as well to promise my eternal loyalty to his friend. I promised him.

And neither one of us kept his promise. But not out of forgetfulness and not from ill will… The hand of God came upon us…

III

My friend was the first to betray Faisal. Hard times came upon the moshava. A severe material crisis brought it to the brink of ruin: the price of grapes dropped precipitously and they had no buyers. And tragedy befell the house of my friend. One day his father and mother died, and he grew despondent with the burden of his mourning. From lack of experience he did not know how to cope. Hard and bitter days came upon him and he knew not how to ask for help from anyone, benevolence being repugnant to him. And an even greater misfortune found him: the girl he had harbored affection for, and who had showed him kindness as well, now bestowed it upon another…. And on a day of anger and wrath his spirit failed; he sold the inheritance of his fathers, left the moshava, and fled across the seas. And on his leaving he did not bid farewell any of his friends and comrades, not Faisal either… Only to my house did he come like one sneaking in the night and he kissed me before leaving and swore to me that his right hand would be forgotten ere he forgot Jerusalem, and that he would return to her with the first of her liberators… And when Faisal found out, it was bad in his eyes and vexed him very much. His friend had left, and he had not sought his blessing, nor bid him farewell. And the thing was a riddle to him as well: How could his friend do this to him, whom he had so believed in and both their souls had so been bound in love together?

Faisal’s worldview differed from ours not only with respect to mares. He had his own laws, oral laws that were more sanctified in his eyes than any written law.

To kill a man who cast his eye on a woman you loved – this was entirely taken for granted. And Faisal would have respect in his heart for the killer. But to be remiss in any way in hospitality towards a guest who came under your roof – this was in his eyes a capital offense.

To cheat a man who was his rival, to lie to his face and to bring false witnesses against him – this was something to be taken for granted. But to pass one’s friend by and not greet him and bid him go in peace – this was to be considered scandalous and an obscenity.

And in his Shulchan Aruch, arranged in all its details and particulars in his brain, he found clear answers to life’s questions. And only to the matter of what his friend had done to him he could find no answer. And Faisal’s heart was forlorn and he did not forgive his friend. And though he was angry, he did not think ill of him, but only mourned him as if mourning the dead.

But another surprise, bigger and worse than that one, was in store for him.

The severe material crisis that had seized the moshava, passed. But now it was faced with days of new travails. A spiritual crisis had befallen it.

New people came to the moshava and they said: This is not the way. Each people must work for itself and guard itself. Shame on the people who lives on the labor another and trusts his watch. Shame, and peril also. A peril for the future, when each people stands and makes its own calculations in the world.

And the youth of the moshava turned an attentive ear to what the newcomers were saying and ferment stirred in their hearts.

And in those days there occurred in the moshavot many instances of robbery, theft, and stealing. In many cases, the hands of the Arab watchmen were with the thieves and robbers. And a wave swept the moshava: Hebrew guard! And at year’s end, our moshava too did not renew its contract with its former watchmen, and informed Faisal that in the coming year he was free to go. At first, he did not believe the evil edict, but after he realized that it was indeed true, he came to me to ask me for help… When I saw him in my home, my heart sank. I sat with him like one condemned to die. He asked me to remember in his favor our friendship and our friend who had left us… And I consoled him with weak language and spoke to him of the pleasure of returning to his homeland…

And my words too were a riddle to him. He left my room angry and seething. That evening I went to the board and recommended that they placate Faisal with money. The board acquiesced and gave me the money in hand. The next day I went to see Faisal in his tent and I sat with him on the mats that he spread out for me. I sat as if on whispering coals, and the coffee I drank tasted like wormwood in my mouth… I finally told him in a whisper that the board’s decision could not be reversed and that I had brought him a gift from the board and I handed him the gold coins I had with me. He was silent and said nothing. I bid him goodbye and asked him to come to my room again before he left, and I snuck out of his tent. My heart was ill and all that night I tossed and turned. A mosquito of heartache and contrition pecked at my brain the whole time. At morning’s light I left my home to see if Faisal had already taken up his tent and was preparing to leave. But the place where the tent had stood was empty… Faisal and all his household had left with last night’s watch. He had not come to bid me farewell and seek my blessing.

IV

Many, many years passed. My friend made good the oath he had sworn before leaving the country. He returned to the country as a commander of one of the battalions of the Jewish Legion that served in the British army when they came to liberate the country. On his first day back in the country, my friend set off on his horse and came to see me in the moshava. He spent that night in my home. We sat until late at night and remembered long ago forgotten things.

“Did you see Sheikh Hasan anymore, after I left the country? And where is Faisal?”

I hadn’t seen Sheikh Hasan at all. And of Faisal I told him all I knew. I heard that after he left the moshava, he made peace with his adversaries and returned to his homeland and his family in As-Salt. My friend listened attentively to everything I said, and a shadow of silent sorrow crossed his face.

 Several weeks later, when I visited my friend in camp, he came out to greet me and his face shone with joy and satisfaction. Still from afar, he called out to me:

“Guess who came to visit me in my tent!”

“Faisal?” I asked doubtfully and ill at ease.

The shine on my friend’s face had vanished. A shadow of silent sorrow came over his face.

“No, not Faisal… Sheikh Hasan!”

And again my friend’s face shone with satisfaction.

“Sheikh Hasan? How did he know? Who brought him the message you had returned? Incredible! And I didn’t think he was still among the living…Many in the south have been killed as spies…”

“The birds of the air brought him the message! It’s very interesting. Here, in this country, with no telephone and no telegraph, all rumors are disseminated with lightning speed… While I’m still only a guest in the country, word of my presence has already reached Sheikh Hasan in the desert…”

“And was he glad of it?”

“As a brother and a friend! And he told me of Faisal, too… And he was cross with you, that you hadn’t come to visit him all these years…”

And it was true. Since my friend had left the country, I had ceased to wander my way around it, among the dwellings of the Arabs.

“And had he come just to see your face?”

My friend was slightly ill at ease.

“He did have a request to make of me. He is suspected in the eyes of the English… During the first days of the war he was considered among those loyal to the Turks… And he had heard that I was a great man in the monarchy… And so he came to ask me that I remember a favor of our youth and vouch for him with the British king… How embellished and exaggerated their ideas are!”

And again we sat and talked and reminisced on bygone days, the happy days of the yishuv’s infancy.

“If I reach the other side of the Jordan with the conquering army and I come to As-Salt, I will ask after and find Faisal… And if he’s still alive, I will make good with him for the wrong he was done.”

And again my friend made good his oath, but not in its entirety… His infantry battalion was first to make the crossing over the Jordan near the Dead Sea, and it was they who took As-Salt. My friend was first to enter Faisal’s hometown… And a few days later, after he had rested from his travails and his many exertions – for the ascension from the  Jordan Valley to the heights of As-Salt was one of the most difficult of the British army’s conquests in the country – my friend began to inquire of Faisal and his family. At first, the people denied him, because they suspected his motives. And only when he told them that Faisal’s old friend and comrade from the old days was asking after him, did his relatives come to him, without Faisal, and this is what they told him:

After the British army had conquered the south of the country, a rumor reached Faisal’s ears that a Hebrew man, who had been his friend and comrade from the days when he worked with the Jews in their colonies, had come with the conquering army to the country, and he was one of the great men in the monarchy… And Faisal had a relation and a redeemer from among the Bedouin sheikhs of the south, and the sheikh was also a friend and comrade of the Hebrew man, and Faisal sent to him to ask if the rumor he had heard was true. And the sheikh’s answer was: Indeed the thing was true as day. Their former friend had attained honor and rested at the head of his battalion… He, the sheikh, had gone to visit him and the Hebrew had been glad to see him and had received him warmly with great joy and respect. And when Faisal heard these things his mind became a jumble. He wanted to see his friend, the companion of his youth, whatever may be. And so he decided to steal across the Turkish front by stealth and arrive in the south of the country… All of his many relatives protested against this and would not let him carry out his plan, because deathly risk hung over it. They spoke at length to his heart, that he wait until matters cooled down, until the conquerors’ armies reached them… And maybe his friend and companion would arrive with the army in As-Salt… But Faisal would not heed their good counsel. His spirit could not bear to wait… And one night he got on his mare and silently left his home town. He left and never came back… Several days later the bad news came that Faisal and been caught at the border and killed and his mare had been taken… The mare had been his undoing… Had he stolen across by foot, this misfortune would not have befallen him. But Faisal would not go on foot. For how would he come to his friend on foot, like one of the Fellahin? His mare was light-colored, and in the dark of night she caught the eye of the Turks…

My friend was stunned and amazed by all he had heard and grew very sad in his heart. Then he remembered that his soldiers had brought with them a light-colored Arab mare that they had taken from the Turks… And he ordered the mare brought to him… And in fact Faisal’s family knew her: it was Faisal’s mare…

My friend weighed out for Faisal’s family three times the price of the mare, and took her as a keepsake.

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