Humik has met an ex-Israeli, Josh Kahansky, who was owning a restaurant together with Mahmudin, an Indian who was cooking there very sharp Mexican and Indian meat, mixed with a lot of Curry, pepper and other sharp spices. The Indian was informed that Humik would help him in cooking and waitering.
“Look at two visitors, who have just arrive,” he told Humik, “They are wearing some Airforce uniform, and seem to be from your native land. They’ve themselves told me that. I wonder, because U.S.A. is not having any military relations with Israel. On the contrary: Our President Eisenhour, and his Foreign Secretary Dallas- are against the strange tight alliance of Israel with the British and French. They doubt, so my magazine tells me… they doubt if Israel will survive after the next war.”
“Oh, that’s interesting, “ said Humik, “ I am planning to be there very soon. So – you claim that I am doomed?”
“Will you be a pilot, maybe?” asked the Indian smart man.
“No, just a simple Parachutist,” said Humik.
“I have known before, that you’d jump out from the blue sky.”
“How could you know?”
“I have read in New York Times, that the number of Israelis in Palestine now is about two millions. they have won a war against five hundred millions Muslems. It does not make sense- I said… unless they had some patent.”
“Somthing supernatural, or what?”
“If they still stay on this earth, it’s a sign that they have some trick how to escape, to fly over the clouds- as soon as some trouble is imminent. That’s my opinion. Therefore you, and these guys,” He pointed on the airforce Officers, “are paid such a high tribute by our newspapers. However, my task as a good Muslim, is to hope that your luck cycle will turn down. One day will come a smart, prophetic man, like our Nabbi Muhamad. He will take you down from the sky, by a wire, like you were a kite.”
“Impossible,” said Humik.
“I am a humble poet, nothing for such a man to appear is impossible. Once I had met Rabindranat Tagor. He promised to publicize in his magazine two of my poems. A huge Spirit. Yes,
Mahatma Ghandy was also great. But he had not written beautiful poems. Tagor and Ghandy had everlasting souls. Cursed be the Muslem who had killed Ghandy. A Crazy Kashmirian murderer.”
At last the sailing day arrived, and Humik went on board the ship ‘Kedma’. He had with him a heavy backbag and an average suitcase. He was wearing light, sportive dress, as it had been automn time, which was warm in most of the northern globe.
Humik took with him four books: First – the full Old Testament in Hebrew. Second- the concised novel of War and Peace by Tolstoy, in English. Third – ‘Fiesta- the sun also rises’ by Hemingway; Fourth – an American novel in English; maybe it was ‘A Tree growing in Brooklyn’ by Betty Smith.
During the voyage, that took more than dozen days, he was generally feeling well; though on the second day on sea he caught a head ache, and on the third- he felt pain and nausea.
But he was satisfied that all had passed. He had sufficient time to read some pages of Hemingway and some chapters in the Bible, about king David’s relationship with Bath Sheba. Had King David lived in Democratic America, he would have been gotten an electric chair for each of his big crimes: First- seducing and lying with a married woman; then- cheating Uriah – the poor woman’s husband, by bringing him to Jerusalem, and trying in vain to bribe him to lie with his wife, so that the child that would be born – won’t not be officially a bastard. Then the corrupt king gave Uriah a letter, addressed to his Commander–in-chief, Joab, who was fighting against Amon, ordering him to place Uriah “in front of the fiercest battle”, so he will get killed…
‘Life were never easy for leaders, not only for the simple people,’ said Humik to himself. ‘Or it’s the authors’ pleasure to tell you about it, and in reality better things had happened… ’
He was looking at the small Bible’s hard cover. On its internal side was written his fathers name: Judah. Humik’s mother, Ramona, had given him the book before he had moved to NY. She told Humik that his father had refused to take it with him to World War, saying he would not have leisure time for reading it.
Now he, Humik, has that time. Next day he is going to read Jonas, who was on a ship, like himself. ‘I am on board, and the small Juta shed here is very useful’, he thought. ‘I’ll read, seated on a comfortable chair, after getting a healthy sun burn on my back.’
We don’t know who exactly was Humik’s cabin-mate on the ship, but he had one. He told that to Semadar afterward. We know that he stopped reading, while this mate, (who- like Mr. Kaleda by Somerset Maugham, was a ‘Know all guy’) came near his placed and pointed aside, far away:
“Oh, look at that mountain on the left! It is Gibraltar. So, Morroco’s coast is on our right.”
Humik took out a map from his bag. “Looking from far distance – Gibraltar’s cape seems to be like the Carmel mount, which is behind Haifa port.”
“You are right,” said the man. “I had been there only once. I am from Jerusalem, which is surrounded by mountains but has no beach. The Dead Sea is not far from Jerusalem, an hour drive. But it’s a dead sea. Only Sick people come there, for its minerals. Salty and hot like hell, and more.”
CHAPTER 30