Thieves in the Night by Arthur Koestler Read Free Book Online Page A

polite finality. “And now I believe we have said all that is to be said.”
    The old man turned silently on his heels and walked out of the camp. The Turk hesitated, then said with a certain reluctance:
    â€œThe fellaheen of Kfar Tabiyeh are peaceful men. There are Arabs in the hills around who are not so peaceful. You have been warned.” He lowered his voice and added in a confidential tone: “… This warning our Mukhtar charged me to transmit to you, as a sign of his goodwill, although the Patriots would pay him ill if they knew about it.”
    Bauman chuckled softly. “Your Mukhtar is a wise man,” he said. “Nobody likes to see his house blown up by soldiers. Your Mukhtar is like a fox who lives in a hole with two escapes, one to sunrise and one to sunset.”
    The Turk shrugged. “Peace with you,” he said, turning to catch up with the old man.
    The Arabs outside the barbed wire rose to their feet. At first they had sat there in tense silence and watched the proceedings under the tower. As the minutes had passed and they saw the Turk laugh and slap his knees in animated talk, they had relaxed. When they were offered coffee on trays, which they refused twice and accepted the third time as is befitting, they had relaxed even more. The children had munched oranges and the women, sitting huddled together at a little distance from the men, had started giggling and pointing at the girls with naked legs. Then the men had started chatting with some of the
Haganah
boys who knew Arabic; the boys, leaning on their rifles, had answered condescendingly and treated them to cigarettes. When the parley at the tower broke up, the excitable one-eyed villager had just started inquiring whether the new settlers would bring a doctor and open a dispensary as the other settlements had done, and whether the doctor would be able to cure his blind eye. Now, as their speakers returned and they saw their dark faces, they surrounded them with the guilty look of children who had been naughty in their parents’ absence. The Turk and the old man walked silently through the group. The others formed into pairs behind them, and the procession slowly descended the slope without turning their heads.
    The Turk and the old man did not speak until they had almost reached the valley. Then the Turk said:
    â€œThe devil may take them away, but he could leave their tractors. They are dogs and sons of bitches but they know how to work. They will grow tomatoes and melons and God knows what out of that stony hill….” He sighed. “We are too lazy, ya Abu; by God …”
    The old man turned on him with a hard look.
    â€œYou speak like a fool,” he said. “Is the hill here for me, or am I here for the hill?”
    After the villagers left, Joseph, who had watched the parley with curiosity from the top of a truck which he was helping to unload, came up to Bauman. “Listen,” he said, “why did you not let them all come in? It was very rude.”
    Bauman looked at him with a faint smile.
    â€œWe are too weak to afford to be polite,” he said. “By keeping them out we established ourselves in their eyes as masters of the place. By now they have all unconsciously accepted the fact.”
    Joseph grinned. “Where did you learn all this psychology, Bauman?” he said.
    â€œIntuition,” said Bauman.
    â€œI thought one only had intuitions about people one liked.”
    â€œWho told you that I don’t like them?” said Bauman.
    â€œI wish my Arabic was as good as yours,” said Joseph. “What was the old Sheikh explaining so solemnly?”
    â€œHe explained that every nation has the right to live according to its own fashion, right or wrong, without outside interference. He explained that money corrupts, fertilisers stink and tractors make a noise, all of which he dislikes.”
    â€œAnd what did you