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The cavalry charge was broken, toothless lions were whimpering all over the place, and Haj Harun was
able to make his slow escape to a remote corner of the Old City. Then some decades or centuries later
the Assyrians were no longer the arrogant power they had been, and sure enough they went slinking
away to the north with their chariots, as predicted. Haj Harun brought out the city's sacred objects and
redistributed them to the best of his memory, commerce and the assorted religions got underway again
and all was well once more in the Holy City. The citizens gave Haj Harun a standing ovation and
acclaimed him the unofficial savior of Jerusalem, official status only being temporary and only assigned to
prophets before they're discredited and killed.
And that's what I meant, Munk, by the job not being just self-appointed. He did appoint himself all right
but later the appointment was approved by all concerned, as you've just heard. For a time, at least. A
while after that, during the Persian occupation, things took a turn for the worse for Haj Harun. In fact he
went into a straight decline from which he's never recovered.
Why the decline?
Don't know, do I. Time's tricky, tricky times, all manner of possibilities. But I think the money belt was
the culprit. You see it weighed on his kidneys something terrible when he was serving as Jerusalem's
portable altar during the Assyrian afflictions, so badly he had to urinate every minute or two. And you do
that over some decades or centuries and it could well cause your ruin. I mean who could accomplish
much of a positive nature if they had to leave every minute or two to go to the bog? In such dire
circumstances I think anybody would go into a decline. Well then, Munk. In sum, what do you think of
this striking Assyrian adventure?
I think Haj Harun showed extraordinary courage.
He did, assuredly.
But there's one small fact that's out of place.
Do you tell me that? What could the small item be?
When the lions came charging down the street, Haj Harun was reminded of how someone called
Belteshazzar had been saved by his faith.
True.
And it was that recollection that allowed him to stand his ground.
Very true. And so?
That was the man's Babylonian name. In the West he's better known by his Hebrew name, Daniel. He
was taken to Babylonia at the beginning of the Captivity.
Joe looked confused.
I know the story of Daniel in the lions' den, Munk, I just didn't connect it with this other name Haj Harun
used. But why's that matter?
Because it happens that Daniel lived in the sixth century B.C. Did you know that?
I didn't and I'm always glad to have new information, but I still don't see why that matters. Why does it,
Munk?
Because the Assyrians conquered Palestine in the eighth century B.C. Now how could Haj Harun have
recalled Daniel's exploits two centuries before they happened?
Joe smiled and tapped his nose.
Oh is that all, is that all you had on your mind. Well shouldn't I cut this deck so you can get on with the
deal?
Munk put the pack on the table and Joe cut it. The cards began dropping around the table.
Joe?
Hm?
Well what's the solution to that?
To what? Haj Harun recalling something that hadn't happened yet? Something that was still a couple of
hundred years in the future?
Yes.
But that's the whole point, Munk. There's no solution necessary for Haj Harun. I mean the past is what's
passed and it's all part of Jerusalem to him, and him defending it although always on the losing side, as
you always are when defending the Holy City. A Babylonian king throwing someone to the lions? The
Assyrians sooner or later charging up these streets with their lions? All just pieces of the same job,
defending Jerusalem, a task he says is both immense and perpetual, which is why he fails. Jacks to open,
did you say?
No.
Fair enough, I'll open anyway. Hey there, what's the cause of this laughter, Munk?
The idea of Haj Harun keeping the past in a safe.
No laughing matter, as you can see now. And you can also see why he keeps that safe locked. If
everyone were to go rifling around through the past the way he does, recalling events before they happen
and sorting out confusion to his liking, Jerusalem would be nothing but bloody chaos I say, not able to
stand up and do a straightforward job as a Holy City. So it's no bloody wonder the old man keeps that
sentry box on duty, on guard and locked so things will be clear for the rest of us. Now just look at these
cards. I've no business holding royalty like this, but since I am I'll just add a little sweetness to the pot
before we see what you're up to, Cairo lad.
-4-
Solomon's Quarries
Ah yes, cognac brought to the Holy Land by the Crusaders to ease the pains of pilgrims. Well
how's it taste then? Gone off a bit in eight hundred years?
On a hot July day in 1922, O'Sullivan Beare lay slumped against the wall in the back room of Haj
Harun's shop. The poker table was bare, the game having been recessed because of the severe heat.
Listlessly he inspected the empty glass of poteen in his hand and decided it wasn't worth the effort to
cross the room to refill it.
Haj Harun wandered in, barefoot as usual. An area of crumbling plaster in the wall caught his eye and he
stopped to gaze at himself in a nonexistent mirror. He adjusted his rusty Crusader's helmet, muttering all
the while, and re-tied the two green ribbons under his chin. He also did what he could to straighten his
faded yellow cloak, mostly in tatters and hanging unevenly.
A black day, he muttered. Black. A black day for me. Black. A black day for Jerusalem. Black.
Is it now? said Joe from the corner. My sentiments exactly and no wonder in this heat. Just merciless,
that's what.
Haj Harun jumped and looked down in surprise.
I didn't know you were here.
Well I think I am, although it's too hot to admit to more.
What are you doing on the floor?
Gravity pulled me down, I'm feeling grave today. Then too the stones down here are cooler than a chair.
Then too heat rises, so the lower you are the better, which is also in keeping with my lowly mood. Why
don't you try it? It's not half bad.
I can't, said Haj Harun. I can't sit still today. I'm much too restless. It's a black day. Black.
I see.
Haj Harun nodded at himself in a nonexistent mirror on the wall and his helmet went awry again, releasing
a shower of rust into his eyes. The tears began to flow and be went on muttering to himself as he drifted
out the door.
Black, thought Joe, wiping his face with his sleeve. Black and that was half of it for sure.
It had been only a little over two years ago that he'd been fighting the Black and Tans in the hills of
southern Ireland, and all because of something his father had said, his father who'd been the seventh son
of a seventh son and therefore had the gift of prophecy.
It was too hot to move, too hot to be in Jerusalem.
Joe closed his eyes and went back to the windswept Aran Islands, to a cool June night in 1914.
It had been a party night, one of the few each year. As usual all the poor fishermen had gathered at Joe's
house for singing and dancing and drinking, Joe's father being the undisputed king of the little island, both [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
The cavalry charge was broken, toothless lions were whimpering all over the place, and Haj Harun was
able to make his slow escape to a remote corner of the Old City. Then some decades or centuries later
the Assyrians were no longer the arrogant power they had been, and sure enough they went slinking
away to the north with their chariots, as predicted. Haj Harun brought out the city's sacred objects and
redistributed them to the best of his memory, commerce and the assorted religions got underway again
and all was well once more in the Holy City. The citizens gave Haj Harun a standing ovation and
acclaimed him the unofficial savior of Jerusalem, official status only being temporary and only assigned to
prophets before they're discredited and killed.
And that's what I meant, Munk, by the job not being just self-appointed. He did appoint himself all right
but later the appointment was approved by all concerned, as you've just heard. For a time, at least. A
while after that, during the Persian occupation, things took a turn for the worse for Haj Harun. In fact he
went into a straight decline from which he's never recovered.
Why the decline?
Don't know, do I. Time's tricky, tricky times, all manner of possibilities. But I think the money belt was
the culprit. You see it weighed on his kidneys something terrible when he was serving as Jerusalem's
portable altar during the Assyrian afflictions, so badly he had to urinate every minute or two. And you do
that over some decades or centuries and it could well cause your ruin. I mean who could accomplish
much of a positive nature if they had to leave every minute or two to go to the bog? In such dire
circumstances I think anybody would go into a decline. Well then, Munk. In sum, what do you think of
this striking Assyrian adventure?
I think Haj Harun showed extraordinary courage.
He did, assuredly.
But there's one small fact that's out of place.
Do you tell me that? What could the small item be?
When the lions came charging down the street, Haj Harun was reminded of how someone called
Belteshazzar had been saved by his faith.
True.
And it was that recollection that allowed him to stand his ground.
Very true. And so?
That was the man's Babylonian name. In the West he's better known by his Hebrew name, Daniel. He
was taken to Babylonia at the beginning of the Captivity.
Joe looked confused.
I know the story of Daniel in the lions' den, Munk, I just didn't connect it with this other name Haj Harun
used. But why's that matter?
Because it happens that Daniel lived in the sixth century B.C. Did you know that?
I didn't and I'm always glad to have new information, but I still don't see why that matters. Why does it,
Munk?
Because the Assyrians conquered Palestine in the eighth century B.C. Now how could Haj Harun have
recalled Daniel's exploits two centuries before they happened?
Joe smiled and tapped his nose.
Oh is that all, is that all you had on your mind. Well shouldn't I cut this deck so you can get on with the
deal?
Munk put the pack on the table and Joe cut it. The cards began dropping around the table.
Joe?
Hm?
Well what's the solution to that?
To what? Haj Harun recalling something that hadn't happened yet? Something that was still a couple of
hundred years in the future?
Yes.
But that's the whole point, Munk. There's no solution necessary for Haj Harun. I mean the past is what's
passed and it's all part of Jerusalem to him, and him defending it although always on the losing side, as
you always are when defending the Holy City. A Babylonian king throwing someone to the lions? The
Assyrians sooner or later charging up these streets with their lions? All just pieces of the same job,
defending Jerusalem, a task he says is both immense and perpetual, which is why he fails. Jacks to open,
did you say?
No.
Fair enough, I'll open anyway. Hey there, what's the cause of this laughter, Munk?
The idea of Haj Harun keeping the past in a safe.
No laughing matter, as you can see now. And you can also see why he keeps that safe locked. If
everyone were to go rifling around through the past the way he does, recalling events before they happen
and sorting out confusion to his liking, Jerusalem would be nothing but bloody chaos I say, not able to
stand up and do a straightforward job as a Holy City. So it's no bloody wonder the old man keeps that
sentry box on duty, on guard and locked so things will be clear for the rest of us. Now just look at these
cards. I've no business holding royalty like this, but since I am I'll just add a little sweetness to the pot
before we see what you're up to, Cairo lad.
-4-
Solomon's Quarries
Ah yes, cognac brought to the Holy Land by the Crusaders to ease the pains of pilgrims. Well
how's it taste then? Gone off a bit in eight hundred years?
On a hot July day in 1922, O'Sullivan Beare lay slumped against the wall in the back room of Haj
Harun's shop. The poker table was bare, the game having been recessed because of the severe heat.
Listlessly he inspected the empty glass of poteen in his hand and decided it wasn't worth the effort to
cross the room to refill it.
Haj Harun wandered in, barefoot as usual. An area of crumbling plaster in the wall caught his eye and he
stopped to gaze at himself in a nonexistent mirror. He adjusted his rusty Crusader's helmet, muttering all
the while, and re-tied the two green ribbons under his chin. He also did what he could to straighten his
faded yellow cloak, mostly in tatters and hanging unevenly.
A black day, he muttered. Black. A black day for me. Black. A black day for Jerusalem. Black.
Is it now? said Joe from the corner. My sentiments exactly and no wonder in this heat. Just merciless,
that's what.
Haj Harun jumped and looked down in surprise.
I didn't know you were here.
Well I think I am, although it's too hot to admit to more.
What are you doing on the floor?
Gravity pulled me down, I'm feeling grave today. Then too the stones down here are cooler than a chair.
Then too heat rises, so the lower you are the better, which is also in keeping with my lowly mood. Why
don't you try it? It's not half bad.
I can't, said Haj Harun. I can't sit still today. I'm much too restless. It's a black day. Black.
I see.
Haj Harun nodded at himself in a nonexistent mirror on the wall and his helmet went awry again, releasing
a shower of rust into his eyes. The tears began to flow and be went on muttering to himself as he drifted
out the door.
Black, thought Joe, wiping his face with his sleeve. Black and that was half of it for sure.
It had been only a little over two years ago that he'd been fighting the Black and Tans in the hills of
southern Ireland, and all because of something his father had said, his father who'd been the seventh son
of a seventh son and therefore had the gift of prophecy.
It was too hot to move, too hot to be in Jerusalem.
Joe closed his eyes and went back to the windswept Aran Islands, to a cool June night in 1914.
It had been a party night, one of the few each year. As usual all the poor fishermen had gathered at Joe's
house for singing and dancing and drinking, Joe's father being the undisputed king of the little island, both [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]