Fan Fiction ❯ Rebus Knight ❯ The Hamas Man ( Chapter 4 )

Rebus Knight..........................by ConfirmTheOriginOfFire

A raucous Palestinian boy finds that the projected "glory" of rioting, fanaticism, and killing isn't something he is willing to trade in his life for.

Note: I am not anti-Semantic, anti-Israel, etc. Caution for strong material later in the story. Lotsa love and thanks to my reviewers : )

Story, characters, etc. Ó 2002 by ConfirmTheOriginOfFire. All rights reserved.

-Chapter Four-

THE HAMAS MAN

It was 1:30 in the morning by the time Kashim and Mahmud arrived at the house of the Hamas man. His home was the biggest in the refugee camp, and far nicer. It had several bedrooms, even though he lived alone, a spacious kitchen where his personal cook prepared his meals, and at least a dozen other rooms. Mahmud took Kashim to the study, where the a different man was sitting and looking at some papers.

"Yes, thank you, bin Durrah," he said slowly. "Now, would you please allow al-Hussein and I to converse privately?"

"Yes sir," he said respectfully, and backed out of the study.

The man stood so slowly it hurt Kashim to watch, and unlocked a padlock on a wooden cabinet behind him. He opened the heavy doors and revealed five magnificent guns. Kashim's eyes widened and his mind raced. Thump thump thump, went his heart. Was the he going to kill him or teach him something interesting? He thought back to a conversation he'd had a few years ago with his father.

"Try not to depend on terrorists for anything too much," his father had warned, polishing his rifle. "You never can tell with their type. I mean, we're all in this together, but sometimes they...well...go a little over the top. Or a lot."

"What do you mean?" the twelve-year-old Kashim had asked. "We're all in this together, right? They're fighting for the Palestinians too. What's wrong with them?"

"Oh, there's nothing wrong," he had responded quickly. "It's just that...well...their ideals can be slightly screwed. If they think there's something to be gained, they'll kill pretty much anyone...a comrade, an ally...even a child. Even another Palestinian." His face contorted with discomfort. "I guess for them, all that really matters is the outcome, not the way getting there. The end always justifies the means. And it's an untimely end most of the time. Bottom line, Kashim, the rioters and terrorists are best separated, but it almost never happens."

Kashim's father had been pretty close to being a terrorist, so at the time, he thought he shouldn't be talking. But then again, he had done some dealings with terrorists before-real terrorists-and he should know.

Those "dealings" were what eventually got him killed.

But now, Kashim stood completely still, waiting for the cold and silent man to make up his mind. His nerves split at the ends like an old rope when he pulled a machine gun out of the cabinet. The rope snapped when the man tossed it onto his desk. Then nothing else happened. The man stalked around the room in a suspenseful, dark circle. It reminded Kashim of how he and his friends used to swim in a circle in the tiny swimming hole nearby to create a whirlpool that carried them clockwise around and around and around...and now he had a suspicion that the man was going to create a fathomless, abyssmal black hole that would suck him mercilessly in...

No. He just continued lurking. Kashim was so agitated and suffering so bad because of it that it would have been a relief if he took the gun and shot him, just to prove that he wasn't planning to make him stand in suspense all night. But no. This was almost more than he could take.

Finally, he spoke, and it was an impersonal, sneering drawl that was so cold that Kashim thought his breath would freeze him. "Al-Hussein."

"Yessir?"

The man looked at him with pure black, cold eyes. Black holes.... Kashim almost swore he was something familiar in there....could it possibly be what he thought it was? Hate? No, Palestinians did not hate one another. There was a brothership to this land that only those who loved, lived, fought, and died in its name understood-and all hate was reserved for those who did not understand. It was not for the brothers and sisters of Palestine. But here it was-or something like it-staring him straight in the eye.

"Al-Hussein," he repeated.

"Y-yessir?"

Oh no, the pacing again. But this time, it barely lasted a few seconds before he began speaking again. "I hear many things about you, al-Hussein," he sneered. "I hear from my colleague Tahir that you are a dedicated participant in the Palestinian uprisings."

"Yessir, I am."

"I trust you have seen Tahir around the camp at one time or another?"

"Yessir, I've seen him quite often. But I've never seen you before and-"

"Silence! We are not here to discuss me," he ordered. "In fact, we are not here to discuss at all. I am merely here to fill in for Tahir until such time as he returns!"

"You need not hold that pretense any longer, Jafar," said a voice behind them, at the study's entry. "I am already here."

Kashim whirled around, and looked the Hamas man straight in the eye...