Jimgrim and Allahs Peace | Page 4

disclaimer of
all knowledge; then an order, sounding like a grumble, and the small
boy returned to the hall to invite me in, in reasonably good English, of
which he seemed prouder than I of my Arabic.
So I went into the room on the left, with that Bedouin still in mind.
There was only one man in there, who got out of a deep armchair as I
entered, marking his place in a book with a Damascus dagger. He did
not look much more than middle height, nor more than medium dark
complexioned, and he wore a major's khaki uniform.
"Beg pardon," I said. "I've disturbed the wrong man. I came to call on
an American named Major Grim."
"I'm Grim."
"Must be a mistake, though. The man I'm looking for is taller than
you--very dark--looks, walks, speaks and acts like a Bedouin. I saw
him this afternoon in Bedouin costume in the American Colony store."
"Yes, I noticed you. Sit down, won't you? Yes, I'm he--the Bedouin
abayi* seems to add to a man's height. Soap and water account for the
rest of it. These cigars are from the States." [*Long-sleeved outer
cloak.]
It was hard to believe, even on the strength of his straight statement--he
talking undisguised American, and smiling at me, no doubt vastly

pleased with my incredulity.
"Are you a case of Jekyll and Hyde?" I asked.
"No. I'm more like both sides of a sandwich with some army mule-
meat in the middle. But I won't be interviewed. I hate it. Besides, it's
against the regulations."
His voice was not quite so harshly nasal as those of the Middle West,
but he had not picked up the ultra-English drawl and clipped-off
consonants that so many Americans affect abroad and overdo.
I don't think a wise crook would have chosen him as a subject for
experiments. He had dark eyes with noticeably long lashes; heavy
eyebrows; what the army examination-sheets describe as a medium
chin; rather large hands with long, straight fingers; and feet such as an
athlete stands on, fully big for his size, but well shaped. He was young
for a major--somewhere between thirty and thirty-five.
Once he was satisfied that I would not write him up for the newspapers
he showed no disinclination to talk, although it was difficult to keep
him on the subject of himself, and easy to let him lose you in a maze of
tribal history. He seemed to know the ins and outs of every blood-feud
from Beersheba to Damascus, and warmed to his subject as you
listened.
"You see," he said, by way of apology when I laughed at a string of
names that to me conjured up only confusion, "my beat is all the way
from Cairo to Aleppo--both sides of the Jordan. I'm not on the regular
strength, but attached to the Intelligence--no, not permanent--don't
know what the future has in store--that probably depends on whether or
not the Zionists get full control, and how soon. Meanwhile, I'm my own
boss more or less--report direct to the Administrator, and he's one of
those men who allows you lots of scope."
That was the sort of occasional glimpse he gave of himself, and then
switched off into straight statements about the Zionist problem. All his
statements were unqualified, and given with the air of knowing all

about it right from the beginning.
"There's nothing here that really matters outside the Zionist- Arab
problem. But that's a big one. People don't realize it-- even on the
spot--but it's a world movement with ramifications everywhere. All the
other politics of the Near East hinge on it, even when it doesn't appear
so on the surface. You see, the Jews have international affiliations
through banks and commerce. They have blood-relations everywhere.
A ripple here may mean there's a wave in Russia, or London, or New
York. I've known at least one Arab blood-feud over here that began
with a quarrel between a Jew and a Christian in Chicago."
"Are the Zionists as dangerous as the Arabs seem to think?" I asked.
"Yes and no. Depends what you call danger. They're like an incoming
tide. All you can do is accept the fact and ride on top of it, move away
in front of it, or go under. The Arabs want to push it back with
sword-blades. Can't be done!"
"Speaking as a mere onlooker, I feel sorry for the Arabs," I said. "It has
been their country for several hundred years. They didn't even drive the
Jews out of it; the Romans attended to that, after the Assyrians and
Babylonians had cleaned up nine-tenths of the population. And at that,
the Jews were invaders themselves."
"Sure," Grim answered. "But you can't argue with tides. The Arabs are
sore, and nobody