Chapter 8
When in the Woods and Meeting Wild Beasts
The next morning Decker and Tom got up early and drove to Jenin to talk to the Palestinian boy. On the way there it occurred to them that they really didn't have a plan.
"Okay, so when we get there, then what?" Tom asked.
"We'll just talk to the kid and tell him to tell the people he was with last night that some American reporters want to talk to them. We're not their enemy. They like the media. That's the only way they can get their story out. Besides, if they didn't want coverage they certainly wouldn't have called us on the phone to tell us it was going to happen. The bigger problem will be Lt. Freij wanting us to reveal our sources once the story comes out."
When they arrived at the boy's house, Tom decided to leave his camera in the car – just to be extra sure nobody got nervous. They walked the short path to the house and Decker knocked on the door.
"Do you think anyone's home?" Tom asked after a moment. But before he had even gotten the words out, the door opened and the boy's mother motioned for them to come in. "Great," Tom said, pleased at the reception. "Maybe I should have brought my camera, after all."
As the door swung shut Decker heard a loud crack and felt a sudden intense pain spread through his head as his skull absorbed the impact of a wooden club.
Somewhere in Israel
The pain in Decker's head crawled down his neck and shoulders and came to rest in the pit of his empty stomach. Ropes bound his feet and hands. They were loose enough to allow circulation but no movement. Lying on his side with his face to the floor, he wondered where he was and how long he had been there. The air was stuffy and from the stench and the slight dampness of his pants it was apparent that while he was unconscious, he had urinated on himself. From this he judged that he had been unconscious for less than a day, because any fluids in his system would have been vacated in the first twenty-four hours. After that his body would retain any remaining fluids as dehydration set in.
He could hear two men talking in the room. For right now it made sense to not let them know he was awake. Slowly he opened the eye closest to the floor to a small slit; then just a little more. When it became clear no one had noticed, Decker strained to look around as much as he could, but with each eye movement he winced at the pain in his head. And what he saw told him very little. He was in a room with one small boarded-up window. About five feet away Tom lay on the floor in much the same condition, facing away from him. Two men sat playing some kind of card game on a makeshift table, paying very little attention to their captives. Decker closed his eye and rested from the strain. The men were speaking in an Arabic dialect, so Decker had no idea what they were saying. Still, as he tried to ride out the pain, it seemed somehow reasonable just to lie there without moving, listening to the men in hopes of learning something of his situation.
Some hours later, Decker realized that he had fallen asleep. The nausea had subsided and the pain in his head was somewhat less than he remembered. What woke him was the sound of a door closing and men talking, which he took to be a changing of the guard. With his eyes still closed he could feel the men moving about the room, stopping to look down at him and then moving away. Carefully he opened one eye and saw the men gathered around Tom.
"Wake up, Jew," said one of the men in English. Decker watched as the man pulled back his right foot to get a good swing and then threw it forward with the full weight of his body, landing the toe of his army boot squarely in the middle of Tom's back. The force of the blow drove Tom several feet across the floor. His back arched in agony as he let out a yelp, muffled by the fact that the blow had also knocked the wind out of him.
"Stop!" Decker shouted. The four men looked over at Decker who had somehow managed to sit most of the way up. The man who kicked Tom walked over and looked down at Decker. Decker had the feeling that he was being inspected by the man; he was looking for something. When he failed to find whatever it was, he shoved Decker back to the floor with his foot and went back to Tom.
Tom had caught his breath and a deep, anguished moan issued from within him which seemed to come from his very soul. The man had hurt Tom badly and he was preparing to do it again.
"Stop!" Decker shouted again.
This time the man returned to Decker and kicked him in his left shoulder. It hurt terribly but it was obvious to Decker that the man had not kicked him with nearly the enthusiasm or force he had used to kick Tom.
"Keep your mouth shut, American, or you'll get the same as the Jew dog," the man warned, and then moved back to Tom.
"Wait!" Decker said, sitting up again and failing to heed the warning. The man looked over at Decker who continued, "He's not a Jew!"
For an instant the man's eyes registered uncertainty. He paused, and then looked as though he was going to ignore Decker's infraction of his order and concentrate on Tom.
Decker persisted. "He's not a Jew, I tell you. He's an American, just like me. Check his passport. It's in his pocket."
"We've already seen your passports," the man responded. Decker had at least bought Tom a little time: he had gotten the man talking. "It makes no difference to me whether he is an Israeli Jew or an American Jew."
"But he's not a Jew at all!" Decker said.
"He looks like a Jew to me," the man said, as though that made it so.
"I'm telling you, he's an American and a gentile," Decker responded with the same intellectual level of argument.
Decker knew that, right or wrong, if the Palestinian was really sure, he wouldn't be taking the time to argue about it. But there was another force at work in the room – simple but powerful. Peer pressure. The other men were watching their comrade to see what he would do. His judgment was being challenged and he felt he had to respond.
Tom had stopped moaning and was lying nearly motionless on the floor, taking short, labored breaths. The Palestinian was unimpressed with Decker's response and decided to refocus his attention on Tom.
Decker thought fast and blurted out the first thing he could think of. It was risky but neither he nor Tom had much to lose: another blow from the man's boot might break Tom's back. "If you don't believe me," Decker said, getting his captors' attention again, "pull down his pants."
The Palestinians looked at each other, not sure that they had understood him, and then started to laugh as they realized what Decker meant. If he were a Jew, he'd be circumcised.
The one who kicked Tom was not so sure about the idea. He didn't want to risk appearing foolish. But the other three laughed and went to work loosening Tom's pants. They were enjoying the contest between their leader and the American. Besides, it seemed an amusing way to settle an argument where a man's life hung in the balance.
There was just one problem, and therein lay the risk: Decker had no idea whether or not Tom was circumcised. But with Tom's life on the line, Decker's only choice had been to set that as the defining criterion. When the three lackeys pulled down Tom's pants, they committed themselves to that criterion. Knowing that many American men, Jew and gentile alike, are circumcised, Decker was well aware that he still might be condemning his friend to death.
The leader was disappointed with what he saw. The foreskin of Tom's penis had saved his life.
The three Palestinians gave Tom's pants a tug and pulled them most of the way back up. Again they were laughing, but this time, in part at least, they were laughing at their leader. An angry glare abruptly stopped their merriment. The leader quickly changed the subject and, after pushing Decker back to the floor with his foot, signaled for the others to follow him out of the room. As soon as they were gone Decker tried, as best he could, to check on his friend's condition. He helped him get his pants back up but with their hands tied behind them it was impossible to fasten or zip them.