The Iraqis had used the strong room as a piss house, being next to the toilet and the stench hit and almost knocked me off when we entered the basement. The place was a mess with tons of garbage piled high and there was nothing that could be done and we went back and spent the day in jail , though not locked behind . When we were alone Eshmel looked me in the eye and called me a bastard and followed it with a string in Egyptian , words which I didn’t understand but knew was not complementary and only a photographer could have truly pictured him at that moment ,his bristles and fanned out teeth and sunken eyes accentuating his comic mannerisms and I had to avoid looking at him to stop myself from laughing
“Look at me, dirty shit, look what they did to me”……… and spread his fingers to reveal wounded ends and imprecise, scarred blackened nails growing awkwardly and tears welled in his eyes
My immediate reaction was absurd, I snorted trying to stifle my amusement and he saw my reaction and said bitterly
“Go on , laugh …….soon I’ll these bastards tear off your nails and gas will bubble from your ass” which really tickled me, setting off another paroxysm of laughter and I doubled up. He came across and slapped me. The policeman at the desk intervened and pushed him away and I had to practically hide myself from him to stop my hysterical reaction to his anguished visage.
Fact, the man was tortured and had spent his time in jail. After being spotted by a palestine, whom he had to take into confidence ,he had retuned with him for the money to find it gone. He was reported and the Iraqis had tortured him and had held him captive and endured for some months and later , after the war, instead of being released, he was held by the Kuwaiti police for further questioning and deportation along with other Palestinians . The brothers had just returned in time and had rehabilitated him, but ravages of detention was yet to wear off . I was caught around that time .
About afternoon, the next day a few expatriate labourers hauled the garbage and the man-hole was open for inspection. A torch was shown in and light reflected from still pool of dark greenish black water and nothing else and then one man put his his head down and peered inside and shook his head. I clearly remember the bags floating in the tank and then it struck me that it could have sunk and had the water probed with a long iron rod and we hit pay dirt. Water had seeped in through the hastily prepared plastic wraps and canvas bags and the soggy bills had sunk to the bottom of the pool.
It took a few more hours to get the bags out , clean the bills, dry and get them on the table while we sat around being ill at ease with each other. There were happy and unhappy faces, the happiest being the police chief, who came over and hugged me close and praised me for my honesty . The Egyptian was smarting under the agony he felt, neither did he get the money but had to pay physically for not finding it. The old sheik, Abu Daoud sat imperiously, he was happy for us, it augmented the faith he had in the Egyptian and enhanced my stature from a mere counter of notes to a dependable and honest servant. The chief swept two bundles towards us and thanked Allah and left us to sort the rest among us.
Immediately, Eshmel was at the side of Abu Daoud ,the elder of the two brothers who owned the business, took control and slid money towards the old man and spoke in Arabic. Abu Dauod listened , nodded, looked at me , nodded. Eshmel itched to pay me back and I could see it the way he denied himself the hand out. He said that they owed us nothing and the money could be used for better purposes and pointed me to the door.
