read 712537 — two hundred and fifty

thousand dollars. A palace in "Sahtouf" and a palace in Beirut — servants and retainers and horses, and a deputy's seat in the council of Beirut. Emirs would call upon him, and the mountain folk would receive him with huda chants and cavasses. Strange, how wealth could descend upon Sheikh Ajjaj Jadallah and his heart not flutter, his face not redden, his voice not tremble. Then suddenly his eyes flashed, and a strange light shone from them.

"The Jadallah sheikhs," the Sheikh thought, "built their glory on the sword, and generosity, and valor, and deeds of chivalry. Shall I soil their name with money come by way of the lottery, from a ticket given by a son of the common folk?! Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?! Hah!! What is this paltry sum? Our watchman's son has more than that. The shame of the lottery would ride us forever. People would leave off extolling the memory of the Jadallah sheikhs, and would nickname us the 'House of Bou Lottery,' as they nicknamed the sheikhs of 'Abu Radi' the house of 'Abu Matches.'" And Sheikh Ajjaj's gaze wandered, and his body shook, and blood ran from his nose and stained his lips. And he stood up on his chair, like one mounting a pulpit, and cried out to the people, orating in Arabic: "O people! My grandfather stran-gled the leopard with his two palms! My grandfather defeated Napoleon! My grandfather gave his mare his own blood to drink! My grandfather drowned Beirut with one spit! And here I am, tearing up the winning ticket — bear witness, O people of God, to the pride of the Jadallah sheikhs!" And he took the winning ticket and tore it up and flung away its pieces and came down from his chair. As for the people, they too were in hysterics, for the judges were announcing the winning numbers — the second prize, one hundred thousand dollars; the third... — and the crowds were in uproar and clamor; and who will listen to Arabic orations in a crowd that knows no Arabic? Sheikh Ajjaj had expected the crowd to carry him on their shoulders and hail him with huda chants — "O our Sheikh! O

Sheikh Ajjaj!" And when he saw that no one paid him any heed, he fumed, and went off to the house of Hasib Nabhan — the man who knew the station of men and their worth.

He entered Hasib's palace like a whirlwind. The latter was in the kitchen, giving the cook a lesson in the science of preparing a dish of "hummus with tahini." The Sheikh burst in on him and cried, "Do you remember the lottery ticket you presented to me?" Hasib answered, "You were kind enough to take ten off me, our Sheikh." He said, "That is not what I mean. Do you remember that its number was 712537?" Hasib answered, "Perhaps. But I do not remember the number — hundreds of them passed through my hands." Sheikh Ajjaj shouted, "No matter, if you do not remem-ber the numbers. Know that it won — and that I tore up the ticket!" And he mounted a chair in the kitchen and orated: "The glories of the Jadallah sheikhs are not to be built on lotteries. Do you understand? Let the common folk and the rabble rejoice over money flung in their faces. As for us, it is by the sword and by valor that we build. Do you understand?"

As for Hasib, his whole concern at that hour was to learn the cookery of a dish of hummus with tahini. So he kept still — but he became certain then that Sheikh Ajjaj was genuinely mad; and naturally he did not believe the story of the tearing up of the lottery ticket.

*

Five months passed, and no one came forward with the winning lottery ticket to collect the prize from the government. And the law provided that the prize should revert to the government's treasury if the holder of the winning ticket did not appear within six months. Toward the end the rumors multiplied, as hundreds claimed the ticket had been in their possession and been lost, and brought witnesses and proofs; and other people forged winning tickets, but the government's experts found them out. And on the last day of the six months a clever journalist came out to his readers with eight columns telling them that a great man of wealth had confided to him that the winning number was in his possession; that he did not think it seemly to keep

that small fortune for himself, he being the owner of a great fortune; that he preferred that his affair remain concealed and that people know him by the name of "the Unknown Benefactor"; and that he begged the government to build a hospital with the sum. The journalist went further, and proposed that the hospital be for the insane; for he alleged that anyone who refuses a fortune of $250,000, be he rich or poor, is a madman beyond all doubt.

*

And the government took over the sum and raised a hospital which it called "the Hospital of the Unknown Benefactor," setting it apart for the sufferers of mental diseases — madmen, crackbrains, and imbeciles.

*

As for Hasib Nabhan, he is to this very day the owner of the great commercial house; and every Sunday he takes up gifts of food and tobacco and goes to "the Hospital of the Unknown Benefactor" and asks to see Number 713. He enters the room and says, "Good morning, our master Sheikh Ajjaj," and the latter replies: "Welcome, son of the watchman! Do people know that my grandfather defeated the armies of Napoleon at Acre, that my grandfather gave his mare his own blood to drink, that my grandfather drowned Beirut with one spit, and that I flung $250,000 in their faces?!"

— They know, our master the Sheikh.

— And what did they do with the money?

— They built a hospital and named it after you. And Hasib pointed his finger at the plaque on the door-post, and he read: "Hospital of the Unknown Benefactor — Sheikh Ajjaj Jadallah. Number 713." And Sheikh Ajjaj smiles with pride and asks the meaning of 713?

— The number of your protégés, our master Sheikh Ajjaj. And the Sheikh laughs, and chortles. And a bell rings, and a voice cries out: "Visitors outside! Visiting time is over." And Hasib Nabhan bows and says with respect, I shall return next Sunday to have the honor of inquiring after your honor's well-being, our master the Sheikh.

From the book "A Toast to the Enemy"