“I ask your pardon, sir!”
By official title, this man’s ranking was that of a general. Even though he chose to wear unassuming, civilian clothes instead of a uniform, he carried himself like a nobleman. Now that he had to deal with yet one more infraction, he steadied his voice as he renewed his dogged determination to assert his authority: “No, I do not excuse him. The boy has stolen from me, and he has dishonored me. I demand that he be punished!” The Pasha now drew closer to Mustafa and asked: “Who are you? In your mind, what did he—?”
When the General saw the blue-skulled man, he halted in mid-sentence— the Pasha’s eyes began to glisten and grow wider. Taking just the right amount of time to pause, the Blue-one began to narrate the boy’s misdeeds—but he could go no further. Appealing to the stern General and to us, the heavens-blue man now cracked up, laughing like we had done earlier. His laughter was so contagious that we could not help but join him. In the middle of our merriment, the boy came riding back with a mass of children following him. The adults readily recognized him, but they were no longer concerned about Thar’s outlandish pranks.
The boy brought the donkey back to the same spot where it formerly stood. In the same way he had left us, he returned to us with the same style of majestic dignity and seriousness. This made such an irresistible impression upon all of us, that our laughter momentarily turned to silence. Just as suddenly, it broke loose and doubled its intensity, as if it never wanted to end. Laughing with us too was the Blue-one. Once he began, he laughed the longest and was the last to stop.
Thar also recognized the General. Right away, he positioned himself directly in front of him, smartly stood at attention, then sharply saluted just like he had seen soldiers whenever they met an officer. The Pasha then asked him: “Do you know who I am”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Then who am I?”
“You are Benaja, the Commander-in-chief of King Solomon’s army!”
The General laughed: “Bravo! You’re still playing your role. What are your weapons for?” The Pasha pointed to the scissors, corkscrew, and candle-snuffers. However, the boy was not ready to step out of character. His mouth still contained countless numbers of stories.
Better than any German boy’s knowledge of his home city’s chronicles, Thar knew all the legends and tall tales of Jerusalem’s past. He was even consciously aware of his weapons’ symbolism. He quickly answered, taking no time to reflect: “These are the ‘Scorpions’ wherewith the King of Judah pinched and pulled the ears of the people whenever they didn’t want to obey him. I’m Gideon, the hero who hails from my ancestors of Manasseh. I borrowed your warhorse because I needed your steed to carry out my vendetta against the Midianites, the sons of Abraham. Your mount is too fat and has no endurance; so for this reason, I turned around and brought him back to you. I appreciate your loaning him to me, but he is really of no use.”