Off for the Holy War!
153
I had already photographed one of them with his "gizzard
slitter"—the name I gave to a particularly ugly dagger, the
handle of which was a brass knuckle. There seemed to be
stranger elements among the Followers of Truth. They were
wearing calico skullcaps and gallabiyas. These vicious thugs
had arrived the day before. Moustafa told me he suspected
them of being imported to fight the Green Shirts if a showdown battle developed.
The chanting stopped as I entered. Glares took its place. I
offered to take pictures. The Followers obeyed in surly fashion,
not because they liked me or wanted to be photographed, but
because Sheikh Azaayim had approved my photography. I took
several flashlight photos. Then I tried to leave. But they
stepped up and wanted to see the prints at once, poking their
long dirty nails into the shutter opening. Trying to protect my
precious camera, I explained somehow that they would have
them by sabah, by morning. They went away, sullen, and I
stepped into the night.
While inside I had noticed movements at the farther end
of the tent, a closed portion, with figures constantly brushing
against the canopies. I passed the sentry and went to the
farther end of the tent to investigate. I was about to lift the
flap, when I felt myself jerked up by the neck to an upright
position and slammed against the wall of the grocery store.
At the same time a sharp hard object was jabbed against my
left side. A scant six inches from my nose was the outline of a
frenzied face and bared teeth. Hot, carnal breath, and a hot
volley of words I did not understand poured out at me. Strong
fingers with sharp nails were tightened around my throat, so
that breathing became difficult, and I was unable to cry out.
To rip away the choking fingers would, I was sure, have resulted in being jabbed with the knife. My only defense lay in
dirty alley fighting.
I was about to kick my assailant viciously in the groin, and
simultaneously push away the knife blade, when I heard the
cracking of bone against bone, and a knuckled fist smashed