Off for the Holy War!
155
a St. Christopher's medal that a Catholic friend had given me
for the same purpose. The third object was a Jewish mezuzah,
a tiny metal tube in which was a paper scroll with the Ten
Commandments inscribed upon it, given to me by a Jewish
friend to insure my safe return. With these in my hand, I
silently prayed now, summoning all three faiths to my protection. Sheikh Azaayim had got drunk earlier in the evening,
and was now sleeping it off. It wasn't likely that his men
would attack without his orders, but anything might provide
the spark and touch off the Jehad-crazed, hasheesh-maddened
Followers any minute.
With the boys listening to every sound to forestall a surprise attack, there was no sleep that night. Moustafa and I
talked in whispers. "What made you come after me at just
the right second?" I asked.
"I don't know. You were gone a long time, when suddenly
I got a call inside of me. It must have been Allah. You are a
lucky Armenian, Artour."
"A lucky American," I corrected. "By the way, Moustafa,
what was going on so secretly in the tent? Were they praying?"
"No, it was long past the hour of the last prayer."
"Then what could they be doing?" I insisted.
"Maybe they were visiting with relatives," Moustafa said
with a smile.
"Male or female?"
Moustafa looked at me strangely. "Male."
Through the barred window we could see the first light of
dawn. We moved the furniture away from the door, opened
it, and Moustafa stole out. He returned with Arab bread,
which is delicious when fresh, but like plastic when it is not,
and a large plate of ground chickpeas.
"After we eat, we leave," Captain Zaki said. "If we don't
go now, there'll be blood in the streets. We didn't come here
to fight Arabs."
"We will take a train to Rara," Moustafa said. Rafa was the