Off for the Holy War!
157
to declare them when I first arrived in Egypt. I had also told
Moustafa that owing to our delay in Ismailia, my Egyptian
visa had expired. Normally, both were grave offenses.
"Don't worry about anything," Moustafa said.
To my astonishment, the usually bureaucratic Egyptian
custom officials chalked my bags without opening them. With
Moustafa again supervising, my passport was stamped, and I
was through. Getting on the train became a real problem.
It was packed tighter than a New York subway at rush hour.
The door was impossible to open, so Moustafa and I scrambled
in through the windows. The other Green Shirts scattered to
other cars. Captain Zaki, being large and plump, found the
window too tight for his girth. He had worked his way through
to his hips—and then he was stuck. The train whistle blew
for the third time. The train lurched forward: with might and
main we pushed the captain out, then desperately Moustafa
and I began to remove baggage from the doorway, throwing
it in every direction, with no heed to the shouting owners.
When Zaki finally leaped aboard, the train was already past
the platform.
"FORGET YOU ARE AMERICAN"
I WAS standing chest-high in baggage. I had long lost trace
of my own. The three of us stood together now amid the infuriated