12
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
being grew until I felt enveloped by a warm, comforting glow.
I was suffused by a surge of strength and what seemed to be
inspired decision.
A moment ago the past had unfolded: now the adventurous
future beckoned. I resolved to go on an extended odyssey to
my birthplace, to the distant places of the Middle East, to
those strange and secret corners of the Old World which are
outside the paths of the casual visitor.
I would attempt to interpret the Old World to the New.
By adopting the techniques I had used in Under Cover I
would study the forces and intrigues at work against us. As a
product of the Old World, 1 felt I could gain the confidence
of those with whom I would talk and live. I would then return to tell what I had seen and learned. Whatever lesson was
to be gained from my experiences and from the comparison
between the two worlds would be my own way, in these turbulent and perilous postwar years, of expressing my gratitude
to America. This I had sought to do during the war years by
exposing the enemies of my country.
And standing there in the rain, it came to me that almost
everything that had happened in my life until this day—the
curious, sometimes fantastic experiences I had had—might all
have been designed to prepare me for this mission, this investigation of the forces of hatred festering below the surface from
London to CAIRO TO DAMASCUS.
Now the reaction set in. I felt cold. My watersoaked clothes
were suddenly unbearable. I had to go home, to rest, to sleep.
I turned up my coat collar and began to walk away from the
river, my head buried in my topcoat. An automobile sounded
noisily behind me.
"Hey, you!"
It was a police patrol car. Once again a flashlight played over
me, head to foot.
"What are you doing at the docks at this hour?" the man at
the wheel asked.