206
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
"Moustafa, there go the Followers of Truth!"
He pounced after the pair. I followed. Faris and the lovers,
who knew nothing of our vendetta against Sheikh Azaayim's
men, stayed behind. We were almost upon the two before
they wheeled around. I was ready for anything, but nothing
happened. We learned that the Followers had finally crossed
the Suez, and were now living at the government barracks at
Gaza. They had already participated in an attack against
Kibbutz Kfar Darom.
"Did they lose any men?" I asked.
"Yes," Moustafa answered. "They lost twenty-three, and
thirty-seven were wounded. They are glad Sheikh Azaayim
did not lead them because he, too, might have been dead
now."
"But weren't they all supposed to be immune to Jewish
bullets?"
At this moment a tall, well-built Sudanese in a rumpled
uniform and gun slung across his back approached the two
Followers. They greeted him affectionately as a brother Moslem who had fought with them at Kfar Darom and escaped
unhurt.
"He did not die because of the paper he carries," Moustafa
interpreted.
"What paper?"
The Sudanese opened his shirt and produced a wrinkled
parchment suspended by a string around his neck. It was
about twelve by eighteen inches, covered with Arabic script
in red ink. Moustafa read some of it.
"The imam [priest] in his village wrote it," he explained.
"It says that the owner of this holy scroll is a true Moslem
who is engaged in fighting the Jehad. He is therefore immune
to all manner of lead and steel."
"Does he believe that?" I asked.
"Yes. Lead and steel will not touch his skin. He believes
Allah will lead him away from danger and he will come back
alive to his home and family."