210
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
"We are very strict in Gaza," he gasped. "If we found any
such places we would burn them. If we found any such
women we would hang them." Quite upset, he left my company and did not talk to me again.
We walked to the clump of bushes, which thickened as we
went through them, and emerged into a narrow, dusty street.
Ahead was an angular, three-storied, gray stone house, set off
by itself, which appeared to be a hotel. Moustafa was on the
verge of entering when the two men we were seeking stepped
out. One of them was Abdul, a Green Shirt member. His
companion, also a youth in his early twenties, was from Gaza.
"We were praying," Abdul explained, smiling.
When we had walked back to Gaza's main street, we split
company. The others had been invited to a dinner party by
the Gaza Council member. It was getting dark fast. I turned
to Moustafa.
"What'll we do now?"
"We have been invited to another place," Moustafa said
mysteriously. "We will go there later. First, let's find a place
to sleep."
The obvious place for us was the Grand Gaza Hotel, opposite the restaurant where we had eaten. The Grand Gaza
Hotel was strictly a misnomer. By American standards it was
fourth rate, but it was F