Return to Jerusalem
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Armenians, and the Americans must be exterminated!"
There was no doubt that Friedrich meant it, for his eyes took
on an almost maniacal look.
It required a long time and a full display of my assorted
documents, including the one obtained from my church attesting to my Christian faith, to prove to hirh that Jews were
Jews and Armenians were Armenians. "We are such old-time
Aryans," I said, "that Bundesfuhrer Fritz Kuhn once said
that Christ was an Armenian, not a Jew." It happened to be
true—the fact that Kuhn told the lie.
When the German left it was past two o'clock. We snuffed
out the candle. It was a long time before I fell asleep.
"THE MOST STUPID SOLDIERS"
"WHAT are we going to do this morning, Moustafa?"
"As soon as Faris comes we will go to El Arish for the
guns."
I wanted to talk to the Yugoslav at the hospital. "Moustafa,
let's first go to the hospital," I suggested. "There are Armenian nurses there. I will introduce you to them. Take your
pick."
I counted on Moustafa to get me inside the hospital. I
wasn't sure I could manage it myself. Tilings worked out as
planned. While Moustafa indulged in a blind-alley flirtation
with two Armenian nurses, I strolled through the wards. One
of the patients introduced himself to me as Nazar Chalawitch,
a former captain in Yugoslav quisling Pavelich's army, now
an Arab fighter who was convalescing. I told him I was
Gerhard's friend.
"How did you get hurt?" I asked.
"Fighting with the most stupid, the most cowardly, the
most inefficient soldiers I have ever seen," Nazar exploded.
"The Germans and I gave the Arabs many good ideas to de-