280
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
bers of the Stern Gang and Arab snipers. It was difficult to
voice any conclusion.
I went to the double funeral on a terrifying day, when
bombs and mortar shells rained upon the New City as never
before. Although both victims were Protestant, the services
were held in the yard of the Santa Maria Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Rosary, because the convent adjoined the
American Consulate. Our flag hung at half mast—a tattered
flag, its edges frowzy, and the lowest stripe ripped from it and
dangling independently in the wind.
Both caskets were draped with the American flag and with
wreaths. Attending were Walker's buddies in spanking white
middies, members of the consular staff, Israeli and foreign
officials, Red Cross and UN representatives, American correspondents (whom I had never seen neatly dressed and wellshaved) a guard of honor of Jewish MP's, and one woman,
wife of the Belgian Consul—about forty-five persons in all.
The services were brief and nervous. Everyone knew that a
shell might crash in our midst at any moment. The anti-American maniac or maniacs who had murdered these two innocent
men might decide to stage a massacre: so many Americans
would never gather in one spot in that area again.
The twenty-third Psalm was read amid the incessant crashing of shells and the whistling of bullets overhead. When the
services were ended, we all filed past the biers and went our
way.
The Consul's body was laid away in a crypt adjoining the
Consulate, while Walker was