298
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
"Ismae ya
akhi. Sadiq el Arab!" I called. ''Listen, my
brother. Arab friend!" I added in English: "I speak Armenian,
English, Turkish, French, Spanish. I am Christian!"
"You speak English?" the voice asked. "Who are you?"
I
was
astounded to
hear
the
excellent
English.
"I am Armenian. I have run away from the Jews. I am
starved for food."
"Do not move. I will come. Is anybody with you?"
"I am alone. I have no gun."
"Keep your hands up. If you try tricks I will shoot you."
He spoke in Arabic to a companion. I saw the sentry's dim
form emerge from the outlines of a roadblock that up to now
I had not noticed. He stopped a few feet away and lit a
match, bringing it quickly to my face. In the meanwhile he
shouted to his companion. I saw the other sentry approach
cautiously. While he covered me with a machine-gun, I was
searched for weapons.
"What
do
you
have
in
the
suitcase?"
"My personal belongings. You may inspect them."
"You can bring your hands down now," he said,
"and
come with me."
I walked alongside the English-speaking guard, while the
other followed behind. Quickly I passed my hand over my
three medallions. It might prove dangerous to be caught with
the mezuzah, but it was wound inseparably to the two others.
"Do you know that no one is allowed to travel on these
roads without written permission? When you didn't answer
in Arabic we thought you were a Jew and almost shot you."
"I am thankful to Allah that my hour hasn't yet come."
The Arab was a native of Jerusalem, which explained his
knowledge of English. Through devious side-roads he led me
to a blacked-out house, and past a sentry. I found myself in a
large room with a bed in one corner, and several Arabs
sprawled out on mats. The man at the rough table who addressed me in English was in civilian clothing. After displaying all my credentials, this, substantially, was the story I told