346
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
"You are now an expert driver," I told the Arab. "But I
wish you had picked a safer road on which to learn."
"Allah, Allah! I still have to go back to Jerusalem on that
road."
"Then may Allah have mercy on your soul, brother. Ma
salama."
Zaki came over, eying my wrist watch. "Would you like to
see Moustafa?"
"Where is he?" I asked eagerly.
"He is captain of a company here in Bethlehem. He is at
headquarters down the road." Zaki edged up to me. "The
wrist watch. Will you give it to me now?"
"It is a gift from a girl." I didn't think Zaki would appreciate the sentiment, but I had told him the truth. "Look!"
I unclasped the band, and holding it firmly, showed him the
inscription. "See, it says 'Marie to Arthur.' How can I part
with it, Zaki? Would you give away Ismail's gift—if he could
afford to give you one?"
Once again Ismail came to my rescue, and I willingly agreed
to send Zaki an identical watch after I returned to America.
". . . WHERE CHRIST WAS BORN OF MARY"
I HURRIED to Arab headquarters on the outskirts of Bethlehem, but Moustafa was off on a mission. I had counted on
him to arrange lodging for me. Luckily, an Armenian monastery was adjacent to the Church of the Nativity, for the
Armenian Church in Bethlehem, as in Jerusalem, was among
the custodians of the holy shrines. Our Vank here was of
formidable appearance, with a high, buttressed wall and tiny
grilled windows. There was no telephone and no electric doorbell, so I yelled at the top of my voice. No one heard me. I
resorted to a childhood habit: throwing stones, this time with