358
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
if I tried to flee. Flee where? The old man would have awakened the countryside—racing through it like Paul Revere on
a donkey sounding the alarm against the Yahoodi. A hundred
daggers would have sought me out.
As I ran toward the young man I kept yelling: "Armani,
Inglisi! Ana mish Yahoodi!'" I girded myself for the inevitable hand-to-hand encounter on the mountaintop, for I had
no notion of letting myself be stabbed in the throa B