Bethlehem and Jericho
359
"Jerusalem."
"You are going in the direction of Bethlehem! Jerusalem
is the opposite way."
I accompanied the quartet sheepishly. Turning to the Arab,
I said:
"I give this to you in Allah's name for saving me," and
slipped him a five-dollar bill (representing at least a week's
wages). "Where did you learn your English?"
"From the English soldiers. I used to work for the British
army."
We walked on for a while, then the Arab pointed to a
fork in the road.
"That way is Jerusalem."
They all wished me peace and a safe journey, except the
old man whom I had cheated of his place in heaven, for
which he'd never forgive me.
Relieved beyond words, I made my way without any further misadventures to the Old City, where I was lucky enough
to find a Car leaving for Amman, via Jericho. A half hour
later, after a quick breakfast, I was on my way, comfortably
seated with an Arab in the rear of the truck, our feet dangling over the back. Within minutes the jeweled splendor of
the Holy City was lost behind a succession of barren hills as
we dipped and twisted our way into the Wilderness. What
a vista of desolation now spread before us! Utterly denuded
limestone cliffs rolled undulatingly before, behind, and about
us in all directions like the sand dunes of Sahara. The only
sign of man's touch was the road and the telephone poles
following the roadbed. I turned to my Arab companion, who
was jealously hugging a small, well-wrapped package under
one arm.
"You guard that as if it was solid gold," I said.
"It contains passports," he answered. "Captured from the
Jews."
"Then you are a courier for the Arab Legion?"
"Yes, that is why I'm not dressed in uniform."