Philadelphia Is in Jordan
369
"Yes," I said, lying. I risked it in the hope that he would
have no reason to check with the authorities at Sur Bahir, or
with Major Tel in Jerusalem.
"Then why wasn't your name reported with the others?"
"My name is Armenian. Americans always have difficulty
pronouncing it. They're too lazy to remember, so they forget."
"I will call Fitzsimmons and check on your story."
With this Farhan leaned over to telephone the Philadelphia Hotel. He hung on for more than five minutes, in the
meanwhile saying nothing, scrutinizing me sharply and restudying my credentials.
"Fitzsimmons and Hecox have already left for Syria," he
announced, hanging up. "I shall have to believe your story."
"It is the truth," I said.
"What do you know of Robert Hecox's wife?"1
"Nothing," I repeated. "I didn't know he was married."
"I will have to check up on you through other sources,"
Farhan snapped. "In the meanwhile, you must not leave
Amman. I want you to report to me once daily until we have
cleared
you."
"Yes, sir."
There was nothing else for me to say. I was in no mood—
at this point—to attempt taking French leave here, as I had
at Sur Bahir.
AMMAN—TODAY AND YESTERDAY
AN AIR-RAID shelter was being dug on one side of the
town square. It consisted of a shallow tunnel under the street,
with both sides open; at most it could not hold more than
100 persons; nor could it provide any protection whatever
1
Curious to know the reason for the interest in Bob's wife. I ascertained later that they thought she was Jewish.