376
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
Dear Mum & All:
I am still alive & having a wonderful time fighting the Jews
in Palestine. I am joining the Arab Legion. As soon as it is
possible I will send you my address. Your loving son always,
Sidney
In the afternoon I reported to Farhan Bey. Had I been
cleared yet?
"We are still investigating your background. Report again
tomorrow."
I reported the next day, with the same results. It was my
fourth day in Amman. I knew it might take a week or even a
month to complete a report on me. Meanwhile, anything
might happen to get me deeper in hot water. I made my plans
quietly. The next afternoon I reported to Farhan Bey, as
usual. By the time I had left his office I knew what I would
do. Without informing anybody, I would simply leave for
Damascus, 125 miles away, by taxi. By the time Farhan Bey
learned I had left, I would be safely out of the country, and in
Syria—I hoped.
At dawn I checked out of the Philadelphia and went directly to the bus depot on Amman's Faisal street. The first
taxi for Damascus was scheduled to leave at eight o'clock—
almost two hours later—if at least four passengers were on
hand. I paid my fare, put my luggage into the cab's trunk, and
waited at the so-called terminal. It had just room enough for
a few Arabs and their luggage. Passengers usually marked time
on the sidewalk, where I wanted least to be seen.
"I have a bad leg and cannot stand long," I said to the
driver, limping for his benefit. "I will be in that restaurant.
Come for me just before you start. I will have your baksheesh
ready."
I sat inconspicuously in the corner of the restaurant, drinking tea. Periodically I slipped to the door and looked out. The
cab was still there. I dreaded the thought of being spotted
now—in the act of trying to leave—by Farhan Bey's agents.