402
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
bread. We had it yesterday and we will have it again tomorrow."
"But it is Ramadan [the Moslem holy days]. You are supposed to fast."
"Every day is Ramadan for us. If we do not eat, we will
fall from weakness," Hayredin answered.
I offered him all the cigarettes and candy I had.
"I cannot understand this," I said. "You fought for the
Arab cause. A few months ago I saw a Yugoslav who had lost
his arm in Haifa. Why are they treating you this way?"
"Let's go outside and talk," he suggested. We walked
through the dark rooms. Stopping in one, Hayredin went to
a bed in the corner. The face under the covers was unshaven,
gaunt with the pallor of coming death. "He has anemia, but
we can do nothing," Hayredin said. In another room was another still form—of a youth with his foot in a cast. "The military hospital is full. They sent him here—to eat our hash."
After a while Hayredin spoke again. "There is a saying: 'If
you have not been poor you cannot appreciate riches.' I am
sure you will love America better after you have finished seeing the Arab countries. If I were in America I would not
leave it even for a second. I would stay till I grew roots in the
ground." Hayredin said this with such emotion that I swallowed hard. "The Syrian municipality pays us sixty piastres a
day [20 cents] on which to buy food, clothing, and other
necessities. We cut each other's hair and sharpen our razor
blades on a stone. It has taken me nine days to get a pair of
used shoes from the Islam Relief Foundation."
We sat at the edge of a pool in the center of the courtyard.
A dozen of his companions were washing their clothing.
Hayredin continued:
"I am a Croatian, the son of a well-to-do father. I was studying to be a pharmacist when the Grand Mufti came and urged
us to fight for Islam by joining the German army. Thousands
of us did what we thought was our duty. I was captured and
made prisoner in Italy. After the war many of us were afraid