54
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
the top of bis lungs, trying to prove my innocence or guilt. I
joined the grim fun. "Yahood, nix Yahood, no good!" I
screamed above everybody else in makeshift Arabic. "Arabi
good. Arabi good!" I put my right hand over my heart in token
of my esteem for the Arab.
My new-found stamp-selling friend and the sergeant were
convinced of my Arab patriotism. The fanatic who had hauled
me in, and those who had swarmed after us, wanted me punished, Allah knows for what. During the melee, the sergeant
winked, and motioned with his head toward the door. I took
the hint, and slipped out at the height of the scrimmage.
Several' of the street mob were waiting outside. I passed
them by with a smile and a greeting, waving the stamps before them.
I felt I was being followed, and tried devious methods to
shake off anyone who might be trailing me. I was outwitted. A
few blocks from the Continental, two bearded youths came up
to me, one on each side. They spoke excellent English. They
said they were students at Fouad University. Both were opposed to the anti-Jewish demonstration that had been taking
place in Cairo. As a foreigner, did I not think such mob action
was shameful?
I admonished them for their lack of patriotism. What manner of Moslems were they? To gain favor in the sight of Allah
one must demonstrate against the Jews. "Even though I am
a Christian, I swear by the holy beard of your Prophet that I
wish the Jew nothing but ill luck during all his days on earth
and in the hereafter. May Allah always smile with good fortune on the Arab cause."
The two changed tactics immediately. They were delighted
to know that not all Americans were pro-Zionist. One of them,
named Gamal—a tall, thin, wiry student—gave me his address
and asked me to call on him. They shook my hand cordially.
As we were about to part, a turbaned head leaned out of the
window of the house in front of which we were standing. A
voice asked the time.