Green Shirts and Red Fezzes
65
"Some of our members think you are a Jew. Others think
you were sent here as a spy. I have told them that you come
from our brothers in America. You do not know Arabic: a
good spy would know Arabic. I have also told them that you
are not an American, but an Armenian. As for me, I say you
are not a spy."
"Please tell your friends," I said, "that I am honored to
have your hospitality, but if you do not wish to grant it
further, I shall take my leave in peace, and wish you well. I
am in Egypt to study your way of life, and to write about it .
If I see good I shall write good things. Instead of spending my
time at night-clubs, with women, with English propagandists,
I have come to you for my education." This was the truth. "I
do not seek your secrets. For my part, my life is as open to
you as it is to Allah."
Hussein interpreted my remarks, then turning to me, said:
"You are the first American who has tried to understand us
by coming to live among us. You are welcome. We think you
must have Moslem blood. You do not smoke or drink, or eat
pork. You think like an Arab, you are beginning to look like
an Arab, and you already talk like one of us."
After this I was treated with a certain deference.
Hussein eyed my camera. "We would like you to take our
pictures," he said.
This was what I had hoped for. I took a shot of Hussein
with a group of his associates, and then we went outside,
where I photographed him seated proudly at the wheel of his
green Ford. One of the men introduced to me as Hassan
Sobhy, an officer of Misr el Fattat, took me aside. "I am an
important man around here," he said. "Take a big picture of
me." I did so.
Later, back in the headquarters, while I was talking to
Sobhy, he interrupted the conversation to spread a newspaper
on the floor and go through the scries of knee-bending afternoon prayers. A faithful Moslem is required to pray five times
a day—the first prayer before sunrise, or if that is not possible,