94
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
away a company of soldiers were resting, their leather whips
coiled like black snakes around their feet. Some were chewing
on sugarcane stalks and listening to an officer reading a newspaper.
"The soldiers are illiterate," Gamal whispered. "Only the
officers read."
In the courtyard of the police station were scores of reinforcements, idling. They had guns, black shields, and the ever
present rawhide whips. We made our way, shunted from one
room to another, questioned by one police officer after another, until we reached the major police factotum, at the moment busy brushing off a fly that was buzzing stickily around
his head.
He went through my pedigree with the thoroughness of the
FBI. Why did I want to visit the university? Because I was
an American university graduate, I was leaving tomorrow
(this of course was not true), and wanted to visit the distinguished Arabic institution of higher learning whose fame
had reached America. Surely I would not be denied this
honor. He made two telephone calls, after which he gave us
a slip of paper. This permit in hand, we walked toward a back
entrance, lined mostly with plainclothesmen and a few police.
The commanding officer called over the biggest man I had
laid eyes upon in Cairo, an extraordinarily powerful guard at
least seven feet tall. This Egyptian Goliath carried a pistol and
a short whip. With Gamal and me trailing, he led us across
the beautiful palm-strewn campus, past huddled groups of
students and watchful detectives, and finally delivered us to
the mercies of a gang of political police, bristling with revolvers, whips, and handcuffs. After a brief interrogation we
were finally allowed to enter one of the classroom buildings.
1 looked at my watch. It was 11.35 a.m. The ordeal had required an hour and thirty-five minutes.
I sat in on a class on civil law. There were about thirty
students, some wearing fezzes, and all listening to the lecture
with deep absorption. In the front rows were eight dark-eyed