"Moustafa, you aren't taking me to Abdul's prayer house?"

"You are too impatient Artour. Wait."

Finally we came to a high wall, followed it for a block, and then turned to find ourselves before a high wide gate topped with iron spikes. We banged on it. We heard the shuffling of feet, and a voice, echoing sharply in the deathly stillness, challenged us in Arabic. Moustafa answered; one of the doors was swung open by an Arab, and we found ourselves in a large courtyard. At the farther end was a house with lights shining from the first- and second-story windows.

"Is it all right to speak English?"

"Yes. You can also talk German if you wish."

That put me on guard. The Arab gateman now opened an inner door and motioned us into a large room lighted by two kerosene lamps, which cast a flickering light on a group of men standing near a large table covered with food.

DINNER WITH NAZI HERRENVOLK

MY GAZE swept past a well-dressed Arab in flowing robes, who was apparently the host, and fell upon seven men, six of them in uniform. The seventh was a brown-haired non-German, apparently a Slav. His right sleeve hung empty from the shoulder of his dark-green American officer's coat. All seven stared at us stiffly.

"Guten Abend, Kameraden! Good evening comrades. Heil!" I said, giving the short-arm Nazi salute as I had done innumerable times at Bund meetings.

A jet steam appeared to have struck them: the faces melted instantly and burst into smiles. The six snapped their heels, heiled back in unison, and all began talking at once in German.

"Ach, meine Freunde, meine Kunde der deutschen Sprache ist unglucklicherweise nicht so gross wie meine Liebe fur das deutsche Volk. Ah, my friends. Unfortunately my knowledge of German is not so strong as my love for the German people." Over and again I had used that at Bund meetings.

One of the Nazis translated my effusion into Arabic, much to the delight of our host. Seeing me so well received, Moustafa added his praise of the manly, bold, loyal Armenian who had been living with the Arabs. As usual, my American citizenship was an incidental detail. Our host, beside himself, kept repeating: "Ahlan wa sahlen, mit ahlan wa sahlen! Sharraftuna! Hallet el-baraka! Welcome and welcome again! What an honor! What a pleasure! What a blessing from Allah!"

The only one to speak English among the Germans was introduced to me as Gerhard. He had a long face, dark hair, and sideburns, and had perfected his English at a British prisoner-of-war camp. As we sat down to a lavish dinner, I asked him:

"How did you escape?"

"Through the Mufti's help. Twenty of us crossed the Canal in a boat one night. Cars were waiting for us on the other side."

"Only twenty have escaped?"

"Oh, no., More, hundreds more -- some by hiding under merchandise in trucks. Others are disguising themselves as Arabs and carrying false papers, and others get through by bribing. Customs officials at Ismailia are friendly. Der Gross-mufti makes all the arrangements. In a few days we expect twenty-five more comrades here. They will come with guns."

"English guns?"

"Naturlich. Stolen from camp or sold by English soldiers. The Arabs get much equipment that way."

"Who is our host?"

"He is a relative of the Mufti. Many of the Mufti's cousins and nephews are in Gaza and rule the city. In a few weeks Gaza will become the capital of the Mufti's Palestine government. The Egyptian army will also make its headquarters here."

"How many Germans in the Suez camps?" I asked.

"Many thousands. Perhaps 12,500 or more of the Afrika Korps. There are also many high officers, even some generals. Sitting at this table are a captain and two lieutenants. I was a lieutenant with Rommel," Gerhard said. After a moment he shook his head. "These Arabs make big talk but do not fight like an army. They are not trained,. They do not know discipline. We fought with them against the Jewish villages. We know. That man," he said pointing to the amputee, "is a Yugoslav Moslem. He lost his arm in Haifa. There's another Yugoslav recuperating at the Civilian Hospital here in Gaza. If you want to know about the Arabs as fighter, go see him. He has been with them longer than I have."...

...It was eleven o'clock as Moustafa and I rose to leave. There was much salaaming and hand shaking back and forth. The Nazis...pumped our hands. Our host said, "Sharrifna tani, marra, insh'allah. Come again when Allah wills it...