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left his house, and who’s to say they aren’t firing on civilians? If he’d thought rationally he’d have known that only a lunatic would venture outside at such a time and leave his wife alone. Oh shame, shame – what to do about the shame, and where does shame lead us? He confessed to himself that he’d been ashamed to stay at home and was now ashamed to return there. He stepped on the accelerator and drove at speed to Saladin Street, turned right and parked as he always did beside Al-Hurriyeh, the exclusive restaurant he owned. The gate was open and for a moment he thought of going in, but instead hurried to join Abu Nabil, who was waiting for him in the newspaper’s office across the street.
    “ Sabah el khair , Abu George, good morning,” his partner greeted him and then came straight to the point. “There are reports, still unconfirmed, that the Jews, damn them, have broken into al-Mudawara and are pressing ahead. I can’t believe it’s true, it’s a fortified bastion, but…Maybe we should ask the Governor for information – what do you think?”
    “Well, yes, we should publish a special interview with him. It’s important to reassure the population.”
    “Right, that’s why I called you. You know the Governor hasn’t spoken to me since…”
    Abu George nodded, remembering the Governor’s fury about something Abu Nabil had written a few months earlier.
    “So, could you go to him…?” Abu Nabil asked hesitantly.
    “No, brother. First of all, your honour is as dear to me as myown. I couldn’t possibly interview him without you. Secondly, it’s an opportunity to bury that incident.”
    Quickly they crossed the street to the Governor’s residence, passed the gate-keeper and almost ran up to the second floor.
    “The Governor’s in the conference room,” his secretary said and led them into the familiar chamber. From the walls, portraits of the kings of the Hashemite dynasty stared down: al-Sharif Hussein, al-Emir Abdullah, Talal and Hussein. The Governor looked as though he hadn’t slept and seeing Abu Nabil his face froze momentarily, but he recovered and rose to greet them and shake their hands.
    “Pardon us, Governor,” Abu George began, “for barging in like this. We needed to speak to you on such a day. We’re going to print a special issue and wanted to interview you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “Please be so kind as to bring us up to date on the news,” Abu George went on, relieved to be where he was. Abu Nabil took a notebook and his favourite Parker-51 fountain pen from his jacket pocket.
    The Governor, speaking in his graceful high-flown style, reported that at this very moment, over in the Sinai desert, the Egyptian airforce was pounding the Zionist army, setting its tanks and armour ablaze. Then he read them a letter he had received from His Majesty, and added that the King had received a telegram from President Nasser, assuring him of a complete Arab victory.
    The telephone rang. The Governor picked up the receiver and seemed to move uneasily in his armchair as he listened. Then he rose, went up to the big map on the wall and marked something on it.
    “And what is happening here, on our front? War?” Abu George asked.
    The Governor compressed his lips. “Not war,” he replied quietly. “I’d say, border skirmishes, nothing more. Though they are serious. During the night enemy soldiers managed to penetrate our lines here and there, and at this moment our soldiers are finishing them off. Our men are firing from every roof and every position, and they won’t let the enemy raise its head,” he concluded and leaned back in his armchair.
    “On my way here I heard Israel Radio’s Arabic service, claiming that they’d driven us out of the High Commissioner’s residence. Is there any truth in that?” Abu George asked.
    The Governor ignored the question. “You listen to the Zionists’ radio?” he asked.
    “I’m a journalist,” Abu George replied, his eyes meeting