“Are they Americans?”
The implications of this question were hardly diplomatic; it was merely a way of telling me that the matter was none of my business. In a moment Talaat said this in so many words.
“The Armenians are not to be trusted,” he said, “besides, what we do with them does not concern the United States.”
I replied that I regarded myself as the friend of the Armenians and was shocked at the way that they were being treated. But he shook his head and refused to discuss the matter. I saw that nothing could be gained by forcing the issue at that time. I spoke in behalf of another British subject who was not being treated properly.
“He’s English, isn’t he?” answered Talaat. “Then I shall do as I like with him!”
“Eat him, if you wish!” I replied.
“No,” said Talaat, “he would go against my digestion.”
He was altogether in a reckless mood. “Gott strafe England!” he shouted—using one of the few German phrases that he knew. “As to your Armenians, we don’t give a rap for the future! We live only in the present! As to the English, I wish you would telegraph Washington that we shall not do a thing for them until they let out Ayoub Sabri and Zinnoun!”
Then leaning over, he struck a pose, pressed his hand to his heart, and said, in English—I think this must have been almost all the English he knew:
“Ayoub Sabri—he—my—brudder!”