The Bride Box (14 page)

Sometimes, as he never seemed to get anywhere, he felt discouraged. Why not do as others in the Parquet did and concentrate on getting rich? If you were a lawyer, there was every chance of doing that. His father would have wondered at Mahmoud. He had stinted himself to pay for his son's education, scrimped and saved so that his son would be able to do better than he had. And now his son, just when he was getting there, was addressing himself to other things! Mahmoud would have liked to debate this with him but his father was dead. But in a way he did not need his father there. He knew what he would have said.

And then there was the question of what Mahmoud's own children would say when they grew up. What would they say when all he could deliver to them was a country that could not even rule itself, that put up with the injustices and iniquities of life under the Pashas. Still! His heart burned with shame.

As he had ridden back to Denderah, his whole body aching from his long day in the saddle, his heart swimming from the sun, he had castigated himself more and more. The identification parades had been an utter failure. He had thought it would be easy. The clerk would identify the men and that would be that. But it had not turned out like that. Things weren't so simple. He blamed himself for thinking that they should have been.

And the country, too, of course. He blamed Egypt for being as backward as it was. That was the root of all the problems.

But then he came back to himself again. What had
he
done about that? Where had his political commitment got him? All the work he had put into political activity, meetings, lobbying? The Pashas were still where they had been, the British still ruled, Egypt was still … well, Egypt!

He felt utterly drained. He had failed again. It was all failure. Everything was failure.

Owen could have told him he was always like this. When he started on a new case, he always hit it with enthusiasm, drive. But if things went wrong, or got stuck for some reason, his thoughts would go round and round. He would get more and more depressed, feel dragged down. It would happen when he felt tired, or felt that he should have succeeded and hadn't. There was a pattern to it.

But there was another side to the pattern. At some point he would pull out of it, start to rise. He would feel buoyed up, anything would seem possible, and in no time at all he would be back to his best, driving away on top of things.

Owen had often talked about it with him. Everyone had their ups and downs, he would reassure him. It was just that he blamed himself while – said with a smile – everyone else blamed other people. This would often bring an answering, rueful smile out of Mahmoud, and would somehow start him on an upward path.

It didn't seem to do so on this occasion but, as they went on sitting there, drinking tea, Mahmoud calmed down.

After a while he jumped to his feet and said he was going to take a walk around the midan to see how much had come in since he left. This, thought Owen, was a good sign. It was positive. The low this time was not as low as it sometimes could be. The other side of the pattern was activity, sometimes hyperactivity. That, at any rate, was preferable to the dreadful despondency of the low point.

As Mahmoud was wandering around he met someone he knew.

‘Ya Idris!'

‘Ya Mahmoud!'

They embraced joyfully.

When they had last seen each other, it had been at a political meeting in Cairo.

‘What brings you here?'

‘Work!'

‘Oh, yes?' said Mahmoud sceptically. Idris had been a fellow student, and work had not been one of his strong points.

‘No, really! These days I am into trocchee shells.'

‘Trocchee shells! I never saw you as a trader!'

‘I am not, really. I am hanging around with a trader in the hope that some of it will rub off on me!'

‘But, Idris, down here? I thought you never went out of Cairo!'

‘I don't normally. And from what I have seen of Upper Egypt, it is a policy I shall stick to in future.' He looked around mock-furtively. ‘But don't let anyone know that I have said that! The lot I am with now are all for unity.'

‘With Upper Egypt?'

‘It gets worse: with the Sudan, too!'

‘Idris, this doesn't sound like you!'

‘I know. I have changed. The country has changed, too. Did you know that?'

‘I must confess I hadn't spotted it.'

‘Oh, yes. We're all for unity now. At least half of us are. The other half wants to go it alone. “Egypt for the Egyptians!” they say.'

‘Well, we've always said that. No British, no Pashas—'

‘You're thinking too narrowly, Mahmoud. What is needed is a wider unity, a unity of the Nile valley. We need to work together with our suffering brothers in the Sudan.'

‘Idris, you know you can't bear to go out of Cairo …'

‘I shall direct operations from home. Think of this foray down the Nile as an aberration. Not to be repeated.'

‘You said “direct”, Idris.'

‘Direct, in a manner of speaking. At the moment I merely file the papers. But I shall certainly rise.'

‘But, Idris, what brings you down here? This is a long way to go to file papers!'

‘A foolish person has said that I will do the job better if I know what the papers are about.'

‘And you come down
here
for enlightenment? Idris, are you sure you understood what they said? And, anyway, do you need to understand papers in order to file them? What,' Mahmoud said, ‘are the papers about? What
could
they be about if you have to come to a place like this to find out?'

‘I am not sure I should tell you, Mahmoud, you being the hireling of the Pashas that you are.'

‘Look, Idris, no one down here can read or write. That rather restricts the significance of any papers that you might find to file.'

‘Mahmoud,' said Idris, with dignity, ‘my work is not with the fellahin, whom both you and I know to be backward and so mired in ignorance that if they rise it can only be if you and I do their thinking for them.'

‘Who is it with, then?'

‘As I told you, I am now a promising young member of the trading community. They trade, Mahmoud; and someone has to keep track of their tradings in case they lose track.'

‘Filing the papers, you mean? But, Idris, people who trade in the desert …'

‘Yes, but they don't trade with the people in the desert. They trade with people outside the desert. They are the only ones who can pay for what they trade in.'

‘You know, Idris, I think I am beginning to get an inkling of how you feel: this sort of thing can surely be better handled from Cairo.'

‘My feelings exactly, Mahmoud.'

‘But I still don't see how trading in trocchee shells is going to advance the cause of the great revolution – or, if you prefer, the wider cause of the unity of the Nile valley.'

‘Money, dear boy, money. Funds have to be raised, and if they are, they have to be kept track of.'

‘Ye-es. But, Idris, if they have to rely on people like you to keep track, is this the position of strength that we all hope for?'

There were camels everywhere on the midan, and yet new lines of camels kept drifting in. The newcomers found it even more difficult to get a space and there were endless disputes. The camels bit and fought. Big ones shouldered smaller ones aside, butted and snarled. The drivers waded in with whips to restore order. Eventually it was restored, and the camels were hobbled and settled down. This didn't usually happen until they had been watered and forage brought. The forage, usually green clover, was spread on the ground in front of them. Then they set to at once. As they chewed, a green dribble ran out of the sides of their mouths and soon the whole midan was covered with a green mess. It was like one continuous green cowpat.

Mahmoud picked his steps fastidiously. It was probably wise to do that anyway. You needed to give camels a wide berth. When they were standing they would sometimes lash out with a foot which had enough force to break your leg. They were unruly, surly, savage beasts; not at all like cows.

Gradually he began to make sense of the melee in the square. Incoming loads were deposited on the station side. The sacks of gum arabic were piled alongside the railway line, ready for loading. Further back, waiting their turn, were the sacks of trocchee shells. Sometimes the sacks were torn and you would see the shells spilling out. They had a strong fishy smell.

Further back still, because they were of less importance, were bags of goods for the bazaars of the south, on their way to the shops of the Sudan. And here and there were little piles of private belongings, to be picked up when everything else was out of the way.

Everywhere, too, were the Levantine assistants of the traders, conspicuous among the galabeyas in their white shirts and European-style trousers, running from pile to pile, papers in hand, counting this pile, ticking off that.

The midan now surged with people and camels. Despite himself, Mahmoud was impressed. He had never anticipated a gathering of this scale in such an obscure part of the desert. Everywhere was hubbub and bustle.

As he threaded his way through the mass, he was surprised to see the Pasha's lady's son, Karim. He had never expected to see him so far from home.

He was wandering around with a dazed expression on his face, As Mahmoud watched him, he ran into someone he knew.

‘Ya Hassan!'

‘Ya Karim! Are you well?'

‘Well, thanks be to God! And you?'

‘Well also.'

‘Are you coming to see me?'

‘Perhaps.'

‘I am hoping that you would be bringing something for me.'

Hassan smiled. ‘Well, I was hoping you might be bringing something for
me
!'

‘It's on the way. Tamuz is bringing it.'

‘More than one box, I hope?'

‘All those you left. Six donkeys.'

‘Six?'

‘Two boxes on each donkey and one over.'

‘Those boxes are heavy. It is a lot for a donkey to carry.'

‘You should have sent camels.'

Hassan shrugged. ‘They couldn't be spared. However, as long as the boxes are here to go with the others …'

‘They will be here tomorrow, Tamuz says.'

‘God be praised!'

‘And is there anything for me?'

Hassan smiled and patted him familiarly on the shoulder. ‘There is a fine new gun. And I know it's fine because I have seen it fired. It brought down a hawk. At two hundred paces!'

‘That was a good shot!'

‘It was I who fired it. But, yes, it was. And the gun is a good one. It is like some of those in the boxes. It has new sights on it. You won't have seen them before, but they are astonishing. You will find a difference at once.'

‘Can I have it?' asked Karim excitedly.

‘When the boxes get in.'

‘Not until then?' said Karim, disappointed.

‘Not until then. But then at once. You will have the new gun with you when you go with Tamuz. I promise you!'

Hassan moved away. Karim looked around uncertainly for a moment and then moved off too. Mahmoud waited for him to go and then went in search of Owen.

Owen walked back to the carpenter's shop.

‘Can I borrow Selim?'

‘Of course!'

‘It will be for a day or two.'

‘That's all right. We're not busy.'

Owen went over to Selim, who was working quietly in the back of the shop. ‘Selim, I need your help.'

‘Anything I can do, Effendi …'

‘It is not an ordinary thing I am asking you for.'

Selim looked at him quickly. ‘Is it to do with Soraya?'

‘Indirectly, yes.'

‘Then I will help.'

‘Let us go to the temple.'

They clambered their way through the sunken nitre tanks and went into the temple. They stood for a moment in its cold gloom. The slightly musty air met him again. They waited for their eyes to get used to the darkness and then went through to the room Selim had shown him before. Nothing seemed to have changed in it.

‘It will,' said Owen. ‘I think they plan to use it.'

‘To store …?'

‘As they have done before. When they come, I want you to be here but not seen.'

‘I will not be seen.'

‘I will come to you from time to time. But I must not be seen either. I will bring you food and water.'

‘Food and water?'

‘You will need them. You may be here for a day or two. Not longer, I think. But I need to know when the men come. Then come to me.'

‘You will seize them?'

‘Not yet. I think they will be bringing guns. And I need to know when the guns leave.'

‘I will tell you, Effendi.'

‘Take no risk.'

Selim thought for a moment. ‘Effendi, is not the greater risk that you yourself will be seen when you come?'

‘I shall take care.'

‘Effendi, when you come, come as the English usually do, to look at the temple. Stand in front of the marks as if perusing them. I shall whistle like this.' He imitated the mew of a hawk. ‘When you hear that, come into the temple. I shall be waiting behind the pillars.'

The clerk was not yet back at the station. His brother, however, was still standing in for him. He greeted Owen warmly.

‘Your duties grow,' said Owen.

‘I should be paid more,' said the clerk's brother.

‘But so does the need for silence.'

‘I can be silent.'

‘It is important that no one hears of this. If they do, expect the Khedive's wrath.'

‘The Khedive need have no fears.'

‘I am expecting some boxes to come to the station. Heavy boxes. They will not be easy to lift. There will be men with them. They will put them on the train. When that happens, I need to know.'

‘You will know, Effendi.'

Mahmoud wandered through the goods piled along the railway line.