The Last Cut (12 page)

‘Effendi!’ said Selim, overjoyed. ‘I will kick that Lizard Man in the balls!’

‘That may not be necessary. You see, I think that if there is any problem, it will come from Muslim gravediggers—’

‘Effendi, which shall I break: their backs or their necks?’

‘—or the Jews.’

‘Or both?’

‘Just see they don’t damage anything to do with the Cut, that’s all.’

Selim saluted and returned, buoyant, to the line.

‘Selim, you’ve never agreed!’ Owen heard the men beside him whisper.

‘What is a Lizard Man to me?’ said Selim.

‘But, Selim, he’ll bite your ass off!’

‘I’d like to see him try. Although—’ he inspected his neighbour critically, ‘he may bite yours off.’

‘Why mine, Selim?’

‘Because you’re going to be with me, Abdul.’

As Owen was walking along the street a small stone landed almost at his feet. Surprised, he looked up but could see no one. He wondered for a moment if a hawk had dropped it. But it was hardly shiny enough to attract a hawk’s attention. A moment later another stone skittered past him, so close that it almost hit him. He spun round but again could see no one. Children, no doubt, but all the same it was surprising.

He walked on, turned a corner and then stepped quickly back into a doorway. After a little while he heard the cautious pad of bare feet.

When the boy came round the corner he grabbed him. ‘Why did you do that?’

‘Ow, Effendi! Why you do this to me? I have done nothing!’ Owen held him firmly by the arm. Not by the galabeeyah— cloth could tear.

‘What is your name?’

Ali, Effendi,’ the boy said sulkily.

He was about twelve years old.

‘Where do you live?’

The boy made a gesture.

‘There, Effendi.’

At the end of the street the broken-down houses seemed suddenly to open up. He realized that he was near the Canal. ‘Which one?’    ‘Efjj

He marched the boy down the street.

‘On the other side, Effendi.’

The boy pointed across the dry bed to where a derelict warehouse backed on to the Canal in a fall of rubble.

‘That is not a house.’

‘I don’t have a house,’ said the boy.

‘Do you have a father or mother?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘So who gives you food?’

‘The men do. Sometimes.’

‘Did the men tell you to throw a stone at me?’

The boy was silent.

‘Why do it, then?’

‘You’re not wanted,’ said the boy. ‘Here in the Gamaliya.’

On an impulse, and in some fury, Owen plunged down into the bed, dragging the boy after him. He walked across and climbed up the rubble to the warehouse. There was a cart inside and men were busy around it. They looked at him in consternation.

‘If you want to throw stones at me,’ raged Owen, ‘don’t get a boy to do it!’

‘He’s nothing to do with us,’ one of them said after a moment.

‘He’d better not be!’ said Owen.

He saw now that the cart was a water-cart and recognized the driver. It was the one he’d encountered previously.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘I keep my cart here,’ the man said. ‘Anything wrong with that?’

A man moved out of the shadow.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘anything wrong with that?’

Owen recognized him, too. It was Ahmed Uthman, Fatima’s husband.

He went up to the two men.

‘Twice,’ he said, ‘I have met you recently. If I have any more trouble from you, it will not be me who is not seen on the streets of the Gamaliya!’

He stood there until they yielded.

‘Come on, Farag,’ called one of the other men. Are you never going to get that horse ready?’

The driver shrugged and returned to his harnessing. After a moment, Ahmed Uthman turned, too, and walked away. As he went, he spat deliberately into the straw.

Owen knew he had to do something. His blood boiled. He went after the man and swung him round.

They stood looking at each other.

‘Well?’ said the water-carrier.

‘I am just marking your face,’ said Owen.

He let the man go, gave the other men a look, and then walked away.

He heard feet scampering behind him, stepped aside and caught the boy again.

‘I was just following,’ the boy protested. ‘I wasn’t going to throw any more stones!’

Owen released him.

‘These are bad men,’ he said, ‘and bound for the caracol. Take care that you do not join them!’

The boy nodded.

Owen turned away. The boy fell into step behind him. Owen put his hand in his pocket and gave him a piastre. The boy saluted his thanks and dropped back.

‘Tell me,’ said Owen, over his shoulder; ‘whose house is that?’

‘Omar Fayoum’s,’ said the boy.

As he turned into a street he saw ahead of him the two water-carriers who had been part of the altercation with the cart driver and Ahmed Uthman the previous day.

‘Hello,’ he said, catching up with them. ‘You, too, still walk the streets of the Gamaliya, then?’

‘Yes,’ said one of the men. ‘But we pick our streets.’

‘And we walk together,’ said the other one.

Owen nodded.

‘It is bad when a man has to do that,’ he said. ‘How long has it been like this in the Gamaliya?’

‘It has been getting worse,’ said one of the men, ‘but it is only lately that it has got like this.’

‘Why is it?’ asked Owen.

The man shrugged.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Omar Fayoum wants to fill his bag before the pipes get here.’

Further on, he met Suleiman, just coming out of a public bathhouse. The boy saw him, crossed the street hurriedly, and tried to walk past.

Owen stopped him.

‘Is this wise, Suleiman, to come where you have enemies?’

‘I am not afraid of Ali Khedri!’ said the boy fiercely. ‘Perhaps not. But here in the Gamaliya Ali Khedri has friends.’

‘I am not afraid of his friends, either!’

‘I have met some of his friends. I think it might be wisest not to come to the Gamaliya for the next month or so.’

‘I have my work to do.’

‘Would you like me to speak to the Water Board? I am sure they would be willing to move you to another district.’

To his surprise, the boy shot him an angry look.

‘No,’ he said.

‘I am concerned only for your well-being.’

The boy muttered something and tried to break away.

‘Why do you not wish to be moved? It would be best, you know. Not just because of Ali Khedri’s foolishness but in order to put the past behind you.’

‘Everyone says, put the past behind you!’ said Suleiman bitterly. ‘But what if you do not want to put the past behind you?’

‘She will not come back, Suleiman. Would that she could!’ The boy fidgeted and stared at the ground.

‘It’s not that,’ he was unwillingly. ‘Not just that. I know she will not come back, I
do
want to put the past behind me. But not—not just in your way. The past is what killed Leila and I want to kill it. I want to kill it here in the Gamaliya. I want to kill the ignorance and stupidity that killed Leila. And,’ said Suleiman, ‘I shall; by bringing my pipes.’

‘It will happen. But let others do the killing.’

‘No!’ said Suleiman fiercely. ‘I want to do it. And I want to do it not just because I want to end it—that is what Labiba says,

that I must work to end the squalor and the ignorance so that there will be no more Leilas. Well, that is good, that is right. I want to do that. But I want to do more.’

‘Is not that enough?’

‘No. Because, you see, I know a thing that Labiba does not know. She knows that when you do something like this you make the world a better place. But I know that when you do it, you also hurt people. Well, I know who bringing the pipes will hurt. And,’ said Suleiman, ‘I want to hurt them.’

‘Get the boy out of here!’ said Owen. ‘There’s a gang down here and they don’t like him.’

‘Certainly!’ said the manager at the Water Board. ‘I’ll see him tomorrow.’ He hesitated. ‘However, he may not be very willing. The fact is, I’ve tried to move him before. After the death of—you know about the girl?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I thought, I thought that it would be better to move him. We had a vacancy over in El Hilmiyah but he refused to go.’

‘A junior effendi? Why didn’t you just tell him?’

‘I didn’t have the heart. And besides—besides, he said he would resign. I thought that would be worse.
^-
’

‘Did you think he would resign?’

‘He was very adamant. But I will see him tomorrow and try again.’

‘He stands a chance of getting killed if he stays in the Gamaliya.’

‘I will certainly do all I can. But—what if he insists on handing in his resignation?’

Owen thought.

‘He is, as you say, just a junior effendi,’ the manager said. ‘We would not ordinarily go to these lengths. But his father is my wife’s cousin and I would like to do what I could to help him.’

‘Quite so. Look, if he wants to hand in his resignation, do what you can to delay him. Tell him he’s got to give notice. Meanwhile, find something else for him to do, out of the Gamaliya.

There are other people who may be able to influence him. I will speak to them.’

‘We don’t want a killing,’ said the manager. ‘Bringing the pipes in is difficult enough as it is. It will do them nothing but good and yet you would be surprised how many people are against them.’

‘I will certainly speak to him,’ promised Labiba, ‘but I doubt if he will listen to me.’

‘You have more influence over him than you suppose.’

‘Perhaps; but I have found there are limits. I will, however, do my best. And I will also speak to Mas’udi, who has been seeing a lot of him lately. Suleiman has been helping him in his work.’

‘What sort of work?’

‘You are very suspicious, Captain Owen. Humble clerical duties in the evenings, mostly, I gather. Assemblymen have a great need of such help. Unpaid, that is. But I think that Suleiman has also been giving him specialized advice on water. The Nationalists are taking a great interest in water just at the moment.’

‘Yes,’ said Owen. ‘So I have noticed.’

Owen went up to the barrage, where he found Georgiades in the Gardens lying under a tree.

‘I have been walking the Gamaliya,’ said Owen accusingly. ‘It’s been pretty hot here, too,’ said Georgiades hurriedly, scrambling to his feet.

It was, indeed, hot in the Gardens that morning. As Owen had come up from the river, the heat had met him like a blow in the face. The sand was so hot that he could feel it through the soles of his shoes. When he came to the grass of the Gardens it was no cooler. The great walls of bougainvillea and datura acted like sun traps and out on the lawns the heat quivered and danced.

He made at once for the shade of the trees; along with the lemonade sellers, the peanut sellers, the Turkish delight sellers, the pastry and poultry sellers, the water-carriers and everyone else who happened to be in the Gardens at that time. They lay stretched out under the banyan and casuarina trees, every sparse item of clothing removed, including trousers. Even the birds seemed to be gasping in the heat.

‘Where is it, then?’ said Owen.

Reluctantly, Georgiades, not built for speed, led him through the trees towards the regulator. Ahead of them they could see the blue waters of the Nile winking in the sunlight and here and there flashes from the various water-ways enclosed behind the barrage.

They came upon the white surveyor’s tapes he had seen the other day, marking out the line of the new canal. Owen was appalled to see how much of the beautiful gardens they took in.

All this?’

Georgiades nodded, and led him in among the clumps of bougainvillea and clerodendron, already hacked back severely to allow unimpeded progress for the tapes. On the far side, the side nearest the canal, the posts holding the tapes had been torn out and the tapes broken. A loose end of tape led out towards the canal.

Just where it ended, the side of the canal had been broken. The earth had been scraped away to form a shallow trench leading down to the water, rather like the sort of place made for water-buffalo to go down to drink. Only this was too small for a water-buffalo.

The earth had been thrown back to the rear of the trench as if by the paws of some animal, and the wattles which reinforced the sides of the canal at this point, had been snapped and forced aside.

A little group of men were standing looking down at the damage. Among them were Macrae and Ferguson, and also the ghaffir and the gardener.

‘It’s some dog or other,’ Macrae was saying. ‘You’d better make inquiries in the village. And if you see it up here,’ he said to the ghaffir, ‘shoot it!’

The ghaffir swallowed.

‘Effendi,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t look like a dog to me.’

He touched the wattles.

‘What dog could do that?’

‘Well, what do you think it was, then?’

The ghaffir and the gardener looked at each other unhappily. ‘The Lizard Man,’ they said.

Standing a little way back from the canal bank was an old weeping willow. It did not provide much shade but it was the only tree hereabouts and with one accord they moved into its broken shadow. The heat rising from the bank was so great that at this time of day, just before noon, it was uncomfortable to stand there for long.

The earth had been eroded away from the foot of the willow and little lizards skittered in and out among the exposed roots. Sometimes, though, they would freeze still for a moment and then you could see the beat of their hearts under the shiny skin.

‘Well,’ said Macrae, ‘it wasn’t one of those, anyway.’

‘Maybe not,’ said the gardener, ‘but I’ll bet they’re in it somewhere.’

‘How could they be?’

The gardener took him by the arm.

‘Be careful!’ he warned. ‘They’ll hear you. And then they’ll pass it on.’

‘What I want to know,’ said the ghaffir, thinking, ‘is how his father managed it.’

‘Managed what? Whose father?’

‘The Lizard Man’s father. He must have had sex with a lizard. And what I want to know is how he managed it.’

‘You daft idiot!’ said Macrae.

‘Perhaps he was very small, Ibrahim,’ suggested the gardener.

‘He would have to have been.’

‘Or maybe the lizard was very big?’ suggested Owen.

They considered it seriously.

‘That could be it,’ concluded the ghaffir finally.

‘For Christ’s sake, man!’ said Macrae, exasperated.

‘Out in the desert somewhere,’ suggested the ghaffir.

‘It certainly wasn’t in my Gardens,’ said the gardener. ‘We don’t have them that big.’

‘Yes, but out in the desert; you never know what goes on out there.’

‘I can tell you one thing that doesn’t go on out there,’ said Ferguson, ‘and that is men copulating with lizards!’

‘Have you been out in the desert, Effendi? Excuse my asking.’

‘Yes. Many times.’

‘As far out as Siwa, Effendi?’

‘Even there.’

‘Perhaps it was a bit further south,’ suggested the gardener. ‘Darfur way. They’re very primitive down there.’

‘Yes. They have scorpions the size of boulders.’

‘That would be it, then. If you had a lizard the size of a boulder, there’d be no problem.’

‘Yes, he could have been normal size. Just like you or me.’ Satisfied, the ghaffir turned to Macrae. ‘Well, there you are, then, Effendi. That’s how it came about.’

‘Well, thanks very much. And what was it doing here, then?’ The ghaffir and the gardener looked at each other.

‘The fact is, Effendi—’

‘Yes?’

‘The fact is, it doesn’t like what is going on,’ said the ghaffir. ‘It doesn’t like this idea of building a canal right across the Gardens,’ said the Gardener.

‘Oh, you think so? And perhaps it didn’t like the regulator providing water for the Gardens either? Not to mention the Delta?’

‘I think, Effendi,’ said the gardener hesitantly, ‘I think it’s quite liked the dams up till now. But now it’s going off them. It thinks we’re taking things a bit too far.’

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‘Which is about the one sensible thing they said,’ said Owen afterwards.

‘Taking it too far? Man, have you not read the reports?’

‘Er, no. Not in detail, that is. No, not in detail. But I think it’s true that popular feeling is turning against the dams.’

‘You’re wrong there,’ said Macrae positively. ‘This is a country in which everyone knows the value of water. Every man jack of them! You’re surely not taking seriously—?’

‘The Lizard Man? No. That’s just something the popular imagination has conjured up. But it conjured it up precisely because it needs something to express the uneasiness it feels about the dams.’

‘And you think that the attack on the regulator was something to do with this?’

‘I think,’ said Owen, ‘that it’s becoming very important to find out who the people behind Babikr are.’

Coming away, to his surprise he met Suleiman’s father. He was standing beneath a casuarina tree looking at the regulator. He smiled when he saw Owen and walked out to meet him.

‘I thought I would have a look at it while I was here,’ he said. ‘The regulator?’

‘Yes. It’s the one that feeds water down into the Delta, you know. It’s very important to me. My lands depend on it.’

‘So you’ve been hit, then, by this attack?’

‘Yes. To a certain extent. It would have been more if it had not been for Macrae Effendi’s prompt actions.’

‘You, presumably, are one of many.’

‘Oh, yes. But I am more directly affected than most because my lands lie beside the Canal itself. The others get their water mostly from feeders.’

‘Will it make a big difference to you?’

‘Not very. You see, we were all ready for it. The gates were going to be opened the following week and we had made our preparations. So when we heard the surge was coming, all we had to do, really, was open our own gates. Of course, there was a lot of extra flooding but in a way I don’t mind that. Water is water. We’re glad to see it whenever it comes.’

‘It didn’t do much damage, then?’

‘It did some, and would have done more if we hadn’t been able to take steps in time. What saved us was the telephone. These modern inventions, Effendi! Say what you like, but they do make a difference! I had recently had one put in, the only farm to do so, I think, in the province, and how glad I am now that I did! But, you see, again it was Macrae Effendi—he had his man phoning all the way down the system to let them know what was coming. The wonders of the modern world are great, Effendi, but without the wonders of modern men they would be nothing!’

Over among the trees there was suddenly some movement. ‘Ah,’ said Suleiman’s father, ‘that will be Mas’udi.’

‘The Assemblyman?’

‘Yes. He is our district’s representative. We had arranged to meet here.’

It was indeed Mas’udi, in a heavy dark suit, just the wrong thing for the Gardens on a day like this, and the usual tarboosh of the prosperous effendi. He was mopping his face with a large silk handkerchief.

‘Hannam!’

‘Mas’udi!’

The two men embraced.

‘You know the Mamur Zapt, of course?’

Mas’udi looked at him curiously.

‘Of course. But I did not expect to meet him here.’

‘We met by chance,’ said Owen. ‘I have just been visiting the regulator.’

‘We, too,’ said Mas’udi, ‘are visiting the regulator.’

‘Ah, yes. Mr Hannam was telling me. The land will be, of course, in your district.’

‘Yes. A matter of immediate and very great concern to me. And to my constituents.’

‘It certainly is,’ said Suleiman’s father.

‘I thought I would bring Al-Sayyid Hannam here and show him how things stood. Then he can go home and tell them that at least something has been done.’

‘Thanks to you, Mas’udi,’ said Suleiman’s father.

‘Well,’ said Mas’udi modestly, ‘not just to me. But I have indeed been pressing.’

‘But I thought,’ said Owen maliciously, ‘from what you were saying in the Assembly the other day, Mr Mas’udi, that you had reservations?’

‘I do, I do. But not over replacing the regulator. That must be done at once. Over the cost!’

Suleiman’s father nodded approvingly.

‘Taxpayers’ money, Captain Owen! We must be vigilant!’

‘I thought, however, from what you said, that—’

‘Reservations? About replacing the regulator? Oh dear, no!’ Mas’udi shook his head vigorously. ‘Those of us who live in the Delta know only too well the significance of such things!’

‘Nevertheless, I had the impression that you and your colleagues were changing your ground with respect to the Government’s irrigation proposals?’

‘If so, then we are changing with public opinion. To which, unfortunately, the Government remains indifferent!’

He cast a quick glance at Suleiman’s father. Mr Hannam’s face, however, remained impassive.

‘In any case we are not against maintaining a basic infrastructure. The Manufiya Regulator must, of course, be replaced. I shall insist on that. It is only rash and foolish endeavours that we question. And then, of course, it is true that other questions were asked. About health, for instance—’

‘There’s always been bilharzia in the Delta,’ said Suleiman’s father.

‘Exactly. And it’s time something was done about it.’

‘I don’t know that anything can—’

‘Modern methods, Mr Hannam. Such as your son is using in a different, though related, sphere.’

‘Suleiman?’

‘A great help to me, Mr Hannam! An invaluable source of advice!’

‘He is?’ said Suleiman’s father, pleased.

‘I don’t mind saying to you, Mr Hannam, what I have said to so many others: that boy, I said, is this country’s future!’

‘He’s certainly come on a lot—’

Mas’udi led them out onto the regulator embankment and began to explain, rather knowledgably, Owen thought, the extent of the damage to the gates.

Suleiman’s father, evidently not ignorant himself, stepped across to the other side and then began to walk along the opposite bank to get a better view.

Owen seized the opportunity to have a word with Mas’udi.

‘Have you had a chance to speak to the boy yet?’

‘Speak to the boy?’

‘I thought that Labiba Latifa was going to—?’

‘Oh yes. She did mention it to me. It was to do with a move, wasn’t it? I think the boy is quite happy where he is.’

‘That’s not the point. His life may be in danger. There’s a gang—’

‘Gang?’ said Mas’udi. ‘Life in danger? Surely you’re the one to see about that!’

Some workmen had caught a chameleon. They had cleared a space for it on the canal bank, scuffing back the sand to make little surrounding walls and to leave the space inside as an arena. Into the space, along with the chameleon, they had put a grasshopper and were now crowding round to watch the contest.

It was, clearly, going to be an unequal one. The grasshopper could do nothing to the chameleon but the chameleon could do plenty to the grasshopper. The issue was simply how long the grasshopper would survive.

Its chances, however, were not negligible. The chameleon would shoot out its four to five inches of tongue to lasso its prey; but if the grasshopper turned its jumps adroitly enough, it could make the chameleon miss; and if it could go on doing this long enough the chameleon’s tongue muscles would tire, it would stop shooting and the grasshopper would be declared the winner.

The contest was just beginning as Owen walked past and already, apparently, the grasshopper had done enough to attract some sizeable bets. Owen could see the coins set out in a dirty handkerchief.

One of the workmen touched his arm as he went past.

‘He’s been here before,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of Mas’udi and AJ-Sayyid Hannam.

‘Which one?’

‘The effendi.’

Mas’udi. Owen nodded.

‘How long ago?’

‘Before the regulator went.’

Owen nodded again and slipped his hand in his pocket. ‘Did he talk to anyone?’

‘He had someone with him.’

‘Who?’

A boy. An effendi.’

Owen jingled the coins in his pocket.

‘Did they talk to anyone else?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Babikr?’

‘I don’t think so.’

Owen brought his hand out.

‘What did they do, then?’

‘They just looked.’

‘At the regulator?’

‘At the regulator.’

Owen dropped some coins into the man’s hand; which went on the chameleon.

IjMsW

He took a felucca back to the city. At this time of day there were not many passengers, only a small group of fellahin who squatted on the deck with a hamper of chickens and chatted animatedly, and a donkey loaded up with berseem, clover for the cab horses of the city. Owen sat at the back on the raised steering platform, where the master sprawled with his hand on the tiller.

On the Nile the prevailing wind is from the north while the current is from the south, a happy state of affairs which means that, with a little bit of luck, in either direction the crew has very little to do. Today the wind was just strong enough to offset the current and the felucca moved slowly upstream.

Out on the river there was no protection from the sun and the glare from the water was hard on the eyes. Owen usually didn’t bother about sunglasses but today he wished that he had brought them.

The steersman reached over the side and splashed water over his head. He asked Owen if he would like a drink. When Owen said he would, he dipped an empty beer bottle into the river, pulled it up and gave it to him.

‘Try this,’ he said. ‘You won’t get water like this in Cairo!’

One of the fellahin looked up.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You know what they always say? The best water comes from the middle of the river!’

He stretched out his hand for the bottle after Owen.

‘And the thing is,’ said the steersman, ‘it’s free.’

‘It’s free out here,’ said the fellah, ‘but it soon won’t be in the city.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They say the only way you’ll be able to get water in future will be through pipes. And it stands to reason you’re not going to get that for nothing.’

The steersman shrugged.

‘The river will still be there, won’t it? And there will still be water-carriers.’

‘Ah, but will there?’ said the fellah.

On an impulse Owen decided not to get off the boat at Bulak but to go on to the stop opposite Roda Island, where he would be able to see how preparations for the Cut were proceeding.

Already the entrance to the Canal was jammed with boats. There was hardly enough room for the Kadi’s barge to get through. Owen could see it across the river, moored off Roda Island. Workmen were busy putting the finishing touches to its finery. Lanterns hung from the rigging, the ornamental chairs were already in position, and there, on a raised platform in the bows, were the cannon.

Both banks of the Canal were now a mass of stalls. There seemed hardly room for the spectators. Already, though, some forward souls were camping out, reserving their positions.

Down in the canal bed little boys milled about, making a game of trying to break through the police cordon around the cone and climb to the top. Occasionally one or two nearly succeeded, only to be retrieved by chiding constables. Everything seemed very good-humoured.