by Louisa Young
Shezli looked at him with his mild eyes. ‘British police?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
‘And why are you here?’
‘Miss Gower alerted me – let me know – that Eddie Bates was here, and I came to give her any assistance she and Mrs Bates might need. Mr Bates was a very irrational man.’
‘Irrational,’ said Shezli.
‘I believe you know what kind of man he was,’ said Harry.
‘Yes,’ mused Shezli. ‘And are you here as policeman?’
‘If necessary,’ said Harry.
‘Do you have authority?’
‘If necessary.’
‘As police, are you glad that Mr Bates is dead?’
Harry didn’t smile, but I could see the smile he didn’t smile.
‘The whole force would be grateful for the events that chanced to happen, if they didn’t believe him to be dead already. It makes things very simple from our point of view.’
Another little pause, a musing and settling. Possibly also a going-over of the English, a checking that he had understood.
‘Madame,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you believe your friend killed her husband?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Why not?’
‘Because she said so. She is trying very hard at the moment to build herself a good and normal life. She has had many problems with him, and believed them to be over when he was said to be dead. She wants to be safe with her child. I don’t think she would risk that now.’
‘She believed her problems over when he was dead?’
I’m not falling for that one.
‘Yes, but killing him would bring many more problems. Anyone can be glad of a death they would not go specially to cause.’ Another digestive pause.
‘If she wants no risk, why did she come to here, where he was?’
‘We didn’t know he was here. Had we known,’ I said, with a sudden sense of effort, ‘we would not have come.’ And yet look how it has turned out. We are free of him. Not, however, free of his death.
I did remember that Chrissie had said, soon after she learned Eddie was alive: ‘Safety is not the point.’ But I also remembered how she had talked about her child, and getting strong, and making things right. And safety was my point. And my point on her behalf. ‘And you? Would you kill him?’
‘She was in the café,’ said Harry. ‘There is no question that she killed him.’
‘She distracted witnesses with strange behaviour at an important moment,’ said Shezli. ‘Why?’
There have been enough occasions in my life when I have doubted my own motives, my actions, my responsibilities. Only through a lot of thought have I realized that I did no wrong in Janie’s death, that I did no wrong in defending myself against Eddie with that poker, and that I did great wrong in fucking him, and not only to him. So it was easy for me to know I was telling the truth when I said: ‘I had been worried to see them together in the taxi. I was sick. When I saw them on the roof I feared for her. I don’t know why.’
‘Feared for her?’
‘Yes.’
‘That she might be harmed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Or that she might harm?’
Ah well. Truth is so complicated, but lying is more so. I know, and knew, that Chrissie was a loose cannon.
‘I didn’t fear for him,’ I said. Truthfully.
Then Shezli turned to Sa’id, and spoke in Arabic.
‘How long have you known her?’ he said. Clearly Sa’id had not told him the nature of our relationship. Whatever it may be.
‘Sir,’ I cut in. ‘I speak Arabic.’
He looked at me. He saw that I told him that to show him that I was trustworthy.
‘Why?’ he said, and we continued in Arabic.
‘Because I lived for a while in Cairo, about ten years ago. That was when I first came here, and first met Abu Sa’id.’
Shezli turned to the old man, who acknowledged my words.
‘Do you vouch for her?’ said Shezli.
‘Of course,’ said Abu Sa’id.
‘And you?’ he said to Sa’id.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
I was actually a bit reassured that he said that.
What, had I feared that he wouldn’t?
Shezli sat in thought for a while. I told Harry what had been said. Shezli looked up. ‘Policeman,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
‘What do you think?’
‘Does it matter what I think?’
When he said that I knew we were still on dangerous ground. It sounded as if he were taking the question personally, not professionally. But then – yes, the British policeman in these circumstances might well wonder if it mattered what the British policeman thought.
‘Yes,’ said Shezli.
Harry was silent for a moment. I didn’t look at him. I knew he would do what he thought right regarding Chrissie and me and our involvement, disregarding his involvement with me. I didn’t want to make it harder for him, if he felt he had to land me in it. I knew that if he thought – personally, professionally – that Chrissie should face trial, and thus I should face being a witness, then he would say so. And I liked him the better for that. White hat Harry. Even though – no, because – he was doing me no favours. I like honesty.
So I had a bit of the flesh of my inner cheek between my back teeth as he spoke.
‘There is no evidence,’ he said. ‘There is no case. In British law, there is nothing. We would have an inquest, it would say accidental death, perhaps misadventure. Perhaps causes unknown.’
Alhamdulilleh. But I found myself wondering. Did he really think that? Or was he saving us? Surely in Britain they’d have forensics up there analysing the angle of his shoe rubber and the speed of his fall in no time.
‘What is misadventure?’ enquired Shezli.
‘When things go wrong, but it’s nobody’s fault.’
Shezli mused a little more.
‘But that’s British law. I don’t know your law,’ said Harry. He sat, imperturbable. I studied his face and I wasn’t at all sure that that was British law.
‘No witnesses,’ mused Shezli, and looked at me again, as mild as ever. His head was narrow like that of a Sudanese.
‘I didn’t know he was here until the night before, when Sa’id told me,’ I said. ‘I didn’t speak to Chrissie before she set off with him in the morning. She didn’t know he was here until he turned up at the place where the convoy starts. I didn’t see him before I saw him in the car, in the convoy. I was just looking for Chrissie to take her home, away from him.’
‘Why didn’t you see her? You were staying together, at the hotel?’
I … I said nothing. I was embarrassed. ‘In the evening or in the morning? You didn’t eat together?’
I …
‘She stayed in my flat that night,’ said Sa’id.
Harry glanced at me. Shezli’s eyes opened wide.
There is a widespread belief in these parts that if a man and a woman are alone together there is always a third party present – the devil.
Maybe the devil pushed Eddie.
‘She wasn’t well,’ said Sa’id evenly. ‘She took the news badly that Bates was in Luxor. She fainted, and she slept.’
I did not like this. My sexual virtue weighed in with my trustworthiness. I saw how Harry was looking at me too. All these men accusing, defending, deciding, judging.
Shezli stared at Sa’id.
‘It’s Ramadan,’ he said, in Arabic.
‘Exactly,’ said Sa’id, staring him right back.
Shezli looked to Abu Sa’id. He looked back, placidly.
Sarah’s legacy to Sa’id slipped into my mind: this man will always be other to his own. She bore him, and left him here, always the half-English boy, but with no English person to help him with it. And Abu Sa’id will always be the man who married the khawageyya. Tainted – that’s not quite the word
– with the north.
‘Well,’ said Shezli.
‘I don’t think,’ said Abu Sa’id, ‘that he would have been a better man to leave her alone, sick.’
‘He could have returned her to the hotel,’ said Shezli.
‘She was not conscious,’ said Sa’id. ‘She was not well. I don’t think she is completely well now.’
Silence hung over us a little longer.
Shezli clicked his tongue on his teeth.
Harry looked at his watch.
‘Don’t leave yet,’ said Shezli in English. ‘I am sorry to disturb your travel plans, madame. Policeman, when do you leave?’
‘This evening,’ said Harry, ‘but I’ll stay on.’
‘Call on me this afternoon.’
‘Of course,’ said Harry.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said to Sa’id. ‘Insha’Allah.’
‘Insha’Allah,’ said Sa’id, and they shook hands, and took their open hands to their hearts, and shook again, each with a hand to the other’s shoulder. One of those curious, specific and exclusive handshakes.
*
Shezli left, and Abu Sa’id left, and we three sat in silence.
‘Thank you,’ I said to them.
‘It’s not over yet,’ said Harry.
‘He doesn’t want to deal with this,’ said Sa’id. ‘They want to concentrate on the killers at Deir el-Bahri. He doesn’t want more bad news about Luxor in the European press.’ How coolly he mentions it now. None of the horror he showed at his flat. ‘I think we have given him enough to get out of it. And he is my ezwah. He will do what he can for me.’
‘Are you using up your favours on me?’ I said, with a little smile.
‘I have plenty,’ he said. Harry looked slightly amused by Sa’id’s straight face as he said it. But it’s true – he has plenty, ga’dda that he is. Remember the truckdriver who would not take money from me. No charge. And it may save my skin.
And at the same time, he is the Englishwoman’s son. It says something for his character that he is both.
I don’t want to take him away from this place which is his. He is the backbone. When the sons leave, the village dies. And it’s usually the strong and the brave and the demanding who leave. I’m not saying Qurnah will collapse if Sa’id leaves. Just … when the sons leave, the village dies. He told me once that a million Egyptians left Egypt during the 1970s.
How angry he was when I didn’t let him save me in Cairo. OK, habibi, save me. I don’t mind. Save me.
I smiled at him, a big happy smile. ‘Shukran, ya habibi,’ I said. Thank you, my darling.
He sighed and put his hands over his face.
Harry wanted to change the subject.
‘Oliver doesn’t know I’m here,’ he said.
‘Shouldn’t you tell him?’ I asked.
‘I’m hoping I won’t have to,’ he said. ‘If I do have to, of course he’ll wonder why I didn’t tell him earlier. And why I didn’t tell him about Eddie’s death.’
I pulled myself to attention. There were other things going on in the world apart from me and Sa’id.
‘Not that there’s anything we can do,’ he continued. ‘Until Shezli sends down his verdict,’ remained unsaid.
‘We wait,’ I said.
‘Yup,’ said Harry.
‘Yes,’ said Sa’id.
We waited a little. The sky stayed blue and the walls stayed white and the shadows may have crept round a little but nobody noticed if they did.
‘I’ll go and see Shezli,’ said Harry.
Sa’id called Omar to drive him down to the landing stage.
Harry kissed me on the cheek as he left, his hand on my upper arm. ‘Fucking tell him,’ he whispered. ‘It’s not fair.’ He didn’t say on who.
*
Sa’id looked at me. I hoped that we might have an interlude during which the joy we took in each other’s company might have a turn to flourish, but no.
‘Lily is your priority,’ he said. ‘You will always put her above me. You assume this. You take it for granted. You assume London. You assume you are going home.’
‘Don’t cut me in half,’ I said.
He smiled at that, and I saw clearly exactly how cut in half he felt, and had always felt.
‘I assume,’ he said, ‘that I have some say in where I live.’
‘At the surface of the water,’ I said. ‘Our problem is only geography.’
‘I fear for us,’ he said again. ‘Why do you love me?’
‘No reason,’ I said. ‘Why do you want a reason?’
‘Why shouldn’t I? Am I an unreasoning person? A romantic, unreasoning, stoical Arab?’
‘And you assume,’ I said, ‘you assume that you can get away without ever facing your Englishness. Hakim is facing it. You won’t.’
He smiled at me, and it was his beautiful smile. It is as if he were the very coolness of drink. Al-sharabi. The word drink doesn’t quite have the same … coolness. Sweetness. Sharbaat. Habibi sharbaat. Damoh sharbaat, sugar blood, drinkable, sweetheart. Sa’id el-Sharabi.
Foolishness.
‘Oh, how you steer me into waters where I don’t want to go,’ he said. ‘Look how you do that. You’re doing it again.’
‘Anyway, maybe you will come to Brighton.’
He has a point when he says we can’t talk about anything. How can we talk about this, and how can we not?
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘The gam’iyyaat study.’
‘What is gam’iyyaat?’ I asked. ‘You never explained.’
‘There are a thousand different kinds. Credit schemes. The women run them, usually.’ I looked expectant. It would be nice to talk about something else.
‘You pay in a little money, every month,’ he said, ‘and each person in turn gets a payout of all that everybody has paid in that month. You say when you will want the money, for a wedding, for extra lessons, for building, to extend your business or invest in equipment. If a crisis comes up you can say, can I have it now. So you can have the money before you would have saved the entire sum. No interest, so it is available to the devout, no collateral, no credit records, just your standing in the community, your neighbours’ knowledge that you are honest. You don’t have to borrow from your family, or the banks, there’s no tax, it’s accessible to almost everyone. Also the women can lie to their men about how much they are saving, so the men can’t waste all the family money. They are beautiful. They are so simple, and they do what economic theory so often can’t – they help people to live their lives.’
‘Are they legal?’ I asked.
‘Not encouraged,’ he said. ‘But impossible to control anyway. Private. And there is this research project, and they need an economics graduate, and probably I know a lot of it already, but there is some comparative and analytical stuff to do, too, with equivalent enterprises in India and Latin America, and the mother says she has put me forward for it.’
‘Are you going to?’ See how cool I was being? Just asking?
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not going back into her womb. But it made me think about what I might do. Maybe go to America and study the enemy.’
‘Don’t go to America,’ I said.
‘Ah, I’m not going to America,’ he said, with a little laugh. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
How cool, how impersonal. Does he not realize that we are not exchanging news here, we are sealing our fate?
‘Sa’id,’ I said. ‘What happened to Eddie’s money?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, and looked to me with those pale, pale eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too much. I can’t be responsible for it, and I have been unable to think clearly about what would be best …’ It wasn’t that he was accusing me, but only then did I realize what a big thing that had been to ask of him. Just offloading what I had been unable to deal with, and not thinking what it might mean for him.
‘I thought of investing it, you know,’ he said, ‘and putting the interest to run a school or some
thing. And also to adult literacy – you know to work in the public sector you must be able to sign your name for your pay cheque, even if you are the janitor or the watchman. So, if you have the price of a few writing lessons, you can become employable. And once you are employed, you pay back the price. Sweet and easy. I thought of sending it to your government with a note: here, have this for your Third World Debt.’ He gave a bitter little laugh. ‘But I have been unable to do anything.’
I was smiling at him. He caught me at it and shook his head.
Of course he realizes what we are doing. Of course he does. How we dance around each other. But when I was a dancer, I always danced alone. I’m not used to dancing with. And I don’t like dancing around in this way.
‘Stop it,’ I said.
‘Go and marry that man,’ he said. ‘Go and be an English family.’
‘Stop it,’ I said, and then I laughed, because he was being such an oaf, and irritating me.
‘Why are you laughing at me, habibi?’ he said. Habibi for a man.
I laughed some more.
‘Stop that,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘The way your throat moves,’ he said, with sudden tenderness, ‘when you laugh …’
Oh lord, I’ve died and gone to heaven. If only for a split second.
‘Sa’id, could you make up your mind? You’re driving me mad.’
Our eyebeams twisted again, and we sat in silence.
He smiled and I melted, again, again.
Now, I thought. And swallowed.
‘There is one more thing,’ I said.
And as I started to say it Abu Sa’id came out, and sat down gently on the divan, taking over the conversation with the quiet authority of an unchallenged parent. He started off as he does from halfway through a conversation. Abu Sa’id starts off from a point which most people don’t get to after twenty years of friendship.
‘It is the Egyptian way,’ he said, ‘to recreate the family. Sa’id, if you are intending to recreate mine, I have one word for you. Don’t let her go away. And if she does, go with her. There is the little family, and the bigger family, and the big family of Egypt, and there is the world and that is your family, too.’
And off he went again.