The Face in the Cemetery

by Michael Pearce

  Owen said that he could see there were difficulties.

  ‘Well, I told him that. And he says, you’re bloody useless, get off back to Minya. Not quite like that. These Parquet people are all cold, they never say things straight out. But I could tell that’s what he meant.

  ‘“Would you like me to do anything for you in Minya?” I say to him. “Effendi?” Getting at him you see. “Yes,” he says, “go to the equivalent in Minya of Old Mother Tayi and find out if the poison was purchased there. If not by the foreign woman, then by anyone else in the family. Including the husband. Especially the husband,” he says. “Got that? And I asked you to do that before, too,” he says, all cold. The bastard!’

  ‘And have you found out?’

  ‘Yes. No one’s bought poison. At least, no one from over that way.’

  ‘Hanafi’s been in the town a lot.’

  ‘Yes, and he did go there. But not to buy poison.’

  ‘What did he buy?’

  ‘Something for a headache,’ said the mamur evasively.

  ‘Opium?’

  ‘Perhaps. Look, there’s nothing wrong with that. Not if you’ve got a headache. It’s not poison. And it wasn’t arsenic.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Owen, ‘if I were you I would tell the man from the Parquet.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I think it might help you with him.’

  ‘Get him off my back?’ cried the mamur delightedly.

  ‘And in return,’ said Owen, ‘perhaps you can tell me something.’

  ‘What do you want to know, Effendi?’

  ‘Hanafi comes into town a lot. At least, he did so when Fricker Effendi was here. You remember Fricker Effendi?’

  ‘The one who sang to Hanafi’s wife. Or so he said.’

  ‘The same. Now, you are a man who knows all that goes on in Minya. What did Hanafi come in for?’

  ‘Alas, I do not know, Effendi. I know of his coming in. We used to say that he and the mudir were like blood brothers. At least, that’s what I used to say. The others said they must be brothers of the bum, he was in here so often.’

  ‘The mudir? What has he got to do with it?’

  ‘He was the man whom Hanafi always came to see, Effendi. The truck would bring him in and drop him at the mudiriya. I know that because the driver would always come on over here to bring eggs for Agha’s wife. That is Agha there, that idle fellow sitting on the doorstep. His wife is the driver’s wife’s cousin.’

  ‘Do you know what they talked about? Was it business?’

  ‘Alas, I do not know, Effendi. I know only that at that time he was coming in to see the mudir all the time.’

  ***

  Outside in the courtyard he could hear people assembling.

  ‘It is the ghaffirs,’ said the mamur. ‘They have come to collect their guns.’

  ‘The guns are kept here?’

  ‘When they are on a course, yes. Otherwise they take them home with them.’

  Owen asked if he could see the armoury. A harassed-looking instructor, the one he had talked to on the range, was handing out rifles to a line of ghaffirs. Before handing them over, he checked each one.

  ‘Do you call this clean?’ he was saying severely.

  ‘Ibrahim, when I handed it in it was as bright as the morning sun.’

  ‘And now it is as dark as a moonless night. How do you explain that?’

  ‘The air in the armoury, perhaps?’

  ‘The air in your head, Mohammed. Sit there and clean it now.’ He looked at Owen. ‘They have no understanding, Effendi. Not of guns, at any rate.’

  ‘Guns are a serious matter.’

  ‘That is so, Effendi. And that is what Bimbashi Wickham used to say.’

  ‘You were in the Army?’

  ‘I was, Effendi. And at the end I was in charge of the armoury. “It is a position of trust,” Bimbashi Wickham used to say. “And, Ibrahim, you I can trust.”’

  ‘He knew his man,’ said Owen.

  The instructor looked pleased.

  ‘Effendi, I would like to think so. But, please, Effendi, do not judge me by these…’ Words failed him. ‘Effendi, it is not the way that I would have it done.’

  ‘They are not the best of materials.’

  ‘They are good men for their job, but their job is not firing guns. Or looking after them. Effendi, it is not sense to entrust good guns to such as these.’

  ‘You speak the words I would have spoken. Have spoken, indeed.’

  ‘I do my best. I tell them how to keep the guns, I show them how they should be used. And when they come here on courses and bring the guns in, I check the guns and scold them if they have not kept them properly. But, Effendi, I have to scold often.’

  ‘It is not your fault but that of those who have commanded this.’

  ‘Those daft bastards in Cairo,’ said the mamur.

  ‘It is not for me to rail against the great,’ said the instructor, ‘but I really do not see—’

  ‘The mudir said that it was so that they might be used against the brigands,’ said Owen.

  ‘The mudir said that?’

  ‘According to the ghaffirs.’

  ‘Against the brigands?’ said the instructor. ‘The mudir?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ said the mamur.

  ‘Then for what purpose are they being armed?’

  The instructor shrugged.

  ‘Those are soldiers’ ranges they’re practising at.’

  ‘Yes, but…Soldiers? That lot?’

  ***

  As Owen was walking back through the town he saw the constable he had talked to on the waterfront. He gave Owen a smart salute.

  ‘Hello, Effendi! Are you going down to the river? Then I shall walk with you.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure; but let me not take you from your duties.’

  ‘You do not take me from my duties. They are there as well as here.’

  ‘In fact, if anything happens, I suppose it is more likely to happen there?’

  ‘Nothing happens in Minya,’ said the constable.

  Owen laughed.

  ‘It is a good place to be, then.’

  They came out from between the houses and saw the river ahead of them. There was a large crowd around the jetty.

  ‘The steamer is due,’ said the constable.

  Owen watched it come in. It was a paddle steamer with two great wheels which splashed water over the onlookers on the edge of the jetty, to the great delight of the crowd. A gangway was run out from the deck and passengers began to file off. Near the rear of the vessel a cover was being lifted off and then a plank was extended and the porters he had seen on his arrival, in their blue beaded skullcaps and with the skirts of their galabeahs tucked up under them, came on board. They went down into the hold and emerged with huge sacks and even packing cases on their shoulders. Then they ran down the plank and deposited them in a flat space at the end of the jetty.

  Even before they had finished unloading, men were arriving with donkeys to carry the goods off.

  ‘Is there no man to see that no one goes off with another’s goods?’ Owen asked the constable.

  The constable seemed surprised. He pointed to the crowd jostling around the packing cases.

  ‘There is everyone to see,’ he said.

  ‘But suppose the goods have to be counted, or signed for?’ said Owen. ‘As it was, say, for the guns for the mudiriya?’

  ‘I sent for Abdul and he counted them.’

  ‘Did the steamer wait?’

  ‘It was a special load, so it had to. But the captain said: “Tell Abdul to come speedily, for I cannot wait all day.”’

  ‘Even so…’

  ‘I think Abdul gave him somethin
g, so that he did not mind waiting. Anyway, Abdul wasn’t long. He came quickly on his donkey.’

  ‘One donkey? But, then, how did he carry the goods?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t carry them himself, he sent for Abu.’

  ‘Abu?’

  ‘Abu has many donkeys. That is Abu.’

  He pointed to a small, wiry man loading sacks on to a pair of donkeys. He saw he was being looked at and waved.

  ‘I would speak with him.’

  The constable took him across.

  ‘Abu, the Effendi would speak with you.’

  ‘Let him speak, then.’

  ‘Abu, our friend here says you have many donkeys?’

  ‘I have donkeys enough.’

  ‘Enough to carry many loads?’

  ‘It depends how many. But many, yes.’

  ‘Enough even, say, to carry the guns that came for the mudiriya?’

  ‘He made two journeys,’ said the constable.

  ‘Ah, two journeys?’

  ‘The guns were heavy,’ said Abu defensively.

  ‘Quite so. Now, Abu, tell me: you made two journeys. Were both to the mudiriya?’

  ‘They were to the police station. That is where they keep the guns.’

  ‘And both journeys were to the police station?’

  ‘Yes, Effendi,’ said Abu, puzzled. ‘Where else should they be to?’

  ‘No matter. It was just that I wondered. Guns, you see, are important.’

  ‘I know, Effendi. That is what Ibrahim said. “Guns are a serious business, Abu,” he said. “Let no load go astray.” Ibrahim is the chief instructor up there. And, besides, he knows his business.’

  ‘He does. I have met him. But, now, look, Abu: you made two journeys. What happened to the guns which were left behind while you made the first journey?’

  ‘Nothing happened to them. They were there when I came back.’

  ‘But who watched over them while you were gone?’

  ‘I watched over them,’ said the constable. ‘And, besides, Abdul was there with his pieces of paper, waving them about and saying: “Oh, shit!”’

  ‘Why did he say that?’

  ‘Because he thought one case was missing. It wasn’t, but for a few minutes he was really shitting himself, Effendi.’

  ‘And then you came back, Abu, and picked up the guns that remained, and took them to the mudiriya?’

  ‘That is so. And Abdul came with me. Fussing like a hen over its chicks. However, I didn’t mind that. For guns are a serious matter.’

  ***

  The mudir was sitting in his usual place.

  ‘Hello, Effendi,’ he said, looking up at Owen and inviting him to sit down. ‘One of them’s off.’

  ‘Off?’

  ‘Back to Cairo. One of those three bastards.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’

  ‘Had enough of Minya, I suppose. Finds it a bit hot. “You should be out in the sugar cane,” I said. “Then you’d know what heat was!” “No, thanks,” he says, in his lordly way. “This’ll do for me.” Anyway, he’s off. Pity about the other two.’

  He produced a bottle of beer from under the chair, where it had been standing in a bucket of water, and gave it to Owen. ‘Drink up, Effendi! You need a lot of liquid down here. The heat sweats all the water out of you.’

  Owen took a drink, then put the bottle down.

  ‘The ghaffirs are off today, too, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. And a damned good thing, too. All this shooting makes your head split. And what’s the point? Those useless sods couldn’t hit a mountain!’

  ‘They said it was so that they could fight the brigands.’

  ‘Brigands? Bollocks! There aren’t any brigands within a hundred miles of here.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Not to speak of. It was just one of those daft notions that that bloke—what was his name? The one who used to sing to the ladies—Fricker?—had. But you’ve got to do what he says, otherwise he’ll be down here again saying why the hell haven’t you done what you were told to?’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll be down again.’

  ‘No? I wish I could believe that.’

  ‘He’s been interned. He’s German.’

  ‘You’ve put him in prison?’ said the mudir delightedly. ‘Effendi, you’ve certainly got a head on you! That’s the way to treat these Cairo bastards! Drink up, Effendi, drink up—’

  Chapter Eleven

  The truck bounced and jolted its way along the track, throwing up a cloud of dust which came back and made Owen choke. The driver had pulled one of the folds of his headdress over his mouth.

  Away to their left was the river, marked by a line of palm trees, but between it and the track was a thin, continuous strip of cultivation which forced them inland to the stonier, sandier ground of the desert. Fellahin were working in the fields and here and there he caught sight of a water-wheel driven by an ox with a small boy on its back.

  Here inland there was no cultivation and hardly any people; only, occasionally, they passed someone on a donkey, who would draw aside and look up at them, oblivious to the dust which would immediately surround him.

  After about two hours the driver pointed ahead.

  ‘The sugar cane,’ he said.

  At first Owen could hardly see it, but then he began to make out a long green line which ran across the horizon in front of them. As they approached, it became more definite and now they began to see the tops of dovecotes marking the site of small villages. They never saw the villages themselves, which were too low to show above the fifteen foot high sea of cane.

  The track turned along the edge of the plantations and now from time to time they saw houses, small clusters of huts scattered among the sugar cane, sometimes with palm trees around a well or with little irrigation ditches bringing water.

  As they came to one of these, Owen saw a small girl standing in a vegetable patch at the edge of the sugar cane sucking her thumb. She was carrying a gun.

  Gun?

  ‘Stop!’ he said to the driver.

  The truck came to a halt.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ he said, pointing to the girl.

  ‘Scaring away the crows,’ said the driver indifferently.

  ‘Yes, but—that gun!’

  ‘That’s to scare them with.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s one of the new guns—the ones issued to the ghaffirs.’

  ‘She is a ghaffir,’ said the driver.

  Owen got out of the truck and went over to the girl.

  ‘Hello!’ he said.

  ‘Hello!’ she said, removing her thumb from her mouth.

  ‘That’s a fine gun,’ said Owen.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ said the girl.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  ‘I know how to shoot it,’ said the girl.

  ‘Yes, but who, or what, are you going to shoot?’

  ‘I haven’t shot anyone yet,’ confessed the girl.

  ‘They’ve made you the ghaffir?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the girl, putting her thumb back into her mouth.

  ‘Where is the omda?’ demanded Owen. He had cadged a lift but the truck would have to wait.

  The girl pointed to one of the houses, outside which a small group of men were sitting in the shade. Owen strode across.

  ‘Which of you is the omda?’

  One of the men signified that he was the headman of the village.

  ‘What are you doing letting them appoint a girl as ghaffir?’ said Owen angrily. ‘You, a responsible man! This is a disgrace!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said the omda, surprised. ‘She’s all right. Isn’t she?’ he appealed to the others.

  ‘She’s fine.’

  ‘She’s just a girl,’ s
aid Owen.

  ‘Well, she doesn’t have a lot to do.’

  ‘Suppose someone bad came?’

  ‘No one bad comes to this village.’

  ‘In fact, no one comes here at all,’ said one of the other men.

  It was as Owen had supposed. All a ghaffir was called on to do in the ordinary run of things was to scare away the birds. And to issue them with guns like this! And to call them in for training!

  That was another thing.

  ‘What happens when she gets called on to go into Minya for this new training?’

  ‘Training?’ said the omda blankly.

  ‘Does not the mudir call her in?’

  ‘We don’t have much to do with the mudir,’ said one of the men.

  ‘How did she get a gun like this, then?’

  ‘They gave it her,’ said the omda.

  ‘Nothing to do with us,’ said another of the men.

  What about all that stuff at the mudiriya? Fricker’s ‘careful procedures’? The individual signing out, the witnessing by Abdul and the instructor?

  ‘The gun came with the girl,’ said another of the men.

  Came with the girl?

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Owen. ‘Did you not choose this girl yourself?’

  ‘No,’ said the omda.

  ‘She’s not from the village?’

  ‘No, no. She comes from over Hammadi way.’

  Owen had never met anything like this. Usually a ghaffir was chosen from among the members of the village. And although they might, and too often did, choose the village simpleton, they were not usually so cavalier as to pick a stray girl from somewhere else.

  ‘This is a disgrace!’ he said sternly. ‘I will have to speak to the mudir. Meanwhile, you had better choose another for your ghaffir.’

  The omda, and all the other men, looked alarmed.

  ‘Now, hold on—’

  ‘Wait a minute—’

  ‘It’s not as easy as that.’

  ‘Of course it is! What the hell’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Effendi, it is not quite so straightforward. One does not exactly choose—’

  ‘Not down here—’

  ‘Then what—?’

  The omda hesitated.

  ‘One gets…’ He looked around desperately for inspiration.