There were bil-bils in plenty where we were, and very soon they had a large pile in the pirogue. They brought the houri alongside the boat, and one of the divers began opening the shells. This is always an exciting business, like a game of chance. To my great surprise, right at the beginning we found some very pretty baroque pearls; my guests were in the seventh heaven. Then one of the Dankalis opened one of the oysters prepared beforehand, and before I could stop him had squeezed the pulp and produced a superb round pearl. Spiro thought a miracle had happened.
‘Really, what a marvellous thing, I could never have believed that I would see such wonders with my own eyes. What is this pearl worth?’ And he rolled it lovingly in his fingers.
‘Ask your jeweller,’ I returned, smiling.
‘No, no, never; if you want to give a present, my friends must come first.’
‘Wait a bit,’ I returned, ‘we haven’t finished; perhaps we’ll find others.’
And we started fishing again. This time my spectators were thrilled; the gambling spirit had been aroused, and they were quite unconscious of the lapse of time. When the next lot were opened, we didn’t find much, and I saw the disappointment on their faces. I couldn’t leave off on this disappointment, so the divers were sent down a third time. I had resolved to sacrifice my other two pearls. The time passed like a flash for Spiro and his friends, but not for me; I kept anxious watch on the promontory which separated us from the Fat-el-Rahman. As soon as the cases were on board and securely stowed in the hold, Ali Omar was to appear on the crest and signal to me.
The Dankalis had been diving for an hour and a half, when at last I saw Ali Omar waving from the top of the promontory, and I heaved a mighty sigh of relief. I called up the divers with the bil-bils they had amassed, into which they slipped the two containing the pearls. The two Egyptians were burning with impatience, like two gamblers waiting for the last hand to be dealt. What an explosion of joy when the other two pearls appeared!
‘What a pretty ring this will make! What a magnificent tie-pin! What an original souvenir – pearls one has fished oneself!’
I can safely say that never had I presented pearls with more cordial goodwill. When we got back to the boutre it was nearly sunset. A wink from Ali Omar and the satisfied air of all my men told me that everything had been carried out as per programme, and that my eight cases were now in the hold under our feet. I was the only one who noticed that the skin of my Somalis’ shoulders had been scraped, and that Abdi was wearing a bloodstained rag around one foot. As they did not have the houri, they had carried the cases on board on their shoulders, having taken the boutre as far inshore as her draught would permit.
We opened tins of food and gaily drank our champagne, and our return was marked by a general contentment; everybody was delighted with the excursion. It was after midnight when I anchored in the old place in front of the Health Office quay. I was now in a position to resume my discussions with Stavro. He could search every beach on the coast, and much good might it do him.
THIRTY
The King of the Smugglers
I wasn’t easy in my mind all the same, for my situation was rather like that of a man compelled to smoke while comfortably seated on a powder barrel. I decided to take Stavro’s advice, and not deliver the goods in small quantities. The least accident might bring about a catastrophe. I should go that very evening and try to make some new bargain for my cargo. I was in a strong position now; I could afford to wait.
When I reached his house, only his sister-in-law was there; he was absent, and I didn’t believe a word of the explanations given me for his sudden departure. I didn’t insist, but one thing did strike me as queer, and that was that Djebeli also had disappeared. Ali Omar searched for him in all the Arab cafés, but in vain. I should have to resign myself to waiting; there was nothing else to do.
Three days went idly past. I began to be a little anxious. Really, it was too peculiar that Stavro should choose this moment, when he was on the
point of concluding a most profitable deal, for making this mysterious voyage. My sailors had been lavishly tipped by my guests on Sunday, and the money burned holes in their pockets, so they launched themselves enthusiastically into a life of pleasure. They adored the cinema, which they now saw for the first time, and all the little side-shows in the streets. I managed with difficulty to prevent Kadigeta from yielding to the blandishments of an Armenian dentist who wanted to pull out two splendid canines in order to replace them by two teeth of glittering gold. Abdi found nothing better to do than to have a molar extracted by a charlatan dressed in magnificent embroideries. His tooth had been perfectly sound but he was charmed by the shimmering costume of the operator. He was very proud of this exploit, and never tired of recounting it.
Next day all except Abdi looked ill and depressed, and nobody seemed to want to go ashore. What had happened? Abdi alone was in perfect good humour, and was singing his song while pretending to smoke his beloved coco-nut pipe. Probably their money was all done. I finally got at the truth. Abdi, with a paternal smile, brought up to me Firan the cabin-boy, who had been lying for twenty-four hours in the fo’c’sle like a poisoned rat. His comrades had thought it was time to make a man of him, and all had gone into a distant quarter where for a few sous sailors could buy the illusions of love. They had all come back in a fine state, all except Abdi, who had been having his tooth pulled during this time. Luckily, there wasn’t much harm done; a little disinfectant was all that was needed. At heart I was glad this had happened to give the crew an idea of the dangers and temptations which beset a sailor ashore.
At last Djebeli reappeared. I saw him fishing placidly from the end of a quay. He had come to tell me that Stavro expected me to dinner at his house that evening. In the big room where the bark and icon stood opposite each other, the round table was set for two. The black-handkerchiefed sister-in-law made me sit down, and Stavro arrived a minute after. He was freshly shaved and wore a white shirt, but he unbuttoned his waistcoat and his faithful woollen girdle reappeared, covering his ample stomach.
‘Well, what news?’ he asked with a jovial air.
‘Nothing much,’ I answered, ‘except that I was getting a bit tired of waiting and was seriously thinking of going away.’
‘Why be in such a hurry? It appears that you had a wonderful time on Sunday. I have just seen Spiro at the barber’s and he told me all about it, and showed me the pearl he had fished himself. He has been telling the whole town. Not bad for a start; my congratulations.’
The fat woman brought in a steaming tureen, the good old family tureen of white china with a pewter ladle, and we sat down opposite each other. The women, according to the old Oriental usage, ate apart, after they had served the men. In Stavro’s house all the old traditions were respected. His nieces were cloistered like nuns; they only went out once a week, and that was to go with their mother to church. No men ever entered the house; my presence was quite exceptional.
There were two decanters of Samian wine on the table, one of them representing a woman with a dress adorned with flowers, and the other a similar figure with dress strewn with fruits – Spring and Autumn, no doubt. Stavro poured out the golden wine, and laughed at me the while with his little grey eyes. If I hadn’t had my hashish safe in my hold I should have thought he had managed to play a good joke on me.
‘What has become of Abdi?’ he asked, for he had a special liking for Abdi.
‘He is on board with the others, who are all ill.’ And I recounted their unfortunate escapade.
‘All the better, all the better,’ he said sententiously. ‘That will oblige them to keep quiet, for it’s a bad thing to let them loiter in the Arab cafés. I know they are very faithful to you, but there are people who have got things out of them without their suspecting it. Too much has already been said about your Sunday’s excursion. I have heard various things – oh, nothing precise, but for anyone who is in the game, more than enough. It’s time that was stopped. Well, have you
decided to sell me the lot?’
‘Yes, certainly, but I must have half the money in advance.’
‘Still harping on that idea? Of course you are easier in your mind now.’
‘I never was anxious.’
‘Well, after all, I agree with you; you are right to ask it. I like men who can look out for themselves.’
We had now reached the cheese, and were savouring an immense slice of Roquefort. The wine in the allegorical decanters had reached a low level, though Stavro drank nothing but water. I felt that I had better go slow, for my head was beginning to swim a little.
‘I’ve just got back from Cairo,’ went on Stavro. ‘I went about our business, and I am going to introduce you to a man who will buy the lot. He belongs to Petros Caramanos’ country, and the farm you went to belongs to him. He allowed his tenant to sell you the four hundred okes just to see what you would do with it.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I replied; ‘they telegraphed to him.’
‘Ah, you knew that?’ said Stavro, surprised.
‘Yes, I knew,’ I replied, with a Mona Lisa smile which was intended to convey to him that I knew lots of other things as well.
‘It was only natural, since he was the owner of the hashish,’ said Stavro. ‘In any case, he would soon have crushed you if you had tried to dispose of it except to us. But he finds what you have done absolutely extraordinary, and he wants to meet you and become your friend. I think it is to your own interest to name him a reasonable price in order to get rid of your whole cargo at once.’
Though the generous wine had instilled a blissful contentment into my veins, I still knew what I was doing. I was interested to have at long last the explanation of the telegram sent from Steno. It was to announce me to the ‘King’; these people were perfectly organized and I was in their hands. They had allowed me to act up till now, while keeping watch on my movements, and now that I was so deeply involved that there could be no backing out, they had only to dictate their conditions. If they had found my cases, the whole question would have been settled. They had been sure that if they let me come they could easily lay hands on my cargo, knowing I had no choice but to bury it in the sand. But they had not found it, so I could still fence. Did Stavro suspect it was back on board my boutre? I did not think so, for his vague allusions and ambiguous remarks were all bluff. If he really had known, he had only to say so openly, and I should have had to give in. No, he thought that I had merely changed the cases to another place. I had to play the game warily. Stavro and his associates were not rascals; they had tried to take all advantages over me, but that was good warfare, and I had retorted by defending myself with some success. Now we could treat on equal terms.
It was agreed that we should go to Cairo together next day, so that I could make the acquaintance of this king of smugglers. We took the train at seven o’clock next morning, Stavro travelling in a different compartment, for it was not prudent for us to be seen together. He only rejoined me outside the station at Cairo; we took a carriage, and the coachman set off immediately without asking for an address.
We soon turned into a street which seemed one long row of funeral undertakers’ shops. These strange shops are only to be seen in those Egyptian towns where there are many Greeks. The carriage stopped before one of them, a vast room which stretched back into the shadow. Behind big plate-glass windows was an imposing array of coffins of all sorts. Some were daintily padded, and open like jewellers’ boxes, showing an attractive lining of pastel-coloured silk. Two or three of the finest were laid on trestles, to show off to full advantage their gilded carvings, wrought-metal handles and ornamental nails.
In the midst of this macabre scene some people were sitting round a little table, drinking coffee and chatting gaily. Right at the back was an immense desk at which sat a man of about forty, who had a decided and soldierly air. He was talking to two ladies in deep mourning. This was the owner of the shop, busy with customers. Stavro shook hands with the coffee-drinkers as we went in. They were compatriots, tradesmen from round about who had popped in for a minute’s chat. Some of them spoke French, and Stavro introduced me as a tourist come to see the Pyramids.
At length the owner passed on the ladies to a salesman, who would help them to choose a coffin for the dear departed, and came towards us with outstretched hand, smiling, affable and familiar. He said to me at once, as if I were an old acquaintance:
‘Let’s go to the house. My wife will be delighted to see you and to speak French, for she was brought up in France.’
In front of the door stood an imposing hearse to which were harnessed two magnificent horses of the most impeccable black. I was prepared for anything, and I almost expected my new friend to invite me to get into this gala vehicle. I had used up my faculty of astonishment since I had entered this strange shop. But no, the hearse was not for us; it had only come to fetch its trappings. A landau, probably a mourning one but comfortable for all that, carried the three of us off towards the new quarters of the town, and stopped before a huge house with pink marble balconies.
The staircase was also of marble, adorned with bronze statues holding electric torches. A porter saluted us respectfully at the door. We reached the second floor, and entered a room positively bewildering from its profusion of mirrors. Everywhere were bear-skins, Persian carpets, palm-trees in tubs and such-like. Then I was ushered into a drawing-room decorated in the most atrocious taste by a very expensive upholsterer, with a profusion of bronze and terra-cotta statues, the latter painted like anatomical mouldings. My host invited me to sit down in a gilded armchair upholstered in yellow silk, opposite an immense cabinet full of silver dishes, gold cups and so on, which looked like a goldsmith’s showcase.
Gorgis, the master of the house, was very proud of all this luxury, and greatly enjoyed the admiration in which he believed I was plunged. He was very parvenu, poor man, but in spite of his immense wealth he had remained a man of action. He rather resembled Petros Caramanos. He was so proud to show me all his riches, his vanity was so harmlessly obvious, his way of seeming to say, ‘Just fancy, I’m the man who made the money to buy all this’ was rather childlike, and provoked my sincere liking rather than otherwise. We spoke of my visit to Steno, of Papamanoli, of Madame Smirneo; indeed, I gave him all the family news, for Petros was his second cousin.
Stavro was ill at ease in the midst of all this luxury. He kept rolling the immense brim of his black felt hat between his great fingers, and very soon, muttering something about important business, he left me alone with Gorgis.
He introduced his family, three blooming children. The youngest was still in the arms of his English nurse, while the eldest, though he was only eight, greeted me like a little old man of the world. His wife was a pretty woman, a little plump, in accordance with Oriental tastes, and most elegantly dressed. She spoke French perfectly, without the slightest accent, and we discussed music and literature. Gorgis did not take much interest in this sort of thing, so he disappeared.
At last it was dinner-time. Dinner was served in a vast dining-room, with crystal-shelved cabinets containing complicated silver-ware all round the walls. The table was oppressively well supplied with silver and innumerable glasses of every size, and the meal gave me the feeling that it came from a good caterer for banquets. There was the inevitable lobster, and elaborate ices. I was horrified at the way the children pecked at the sweets, then threw them to the dogs.
After dinner Stavro came to fetch us, and we went to a sort of music-hall, where Gorgis had booked a box next that of the Khedive. Gorgis laughed heartily at everything, and enjoyed himself like a child; I couldn’t help remembering that he had been an ordinary sailor. Stavro, in spite of his gigantic frame, seemed much more refined in type, probably because after all he was a man of education. The secret jealousy which he felt for the lavish wealth of Gorgis could be read in his mildly ironical smile at the noisy mirth of the ex-sailor at the vulgar farces played by the clowns. He threw me a meaning glance from time
to time, as if to indicate how much above such childish nonsense he himself was.
When we started to speak of business Gorgis was anything but a child. Assuming a lordly and generous air, to make Stavro’s canniness seem more petty, he accepted the price I suggested straight away, and agreed to pay half the money in advance. When Stavro wanted to bargain and scrimp over details, he told him to be quiet, and there, in the box at the music-hall, he drew an enormous wad of bills from his pocket with a careless air, and handed me five hundred Egyptian pounds. I had some trouble in finding a place for all this paper in my pockets. Next day we were to arrange for the delivery of the goods.
A room had been booked for me in rather an ordinary-looking Greek hotel owned by a friend of Gorgis. Before we parted for the night Stavro, who occupied the next room, gave me a long harangue about his friend, and his absurd taste for unsuitable and excessive luxury. They had been sailors together, and little by little Gorgis had organized their business, and in ten years he had amassed a fortune.
‘I only got the bones to pick,’ said Stavro a little bitterly. ‘He’s a marvel in business, there’s no denying that, but selfish – he thinks only of himself. Do you think everybody is happy in his house? He keeps his poor wife short of everything, and treats her like a slave. Yet when it is to show off he doesn’t care how much he spends; he just flings his money away. You must have noticed that today. One thing I must say: he is honest as the day. He keeps the accounts and nobody has ever been a penny the poorer for that. In so far as that is concerned you have nothing to fear, especially as he feels you are a man of a certain social rank, and he is flattered to do business with you.’
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