Had someone else been using the locker? That morning?
He took the clothes out and smelled them, and then put his head down to the locker again.
Whenever he did this he felt rather like a sniffer dog, but smells were often significant in Egypt. They were different from those you would encounter in England, or even in India, where he had been before he came to Egypt. And they hit you more. Go through a bazaar and you would be assailed by the smell of spices, of cardamom and mint and sandal-wood. Move in a crowd and there would be a great mixture of perfumes. Men put on perfume, and everyone, but everyone, oiled their bodies. The hot, rank smell of the camels hit you as they walked past. The roads themselves smelled of dry sand, or wet sand if the water-cart had recently sprayed, like a beach in England.
Egyptians were sensitive to smells. Europeans said they weren’t, or how could they put up with the smell of donkey and camel dung in the streets? But Owen’s theory was that it was because they were so sensitive to smells that they tried to disguise the smells around them with the sharper, more pungent perfumes that they put on.
Would there ever have been a discussion in England such on the one he’d heard in the hammam the day before? About the smells of different nationalities? Owen didn’t know if he agreed with them, he would never previously thought in those terms, but he could allow the possibility.
He went back into the harara and smelled the body again. Yes, there it was, quite definite: the smell of hilba. But not the smell of attar-of-roses that had been on his clothes in the locker.
***
The man had been wearing a galabeah, the long, cotton shirt-like gown that ordinary people in Cairo still wore. There was a shift to European clothes, to shirt and trousers, which was more marked among the young and among those who worked on European-style businesses, banks, country houses, some of the big cotton houses. But the ordinary shop-keeper and stall-holder, all wore galabeahs. The fellahin, the people who worked in the fields, wore galabeahs, usually blue ones.
That, and the hilba, and the open sandals that he wore, told Owen that the dead man was not an effendi, not an office worker or one of the more prosperous classes. But nor was he of the lowest class. The material of the galabeah was too good for that. Somewhere around the lower middle, Owen would put him.
***
Owen took the m’allim by the sleeves and led him into the harara and over to the body. He pulled down the towel.
‘Do you know him?’
‘Never seen him in my life before,’ said the m’allim promptly.
‘He has not come to the hammam before?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘He came into the hammam in the ordinary way—?’
‘That is so, yes.’
‘And went through into the harara?’
‘Yes.’
‘And then what? What is your system? Did he call for Yussef, or did Yussef go to him?’
The m’allim hesitated.
‘If Yussef was known to him, he might have called for him.’
‘But he was not known to Yussef, was he? You said he had not been here before. And Yussef, too, was new. He had been here only a week.’
‘That is true, yes.’
‘Did he call for Yussef?’
‘I do not think so, Effendi. How could he have called for him?’
‘So Yussef went to him. How does it happen? Do the lawingis wait and offer themselves when there is a need?’
‘I don’t mind them waiting,’ said the m’allim. ‘It’s the customers I don’t want to see waiting. Of course, if the lawingis are all busy, they have to wait a little. But the lawingi are told that if they see someone waiting, they should not leave him unattended. They should break off and do something to him. In my hammam,’ said the m’allim proudly, ‘no one should wait. They should at least bring a cage over and let the bird sing to him.’
‘So any of the lawingi might have gone to him?’
‘That is so, yes.’
‘But Yussef did.’
‘That is so.’
‘What I want to know is: did he single him out?’
‘That I do not know, Effendi. But—why should he?’
‘If he did not know him?’
‘My explanation, Effendi,’ said the m’allim confidently, ‘is that he was magnoum. Crazy.’
‘You think so?’
‘Well, Effendi, he comes from the South. And all those people from the South are a bit…well, you know.’
‘If you think that, then why did you employ him?’
‘Well, Effendi, there are degrees of nuttiness. You might think a man a nut, but you might not think he’s such a nut as to go and kill somebody!’
‘Did you not ask about him before you took him on?’
‘Of course I asked about him!’ said the m’allim indignantly. ‘What do you think I am? My hammam is a decent place and I don’t want anybody to think they can work here. There are people—you won’t believe this, Effendi!—who come here with evil motives. We don’t want those. Well, just the odd one or two, you’ve got to cater for all tastes.’
‘So you asked about him? Who did you ask?’
‘Muhammed Ridwan, was it? Yes, I believe it was Muhammed Ridwan.’
‘Who could speak for him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where is Muhammed Ridwan to be found?’
‘Where? Well, I don’t know—’
‘But you did know. If you asked him.’
‘In the suk, I think, Effendi.’
‘Where in the suk?’
‘Ali’s, I think. Yes, Ali’s. Ali the barber.’
‘There had better be an Ali-the-barber. And a Mohammed Ridwan!’
The m’allim looked unhappy.
‘Effendi, I swear—’
***
Owen went back to the lawingi. The m’allim tried to follow him but Owen sent him to wait for the arrival of the ambulance. And the arrival of the Parquet officer.
‘How was it,’ he said to the lawingi, ‘that Yussef came to tend this man? Was it just that he was the next customer?’
‘The m’allim usually assigns the person who is to work on him. But in this case we were all busy. So he just pointed to the liwan.’
‘And Yussef went across to him?’
‘I think he was already working on someone. For did I not hear him say to Abdul: “Abdul, you take over from me on this one, while I see to the other?”’
‘So Yussef made the man his own?’
‘It would seem so, Effendi.’
‘Is that often done?’
‘Usually it is the other way round. A man calls for a particular lawingi.’
‘Was it so here? Did the man call for Yussef, or did Yussef pick the man?’
‘I did not see, Effendi. It may be that the man spoke to Yussef first. But he would hardly have chosen Yussef to massage him, for Yussef was new here.’
‘Perhaps they had met someone else?’
‘I do not know, Effendi.’
‘Yussef did not say so?’
‘Yussef did not say much, Effendi. I do not think he would have stayed with us, Effendi, for he did not seem to like us. He did not join in. There are things we do together when we are free but he did none of them. Nor would he tell us about himself.’
‘I was surprised the m’allim chose him,’ said the other lawingi.
‘Why?’
The lawingi hesitated.
‘He was different from us, Effendi. He was—harder. You would not wish to quarrel with him. We—’
‘—feared him,’ said the other lawingi.
‘Yes. Feared him. No one would want to cross him. For fear of what he might do. He was not the right person to work here, Effendi. He knew his job all right, I will say that for him. But I t
hink he would have put people off.’
‘Did he put…the man off? The man over there? Were there words?’
‘I think we would have heard them,’ said the other lawingi. ‘It was just over there. Especially if it had been a quarrel.’
‘And then suddenly it was done, and Yussef was gone?’
‘I cannot believe it, Effendi. That a man should die. So near. In such a way. But so it was.’
***
The man from the Parquet had arrived and was standing in the meslakh talking to McPhee. McPhee was giving him his list of names.
‘And the dead man?’
‘We have not yet established his identity,’ said McPhee.
‘No? Did not any of the people here—’ he looked at the list—‘know him?’
‘It seems not.’
‘That seems strange,’ said the Parquet officer. ‘People who go to a hammam usually chat. What else is there to do?’
‘Just so, Effendi!’ said the m’allim eagerly, who had been hovering on the edge of the conversation. ‘And in my hammam there is beautiful talk.’
‘They get to know each other. Form friends.’
‘Just so!’
‘Often it becomes quite a regular circle.’
‘A band of brothers!’ said the m’allim fervently.
‘Oh, yes?’ said the Parquet officer drily.
‘In my hammam, yes, sir,’ said the m’allim. ‘They come one day and they hear the beautiful conversation and then they come again. People from all over Cairo. The hub of the universe, Effendi. That’s what we are.’
‘I must mend my ways,’ said the Parquet officer. ‘That fact had previously escaped my notice.’
‘Oh, yes, sir. The high, the low, the rich, the poor, they all come to my hammam.’
‘Including the man who was killed.’
‘That I cannot explain, sir. He was unknown, a casual dropper-in from the streets. A stranger to us. Why, out of all the others, should he choose my hammam? To come to and be murdered?’
‘That is hardly his fault.’
‘It leaves a smear, sir. Who would want to lie on a liwan where a dead man has lain?’
‘Do not tell them,’ said the Parquet officer. ‘Don’t tell them which.’
‘But people come and go,’ said the m’allim, wringing his hands. ‘They come here and they talk, and they will hear and then go and spread it all over Cairo!’
‘Let me see the body,’ said the parquet officer, cutting him short.
***
Owen went outside. A dark, box-like carriage with no window had pulled up outside the hammam. It was the police ambulance come to take away the body.
The beggar boys were inspecting it with interest.
They clustered round Owen.
‘Well, Effendi, tell us the latest!’
Owen laughed.
‘I am sure you know already,’ he said.
‘A man was killed—’
‘Yes. And do you know which man?’
‘We think we have worked it out, Effendi.’
‘I’ll bet you have.’
‘A man in a galabeah?’
‘Yes. But there must be many such who come to the hammam.’
‘We remember this one, Effendi, because when we saw him before he was talking with that man you asked us about, the one who did not see us but treated us as ants.’
‘The one who carried the package in?’
‘We think so, Effendi. But when we saw him the first time he wasn’t carrying a package. The other man was waiting for him outside the hammam. They greeted each other and went in together, talking, and we thought this was strange, the one man so high that he did not even see us, and the other man, well, not low, but not one whom you would have thought the other one would have talked to. But they talked, and they came out together in a little while, talking. And then the high and mighty one went one way, and the man who is now dead went another.’
‘Did the high and mighty one come in a car or in a carriage?’
‘Car!’ said the boys, amazed.
‘He might have done,’ said Owen.
‘If he did, he must have left it. For when we saw him he was on foot.’
Owen distributed some more coins.
‘When I saw you before, I promised that there would be more coins if you reported to me when the high and mighty one came again. I do not think he will be coming again. However, I give you the coins. And there could be more. Do you know the lawingi who work in the hammam?’
‘Yes, Effendi.’
‘Do you know the man, Yussef?’
‘Is he the new one who came last week?’
‘Yes. I do not think he will be coming again, either. But for anything you can find out about him, I will pay.’
***
Two men came out of the hammam carrying a stretcher. On it lay a figure covered with a sheet. The men opened the rear of the ambulance and began to feed the body in.
One of the beggar boys plucked at Owen’s sleeve.
‘If we could see his face, Effendi, we could tell you if he was the man we thought.’
Owen hesitated.
Then he signed to the stretcher-bearers.
‘Wait!’
He pulled the sheet down from the man’s face.
‘He is the one we thought,’ said the boy.
***
Owen went back into the hammam. The m’allim had opened the lockers and the Parquet officer was looking at the dead man’s things. In the valuables locker was a red leather purse, a watch, and a ring.
The Parquet officer tipped up the purse and shook out some coins. There were some notes in it and he took those as well. He looked at the purse closely and then at the watch.
‘No name,’ he said. ‘Still no name.’
Owen picked up the ring. It was a plain metal one, very worn, and with some faint scratches on the side. It looked rather like the ones used for ringing birds.
‘A Pasha’s ring,’ said the Parquet man.
By which he meant not a ring owned by a Pasha but a ring showing that the person who wore it was owned by a Pasha. Or, maybe, had been owned by a Pasha.
Chapter Eight
Owen, mindful of his promise to McPhee, sent for the Helwan boy as soon as he got back to the Bab-el-Khalk.
He came in looking very nervous. He had probably never been in a building of this size before. The long corridors, the rows of doors, the large columns at the entrance, the huge flight of stairs, all had an effect when people were brought in. McPhee counted on this effect when he was addressing his homilies to the young boys. If it had an effect on the sophisticated young of Cairo, it would certainly have one on a boy from the country.
He stood before Owen, his eyes switching desperately from side to side, like a trapped rabbit.
‘What is your name?’
‘Yacoub,’ he whispered.
‘Yacoub, what you did at the race-track was foolish. It could have cost innocent people their lives.’
‘I know. I am sorry. It will not happen again.’
‘Good. Why did you do it?’
‘I wanted to—to protest.’
‘About what?’
‘About what you are doing to us,’ muttered the boy.
‘What are we doing to you?’
The boy made a little hopeless gesture with his hands.
‘Everything. You come from afar and bring us new things. But we don’t want them. Why should we want them? They are nothing to us.’
‘You are talking about the motor-cars?’
‘Not just them. Everything.’
‘The cars are new to me, too. They are new to everybody. But the world changes, Yacoub, and we have to accept that. And sometimes the change is good.’
/> The boy looked at him mutely.
‘Take, for instance, motor-cars. You saw the men racing them, as men race horses. Well, that is not very important. But they can be used in other ways. Suppose there was someone in your village who was sick, and the hakim said: “We must take him to the hospital. And quickly, too.” And all you had was a camel and a donkey. It would take hours and by the time you got him to hospital, he might have died. Whereas if you had a car you would get him there in time to save his life.’
‘Cars are for the rich. They are not for the likes of us.’
‘But they will be. That is what I mean when I say that the world changes. The thing is, one has to see that it changes for the good.’
‘My sheikh says you have come here not to do good but to shake the tree. The fruit fall down and then you go off with them.’
‘Perhaps first we see that the tree bears more fruit.’
‘A tree bears the fruit that God decides.’
‘You come from Helwan, don’t you? And there it is mostly desert. But bring water to it and it will grow trees.’
‘Egypt has known about water since long before the English came.’
‘True. And great works were done in times past. But the English have brought new knowledge and that can only help more trees to grow.’
The boy said nothing. Owen wondered if it was worth persevering. But he wanted to try, though. He felt that this, if anywhere, was where the battle for the streets would be won. With the young. It was, he sometimes felt, it was not soldiers that Egypt needed but teachers. More Miss Skiffs!
Suddenly the boy said:
‘You go off with the fruit but afterwards the tree is not as it was.’
‘How is it different?’
‘You have bent it into a different shape. That is what my sheikh says. And we can never go back to the old shape.’
‘Nothing stays the same. Why should your tree be any different?’
‘If the tree grows into a different shape, that is one thing, but if it is bent, that is another. And if it is bent by a stranger that is yet a third thing. Suppose you have a fig tree in your garden; and a stranger comes and bends it into a shape you do not want. Are you not right to resist it?’
‘You may be. Provided you do it in a way that God approves.’
The Mark of the Pasha Page 11