‘Be it so!’ said Owen sternly, and he thought that the boy meant it. If he was contacted by anyone about the kidnapping, he was to inform Owen immediately. He thought it unlikely that the kidnappers would, but in his experience, having found a weak spot, criminals would often come back to it. He didn’t see why they should in this case but was anxious to guard against the possibility, and to exploit it if it should occur.
He checked up and found that the boy had indeed returned home. The activity brought back into his mind Ali Shawquat’s father, who, he remembered now, worked at the Kewfik stables. He sent a message to Georgiades to look out for him. The message came back that the elder Shawquat had not been seen at the stables for several days now.
Owen decided to call on the family himself. The boy was there but not the father, nor was the mother. She was at the well drawing water. Owen intercepted her and asked her where her husband was. The woman was obviously shaken by this inquiry but replied that she did not know. He was out of town, visiting relatives. When asked about the address of this relative, she became confused.
Owen sat down on the parapet of the well, to make clear that this might turn out to be no short-term inquiry and that therefore she would do better to speak up at once. After some hesitation she said that he was not with a relative after all but at a meeting.
Could she give the place of this meeting? Eventually, she could – it was at a house in another part of Cairo, the district headquarters of a union that he belonged to.
Owen warned her to speak the truth, for he would check. ‘Go on and check then!’ she said, and he was reminded that she had struck him, when they had met previously, as a strong woman. He thought he would try to soften her, so reminded her that he was seeking help in finding Marie Kewfik. She knew about Marie’s relationship with her son, the music player, had, indeed, spoken with him and found him helpful. So why should not she be?
‘The Kewfiks have never done anything for us,’ said the woman.
‘They have given your man a job,’ said Owen, ‘isn’t that something?’
‘And they’d take it away at once if it suited them!’
He tried another approach.
‘Your son, I think, loves her. That at any rate is what he says.’
She bit her lip.
‘It would be better if he had never set eyes on her!’
‘It is too late now,’ said Owen.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it is not too late. It will not come to anything.’
‘Not if she is in bad men’s hands.’
‘The Kewfiks are not for us,’ she said adamantly.
‘Probably not. But your families have touched and that cannot be undone now. Besides, a daughter is a daughter. Who would want her harmed?’
‘Who would wish her good? No one around here.’
‘Come,’ said Owen. ‘She is but a child. Your son is still but a child. Why should you and I wish harm on children?’
‘It is nothing to do with us,’ said the woman. ‘It is nothing to do with you, either. This is not your country.’
‘No,’ said Owen. ‘But while we are here, it is. And, while we are here, I wish harm neither on your son nor on the Kewfiks.’
‘They wish harm on us.’
‘Does the girl wish harm? Does your son wish harm?’
‘The boy is a milksop. He lives in a dream. He throws stones with the others but that is all.’
She looked up.
‘My man comes,’ she said.
A short, grey-haired man in a beaded skullcap had come into the square. He saw them and came across to them.
‘This man wishes to speak to you,’ said his wife.
‘Speak on, then. Is it about the boy?’
‘I have spoken to the boy. There seems no reason to speak to him more.’
‘Oh! Good, then.’
‘It is you I wish to speak to. You have been away from the stables today, so perhaps you have not heard. A man from the stables has been killed.’
Shawquat shrugged.
‘Another one,’ he said.
‘Yes. Another one. There have been too many.’
‘Speak to the Kauris, then.’
‘That is what I am going to do. But I thought I would speak to you first.’
‘Perhaps this is wise. For then you will hear the truth.’
‘The truth has many sides and I wish to hear all.’
‘There is always trouble between the Kauris and the Kewfiks. Sometimes it flares up and sometimes it doesn’t. But it is always there.’
‘Why?’
The man shrugged again.
‘It always has been there,’ he said, as if no further explanation was needed.
‘Why has it flared up again now?’
Shawquat shrugged.
‘A word, perhaps? A jest? Or a blow.’
‘Do words or jests lead to killings?’
‘Sometimes they do.’
‘But usually they don’t. Why should they do so now?’
‘Ask the Kauris.’
‘I will. But now I am asking you. I ask man to man. Reply man to man.’
‘It is not man to man if the English are one side of the conversation.’
‘It will be you who stops it from being man to man.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Shawquat, with an approach to a sneer.
Owen saw that resistance was setting in. He shifted tack.
‘I have heard that it began with the stone throwing in the souk. Your son was part of the stone throwing. Why was that?’
‘Someone put him up to it.’
‘They say he is not one to throw stones lightly.’
‘He is not,’ agreed Shawquat.
‘He makes music.’
‘To my shame,’ said Shawquat.
‘Music making is shameful now, is it?’
‘He should be studying, for a start. I have to find money for him to live while he studies. I do not find money for him to play the nay.’
‘Nor to take the Kewfiks’ girl to hear him play?’
‘Nor that. Above all, not that!’
‘Why not?’
‘They are our enemies. The rich. When I heard that he had been throwing stones in the souk, my heart lifted. At last! I said. At last he is doing something worthy.’
‘Worthy?’
‘Of a man.’
‘Do you throw stones?’
‘I have done. Now I throw stones in other ways. Would to God he would do that! But he just plays his nay. It is not what a man should do. What would his grandfather say? He would feel ashamed. And I feel ashamed. He shames the whole family!’
‘Do the men at the stables speak of him?’
He started.
‘Do they?’ he said.
Owen said nothing.
‘If they do,’ said Shawquat, ‘I will kill them.’
‘I have not heard them speak of him.’
‘But they might! They might!’
‘Calm yourself. I speak only of possibilities. And what I am trying to do is see how the girl might fit with this. Do the men at the stables speak of her?’
‘There is always talk.’
‘And is the talk fanned by what is happening between the two of them? The rich girl and the stable boy?’
‘There is talk. How could there not be? I have spoken to him. I said: “This will not do! This will lead to trouble!”’
‘Was not your son sent away? Because of this?’
Shawquat did not reply at once. Then he said, ‘Yes.’
‘Was that your doing? Or the Kewfik family’s?’
He did not reply at once, and so Owen repeated the question.
‘Theirs,’ whispered Shawquat after a moment.
Then he burst out: ‘They sent a man to me. And he said: “This will end in trouble. For you and your son. Let us ward it off. We will help you …” I spoke to Ali. And they spoke to a college far off. Ali moved. The Kewfiks have power. They can bring about these things. Ali went away. It
was better like that. There would have been trouble. A family like mine cannot afford to meddle with the rich. It was better that way.’
‘But then he came back?’
‘It was her doing, not his.’
‘He came back; and the talk began again?’
When he got back to his office, he found that the Khedivial girls were taking action.
‘We cannot leave it to anyone else,’ said Layla. ‘It is wrong not to be doing anything. And that means us! I am sure you are doing your best, but it is all so slow!’
‘So what do you propose to do?’
What they proposed to do soon became apparent, as the wide Midan in front of the Bab-el-Khalk began to fill up with schoolgirls. Nikos was in a state of shock. He retired to his office and locked the door.
‘We won’t be here long,’ apologised Layla. ‘This is just an assembly point.’
‘And afterwards?’
‘We move to the Midan Abdin.’
The Palace Square.
‘It is bigger than the Bab-el-Khalk,’ said Layla. ‘We had thought of assembling there in the first place. But we thought that if we assemble in small groups they would find it easy to disperse us. If we have already got together in a mass they will it find it harder to do anything about us. And, besides, we’ll be more conspicuous in front of the Palace. We spoke to Bimbashi McPhee, who is an old sweetie, but he wasn’t happy about us being right in front of the Palace. He said, “What would the Khedive think?” We said that was just the point. We wanted to get the Khedive thinking, and everyone else, about Marie. It is disgraceful that in a civilized country like Egypt people can get away with kidnapping a schoolgirl and nobody’s doing anything about it! Oh, I know you are, behind the scenes. But you don’t seem to be getting anywhere. And it is important that people see things are happening, that we are not going to allow kidnappers to get away with doing whatever they like.’
‘I take your point. What worries me though is that the kidnappers may become as frightened of you as I am and that there could be consequences for Marie.’
‘You’ll be working behind the scenes, remember? And we’ll be working in front of them. We’ll both be working together. That will take some of the heat out of the situation.’
‘I suppose I couldn’t just forbid you to go ahead with demonstrating?’
‘No, you can’t,’ said Layla.
Owen wondered if he could persuade them to move the demonstration to the other side of the Nile, or, preferably, into the Nile.
Meanwhile, the numbers in the Bab-el-Khalk were swelling. They filed into the Midan with enviable discipline and stood in their ranks quietly. It was uncanny. He was sure he couldn’t do as well. Here they were, all in neat rows, waiting for their orders. A few of the bigger girls, from the sixth form Owen guessed, were going around with clipboards, getting girls into their places.
Judging by their uniform, the Khedivial was not the only school represented. Girls – and they were all girls, for there were no boys among them – had come from all over Cairo. There were juniors as well as seniors. He even saw little Minya standing stoutly beside a bigger girl, who was holding her firmly by the hand. Owen guessed that that side of it had been as efficiently catered for as everything else.
A suffragi came out, saluted, and said: ‘A telephone call for you, Effendi!’
Owen went inside to take it. It was his friend Paul, the Consul-General’s ADC.
‘What the hell is going on?’ said Paul.
‘They’re demonstrating.’
‘About what?’
‘Marie Kewfik.’
‘Can’t you tell them to – well, go somewhere else?’
‘No,’ said Owen.
‘Oh!’
There was a pause and then Paul said: ‘Could you hold on, please.’
After a moment he returned.
‘The Old Man says he’s going to come down and address them personally.’
‘That’s what they want!’
‘That’s what they want?’ asked Paul incredulously.
‘The idea is to bring Marie to the attention of the Consul-General and the Khedive, and the Sirdar, and the Commander-in-Chief,’ said Owen. ‘But let’s keep the Sirdar out of this.’
‘I’ll tell him to hold himself in readiness.’
‘Tell him to hold himself far back,’ said Owen. ‘Out of the way.’
‘I will. You realise, Gareth, that the army is itching to get its hands on the situation?’
‘I’m sure. And, actually, Paul, I do feel tempted. To see what happens when the army is confronted by the Khedivial girls. Six-love, six-love, to the girls is my prediction.
‘I’ll see if I can get some fool of an army officer to put money down on it. A lot of money. Then we can both retire in peace. However, I’m more worried about the Khedive. He’s not used to this sort of thing. He doesn’t believe in insurrection of any kind. Much less by women.’
‘Schoolgirls first, harem ladies next, you mean?’
‘That’ll be the day!’
In the forecourt of the Bab-el-Khalk something was happening. The girls were preparing to move off. They marched out of the midan in orderly rows – ‘A credit to their teachers,’ said Paul, who had been unable to resist going down to see what was happening – and filed down the Sharia Ghane-el-Edaa towards the Midan Abdin and the Royal Palace.
Police were waiting for them, together with a harassed and anxious-looking Bimbashi McPhee, determined that there should be order, not so much on the girls’ part as on the part of the police and the onlookers, who were also swelling in numbers. The Consul-General had not yet appeared. Paul had in any case re-routed his schedule to take him out to the leafy spaces of the Garden City of Kasr-el-Aini, where he would be greeted by the smiling faces of hordes of Wolf Cubs. At the direct request of the Government in Whitehall a new institution had been set up in Egypt, the Boy Scouts, to the bewilderment of the country in general and the tribes of Fuzzy Wuzzies, for whom tracking and living rough was the real thing. McPhee welcomed the new institution: Owen was among the rank of the bewildered.
The army was kept firmly out of the way, although a message came from the Sirdar to the effect that reinforcements were ready should McPhee need them. McPhee, who had enough trouble on his hands already, did not. At Owen’s request, he softened his reply to say that he was greatly reassured that the army was standing by and that he would certainly call on them should the girls get out of hand.
While they were congregating in front of the Palace an old acquaintance came out to ogle the more nubile part of the maidenhood: Ali Osman.
‘I say, Owen, they are developing nicely!’
‘It’s the heat,’ said Owen.
And it mostly was, for as the sun rose higher and in the unshaded midan the temperature rose, some of the girls began surreptitiously to arrange their garments to give extra coolness. In doing so they couldn’t help exposing their arms and other indecent parts of the body. There was a collective sigh from the soldiery, who had somehow moved forward, despite the best effort of their officers. The girls, recognising this and relishing the opportunities it provided for provocation, stepped up their efforts, until Layla and her fellow sixth-form leaders, in fury at this distraction from the main purpose of the exercise, began to move through the ranks twisting arms.
The situation was saved by the sudden appearance of the Consul-General, who, guessing what Paul was up to, had overruled his programming and insisted on coming to the demonstration. Having got there, however, and perhaps looking at his adversaries for the first time, he wavered. The regimental sergeant major, however, knew exactly what to do and called the parade to attention. This gave the cue to the Consul-General, who saluted. This, in turn, gave the quick-witted Paul the space he needed. He bent forward and breathed in the Consul-General’s ear. The Consul-General thanked the girls for the concern they had shown, praised them for their efforts, and said that with their example before them, the Government would redoub
le its efforts to find the missing Marie. He thanked them again and said how much he admired them. Then saluted again. The RSM dismissed the parade. Everyone began to drift away. The girls were left standing there rather at a loss. Eventually, they, too, began to drift away.
Paul went up to the simmering Layla.
‘Well done!’ he said.
‘Nothing’s been done!’ she said crossly.
‘Oh, it has. He won’t forget this in a hurry and tomorrow morning when he gets in, he’ll find action notes which I have drafted and put on his desk.’
‘And will they lead to action?’
‘Oh, yes. If for no other reason than that a day or two later he’ll find more notes on his desk asking for information about the action taken.’
‘That’s the way you do things, is it?’
‘Yes. And when I’m doing it, it usually works.’
‘People get moving, do they?’
‘Yes. Of course, this doesn’t guarantee that the action they take is the right action.’
‘And do your notes go to the Mamur Zapt?’
‘They do, yes.’
‘And does he pay any attention to them?’
‘That is an entirely different matter,’ said Paul.
SEVEN
Layla walked slowly back from the Abdin Palace disregarding the efforts of her friends to engage her in conversation. She felt cheated. It had not turned out the way she had wanted it to. Perhaps she had expected too much for this was far, far short of what she had anticipated. She understood what that nice man, that friend of Owen’s, had said, but he was just trying to be kind. The fact was that she’d not got anywhere. She had cocked it up. She wouldn’t be able to try anything like this again. They’d never listen to her again, not after this. She was a silly little girl, desperate to do something that would help Marie, but not quite knowing what to do, and not doing it right.
Despite herself, the tears welled up in her eyes.
And then she knew what to do.
The Women of the Souk Page 9