The Donkey-Vous

by Michael Pearce

  “Of course, if Ali genuinely was a friend, they might get him to borrow it for them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you checked for that possibility?”

  “Look,” said Nikos, exasperated, “it takes time to do all this checking. I’m only bringing you my first findings. There’s a lot more work to do. I’m coming to you before I’m really ready because you told me it was urgent and I thought you’d like to know.”

  “I would. You’re quite right. It is urgent,” said Owen soothingly: and then, tentatively: “Was there anything particular you thought I’d like to know?”

  “One of the names on the list is a name you’ll recognize.”

  “Yes?”

  “Daouad.”

  “Daouad?”

  “One of the names on the list is a name you ought to recognize,” Nikos amended.

  “Who the hell is Daouad?”

  “One of the donkey-boys,” said Nikos. “Remember?”

  ***

  “Greetings to you, Daouad,” said Owen.

  “And to you, greetings,” the donkey-boy returned politely, making to get up.

  Owen motioned him down and dropped into a squat beside him.

  “Greetings and congratulations,” he said.

  “Thank you. But why the congratulations?”

  “Are you not now a married man?”

  “No,” said Daouad, looking surprised.

  “Your friends spoke of you as one about to be married. And was it not to be to Ali’s sister?”

  “And yes, but that hasn’t happened yet. In fact, it may never happen.”

  “The dowry may not be big enough for someone like you, Daouad?”

  “That is it,” said Daouad modestly, but with a faint touch of pride. “The girl herself is pleasing, but the family, alas, is poor.”

  “Whereas you are rich, Daouad.”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” said Daouad, flushing, however, with pleasure.

  “Or going to be.”

  “So I hope.”

  “Soon?”

  Daouad looked startled.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” he said.

  “What you say surprises me, Daouad,” said Owen, settling more comfortably on his heels.

  “I am expanding,” said Daouad. “I have an extra donkey in mind. But—”

  “I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of your wedding. Are you not already a married man?”

  “No, no. Fatima will be the first. If I marry her.”

  “That is odd. I thought you had already married. Was not the wedding last week?”

  “No, no. What makes you think that?”

  “Did you not order the bridal palanquin?”

  Daouad froze.

  “That was for my sister.”

  “I did not know you had a sister.”

  “She is a distant sister. I mean,” said Daouad hastily, “that she lives at a distance. In a village.”

  “That is strange. For the palanquin was ordered here in the city.”

  “On second thoughts,” said Daouad unhappily, “it was not for a sister. It was for a friend.”

  “The name of your friend?”

  “Alas,” said Daouad, “I have sworn to keep it a secret.”

  “It was a very private wedding, I expect.”

  “It was indeed,” Daouad agreed.

  “You went to it yourself, of course?”

  “Of course.”

  “Was it a big wedding?”

  “Not very big.”

  “Just a few friends?”

  “That is correct.”

  “To carry the mirrors and act as jesters? Not many minstrels, I expect.”

  “No,” said Daouad unhappily. “There weren’t many minstrels.”

  “They cost money, don’t they? Even for one as rich as yourself, Daouad, they cost money. Fortunately, Daouad, you are a man with friends. I expect that helped, didn’t it?”

  “It did.”

  “Just a few friends. Were your friends here among them?”

  The other donkey-boys were playing their stick game in a patch of shadow further along the terrace. Owen waved a hand in greeting. They waved back.

  “Why!” said Owen. “There are your friends! Shall we go and sit with them?”

  The donkey-boys looked up beaming as he approached.

  “Hello!” they said. “You haven’t been to see us for a long time. We feel neglected!”

  “I don’t think you’ll need to feel that any more. How are you, anyway?”

  “Oh, we’re fine,” they assured him.

  “Business prospering?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Time passes and Allah blesses the fortunate. Here is Daouad, for instance, now a married man.”

  “Married?”

  “Weren’t you telling me that he was to be married? You made a joke of it.”

  “Ah yes, but—”

  “It is not till later that Daouad gets married.”

  “Oh, of course. I was forgetting. It was the wedding that confused me.”

  “Wedding?”

  “Well, let us say wedding procession. You must have seen it. It passed right by here. Right by the foot of the steps.”

  There was a stunned silence.

  “I don’t remember it,” said one of the brighter donkey-boys, pulling himself together.

  “Don’t you? I thought you carried one of the mirrors?”

  The donkey-boy looked shaken.

  “No,” he said, “that was someone else.”

  “Ah! You were one of the jesters, perhaps!” Owen turned to Daouad. “What good friends you have, Daouad! I expect they all rallied around to help you. But who did you leave with the donkeys? Oh, of course, I was forgetting. You wouldn’t have had to have left them for long. Once the camels were moving again, most of you could have come straight back.”

  One of the donkey-boys began to get to his feet hurriedly but stopped when he saw the constable behind him.

  “Do not be in such a hurry to leave us. It is good to sit here and talk. More pleasant than to sit where you will shortly be sitting.”

  “It is the end,” said one of the donkey-boys bitterly.

  Owen nodded.

  “Yes,” he said, “it is the end. For you.”

  “How did you find out?”

  The donkey-boys looked at Daouad.

  “It wasn’t me!” he said.

  “Nor was it,” said Owen. He quite liked Daouad.

  The smallest donkey-boy began to whimper.

  “He will take us to the caracol,” he whispered to the boy next to him. “My father will beat me.”

  “That will be the least of thy worries.”

  “There must be punishment,” said Owen, “But the punishment need not fall equally on everybody.”

  “Let him go, then,” said Daouad, “for he but followed us.”

  “I might,” said Owen, “for you are big and he is small. But it would depend on several things. First, are those you took still alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have they been harmed?”

  “The Englishman is well,” said one of the boys. “I saw him this morning.”

  “Good. I would need them to be returned to me. Second, I would need to know the names of all involved.”

  “We were not many.”

  “Then it should be easy for you to tell me then.”

  “You know them.”

  “But I would like to hear them. In fact,” said Owen, “you had better tell me the whole story. Begin at the beginning. With the Englishman on the terrace.”

  “But that is not the beginning,” one of the donkey-boys objected.


  “There are several tales you have to tell. The Englishman on the terrace is the beginning of one of them.”

  Owen was not going to have another strawberry-seller/flower-seller kind of tale.

  “Begin with the Englishman on the terrace,” he said firmly. “He was up there and you were down here. And then he came down. Why did he come down?”

  “We said we had brought him something from the young Sitt. She had directed us to show it him.”

  “Why could you not show him it on the terrace?”

  “Because it was too big. And because one would not allow us on the terrace.”

  “And he believed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And came down?”

  “Yes.”

  “And at the foot of the steps?”

  “We were waiting for him.”

  “We were worried,” put in one of the other donkey-boys, “for he did not understand us at first and came down slowly. The procession had to wait. We were afraid that would make people look.”

  “The palanquin was already at the steps when he came down?”

  “Yes. There was an arabeah beyond it wanting to come in.”

  “The palanquin was waiting and the Englishman came down. What then?”

  There was a general shrug.

  “Daouad put a cloak over his head.”

  “I thrust him in.”

  “With my help,” said another boy, not wishing to see his part discounted.

  “Yussuf stayed with him.”

  “I tied him,” Yussuf explained. “It was like tying a donkey.”

  “The camels moved on.”

  “And we took off our masks and went back to the donkeys.”

  “I had been minding the donkeys,” said the smallest boy, not wishing to be left out.

  The others shushed him.

  “You see,” Daouad pointed out. “He was not even with us.”

  “Was anyone else with you? Anyone who is not here now?”

  “No. For then we would have had to share.”

  “Are you sure? For the procession would have been small indeed if you were all waiting at the steps.”

  “We weren’t all waiting at the steps.”

  “Only two of us were waiting at the steps,” said Yussuf, “the two who spoke to the Englishman, I and Daouad.”

  “The rest were with the procession,” said Daouad.

  “I held the mirror,” said one of the boys proudly.

  “He held one of the mirrors, I held the other.”

  “We all put on the jesters’ masks,” said one of the other boys eagerly. “It was a good wedding.”

  Owen sighed. They reminded him of children. Indeed, they were children. But then, so were some of the worst terrorist gangs he had had to deal with. Being children did not stop them from garrotting or stabbing. Or kidnapping.

  “Most of you were with the camels, then?”

  “Yes. When Abdul called to us that the camels were approaching, we left our donkeys and donned our masks and went along the street to meet them.”

  “Who is Abdul?”

  “My brother,” said Yussuf.

  “He is not here?”

  “Oh no!” said Yussuf, shocked. “He is too small to be a donkey-boy!”

  “He was with the camels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who else was with the camels?”

  “Hassan.”

  “Who is Hassan? Is he here?”

  “My cousin,” said Daouad. “No. He is not here.”

  “He is a camel-driver,” someone else said. “He works for Sidky.”

  “Sidky?”

  “You know Sidky? He is a big contractor. His camels take loads to Rhoda Island.”

  “I know Sidky.”

  “It was his camels,” Yussuf explained. “Hassan borrowed two of them.”

  “Did Sidky know?”

  “Sidky would not have minded. Hassan is a good driver.”

  “He would have looked after the camels,” they all assured Owen.

  “That is not the point.”

  “No?”

  “The camels smelled a bit,” said someone.

  “That was because they have been carrying night soil.”

  “The smell doesn’t matter,” said Daouad. “The important thing is that they are good strong beasts and used to carrying loads. Not too spirited.”

  “Oh, the camels were all right.”

  “Anyway, Hassan is a good driver. I remember—”

  “No more of Hassan,” said Owen. “Were there any others, apart from Hassan and Abdul, who were not donkey-boys?”

  “Salah.”

  “Who is Salah?”

  “He was playing the pipes. None of us could play them well enough.”

  “OK. Apart from Hassan and Abdul and Salah, was there anyone else?”

  They looked around.

  “No. Just us.”

  “It was all your own idea?”

  “It was my idea chiefly,” said Daouad with pride.

  “And mine too,” said Yussuf.

  “Yes, but you couldn’t have done it without us,” objected the other donkey-boys. No one wanted to be left out.

  “It was a bad idea,” said Owen. “It was a wicked idea. To harm that old gentleman!”

  “We wouldn’t have harmed him! We have looked after him well.”

  “We have cared for him as if he were one of our own donkeys.”

  “We were going to give him back. After we had got the money.”

  “We were just borrowing him.”

  It struck them all as a happy thought.

  “We were just borrowing him.”

  “All we wanted was the money,” Daouad explained.

  “No doubt. But money is not to be had that way.”

  “We saw others doing it and it seemed to us a good idea. No one gets hurt. No one gets caught.”

  “And you make a lot of money.”

  They looked at Owen almost accusingly.

  “It’s a good way to earn a living. In one day you can make enough to live on for several years.”

  “We could have doubled our stock of donkeys.”

  “Hired men in. Then we could have stopped at home with our wives.”

  “We could have bought a lot of wives.”

  “However,” said Owen, “it so happens that you have been caught.”

  The bubble of their euphoria was pricked. They looked at him with suddenly doleful faces.

  “Yes,” they said, “there is that.”

  “You are going to the caracol, where you are going to stay for a long time.”

  “What about our donkeys?”

  “You will have to get someone else to look after them. I’ll tell you what,” said Owen. “You can send that little boy off to fetch someone to take charge of the donkeys. Tell them to come here to collect them.”

  He didn’t want to take the donkeys as well to the prison.

  “And while we’re waiting for them to come, two of you can come with me and show me where you keep the prisoners. Is it far?”

  “No,” they said, crestfallen. “It’s not far. It’s just across the road, in fact. In the Wagh el Birket.”

  “OK. Daouad and Yussuf, you can come with me.”

  They seemed the two brightest. He didn’t want to leave them with only the constables looking after them.

  “We come,” said Daouad and Yussuf, scrambling to their feet.

  “Are they both there?”

  “Both?”

  “Or all three,” said Owen, remembering Tsakatellis.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your prisoners. Those you have kidnapped.”
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br />   “We have only kidnapped one,” said Daouad, bewildered.

  “Only one?”

  “The Englishman.”

  “What about the Frenchman, the old man with the stick?”

  “We were nothing to do with that,” said Daouad, offended.

  Chapter Twelve

  In fact,” said Daouad, “that was what gave us the idea in the first place.”

  “When we saw how simple it was—” said Yussuf.

  “And when as time went by you still did not catch them—”

  “And we heard the size of the ransom—”

  “And we thought of the donkeys that would buy—”

  “We thought that Allah had decided to smile on us by placing the opportunity in our way—”

  “Which if we did not seize would be clearly to go against his wishes—”

  “Let’s get this straight,” said Owen. “You saw how the Frenchman was kidnapped—?”

  “We did.”

  “And then as time went by and nothing happened you thought you might as well try it too?”

  “That is so.”

  “Had you no thought of evil?” said Owen sternly.

  “We thought only of the money,” Yussuf said sadly.

  “It may be that we have done wrong,” said one of the other donkey-boys.

  “You have done wrong. However,” said Owen, as a thought struck him, “it may be that you can a little undo the evil you have done. Let us return to the kidnapping of the Frenchman. Tell me what you saw. There was the Frenchman on the terrace—”

  “We did not see him on the terrace. We were watching the wedding.”

  “But then suddenly there he was on the bottom of the steps, and we were surprised, for he does not usually come down the steps—”

  “And then we were even more surprised, for the jesters gathered round him and one put a cloak over him and two bundled him into the palanquin—”

  “And then the camels rose and went away—”

  “And we were left marvelling.”

  “This cannot be true,” said Owen. “Are you telling me that all this happened without you knowing that it was going to happen? That no one approached you beforehand and said “Here is money. It will be yours if you do not see what happens when the old Frenchman comes down the steps?”

  “One approached us and offered us money. But he said nothing about the Frenchman.”

  “He merely said, ‘Tomorrow when the effendi are at their tea a wedding will come to the steps. When that wedding comes, turn your eyes the other way.’”