The Women of the Souk Page 10

  The awnings of the bazaars were ablaze with colour. Festoons of gaily striped blankets, white shawls, tasselled prayer carpets and embroidered saddlebags hung down from overhead. Vendors were walking about with strings of bright yellow shoes hung all over them like necklaces. The carpet-covered dikkas, or benches, outside the box-like shops, had picturesque statues of men sprawled on them, or sitting up with their hands around their knees. Powerful whiffs of scent came from just across the bazaar where the black, spider-like figures of the scentmakers sat.

  Layla dodged between two narrow lines of boarded up shops and turned up a lane which appeared to have nothing in it. At the end was a stretch of blank hoarding draped with worn shawls and rugs.

  ‘Greetings, daughter!’ said the Old Woman of the souk.

  ‘Greetings, mother!’ said Layla, slipping into a space beside her and squatting down.

  ‘What is it? You come to me with trouble.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Layla.

  ‘Tears are never nothing,’ said the Old Woman.

  ‘I was just stupid, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it the parade?’ said the Old Woman. ‘What I saw was a brave parade. Is that stupid?’

  ‘I expected it to work miracles,’ said Layla.

  ‘And perhaps it did,’ said the Old Woman. ‘Only sometimes they take time to work.’

  ‘I think that’s what the Englishman was saying.’

  ‘What Englishman was this? The Mamur Zapt?’

  ‘His friend.’

  ‘Oh, worth listening to, then. What did he say?’

  ‘He said that it was a beginning. And that he would follow it up by putting bits of paper on desks.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Old Woman. ‘That’s the way it’s done.’

  ‘It seems footling to me,’ said Layla.

  ‘And perhaps it is,’ agreed the Old Woman. ‘But it’s the way things are done these days. Not here in the souk but in the offices. And that is where the power is. Not in the souk. It’s not in the souk.’

  ‘That, too, is what I think the Englishman was saying. But it seems so far away! I feel so impotent!’

  The Old Woman laughed.

  ‘Don’t we all,’ she said. ‘I daresay the Pasha feels that too. The Pasha in his palace, and the poor man at his gate. Rich man, poor man. Clever man, stupid. We all feel it. Women especially. As you are finding out. And that is a good thing – not that you should feel unimportant, but that you should find out. And perhaps the young will find it out first. And girls before boys? Your bright friends at the Khedivial?’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like that,’ said Layla. ‘A lot of them seem pretty stupid to me.’

  ‘And perhaps they are. But some of them won’t be. And they are the ones you’ll have to work with.’

  ‘There are not enough.’

  ‘The number will grow. And you have made a start with your parade.’

  ‘A washout!’ said Layla. ‘A complete washout!’

  ‘A beginning,’ said the Old Woman. ‘Think of it as that. You have opened people’s eyes. Is that bad?’

  ‘They’ll close them again,’ said Layla.

  ‘Then you’ll just have to work to keep them open,’ said the Old Woman.

  A little later that morning Georgiades came ambling into the bazaar. He went into a scentmaker’s shop and put something down on the dikka.

  ‘Seen this before?’ he asked.

  ‘Looks like a stone,’ said the scentmaker.

  ‘It is a stone.’

  ‘I’ve seen stones before,’ said the scentmaker.

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d seen this one.’

  ‘Why should I have seen this one?’

  ‘It was one of the stones thrown the other day in the souk, at your shop.’

  ‘Little devils! Might have brained me.’

  ‘Big devils,’ said Georgiades. ‘It wasn’t little boys who did this, it was grown men. And what I was wondering was why should grown men throw stones at honest, decent shopkeepers?’

  ‘You tell me!’

  ‘If it was the British, and they were throwing stones at them, I could understand it. But why at ordinary Egyptians?’

  ‘Have you some special reason for asking?’

  ‘Yes. My wife was in the souk the other day, coming to your shop, as it happens. Only she didn’t get there. She saw what was happening and said to herself, “That’s not for me!” and turned round and went home. And when I got in, she sent me. “This is man’s work,” she said. And when I said: “Men’s work? Buying scent?” she produced that stone. It wasn’t a man who gave it me, it was my wife. “See this?” she said. “It’s what was thrown at me. Or nearly thrown. It could have brained me!” And it would have. It’s a big stone. “So you go,” she said. “I’ll go tomorrow,” I said, thinking that by then things would have died down. “Yes, but I want it now,” she said. “It’s a present for Miriam. She’s got a new baby.” “Well, good for her,” I said. “But I’ll go tomorrow,” and I did. That’s when I came to see you. Only I didn’t like to say who had made me come, because it sounds a bit silly. So I made up some story. But since then I’ve been thinking about it, and then I thought I’d come round to see you; you’re a wise, experienced man.’

  ‘I am, yes. But it still wouldn’t have stopped me having my brains knocked out. Young devils!’ said the shopkeeper.

  ‘Old devils,’ said the Greek. ‘They were old devils.’

  ‘Old devils,’ corrected the shopkeeper.

  ‘And what I want to know is: how does it come about that grown-up men are throwing stones in the souk and nearly hitting my wife! I thought I’d come and ask you, you being a knowledgeable man, and having an interest, as they say, in not having our brains knocked out.’

  ‘God be praised, they weren’t.’

  ‘Quite so. But if it goes on like this, one day they will.’

  ‘It’s getting closer all the time, I can feel it.’

  ‘And my wife, too, an innocent bystander!’

  ‘I blame the government.’

  ‘And the British.’

  ‘They are the government.’

  ‘Some say it was the gangs. I was talking to people in the Tentmakers’ Bazaar, and they reckoned it was lads from the Kewfik stables who started it.’

  ‘Well, it was. I recognised some of them. They come in regularly.’

  ‘For scent?’

  ‘No, no. I make up other things as well.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Poison.’

  ‘Poison? You never do!’

  ‘I do. Not often of course. But sometimes the odd person requests it.’

  ‘What do they want poison for?’

  ‘To get rid of someone, I suppose. I never ask.’

  ‘But – but – You said it was Kewfik boys who were asking?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But – but – this is terrible! What do they want it for? Are they thinking of trying to kill off the Kauris?

  ‘They’d need more than I gave them to do that.’

  ‘Then …?’

  ‘More likely their old man.’

  ‘Old Kewfik?’

  ‘He’s not very popular around here.’

  ‘Yes, but – and to get rid of him? Just like that?’

  ‘There’s plenty of people who’d be only too glad.’

  ‘This is terrible!’

  ‘It’s a terrible world we live in, friend. But, look, don’t take on so! Maybe they just want to put down the rats.’

  ‘Rats?’

  ‘There are sure to be rats in the stables.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that!’

  ‘Well, you might not. You’re a nice chap.’

  ‘Yes, that must be it. I wouldn’t like to think of it as intended for – well, you know: someone. Even old Kewfik.’

  ‘Well, they wouldn’t have needed it for him. He’s half dead, anyway.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s why he’s half dead!
Someone’s had a go at him already!’

  ‘They said it was a heart attack. You know, over that girl of his. The one who was kidnapped.’

  ‘That’s true. And it might not be old Kewfik that it was aimed at, anyway.’

  ‘It might have been the daughter.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘The daughter. Young love. You know, broken heart and all that. That boy she was so keen on, and then he went away. Why was that? A lover’s tiff? A quarrel? And maybe he thought it was her fault and wanted revenge.’

  ‘So he tried to poison her?’

  ‘Young love, you know. Desperate for her. And then she turns him down. Walks out on him. He’s a man of pride, and he’s not having that. So he gets one of his mates in the stable yard – his father works there, doesn’t he? – to get him some poison. And then, abracadabra it’s done!’

  ‘But it wasn’t like that? I mean, it’s not been done. She’s been kidnapped!’

  ‘Just in time, I would say.’

  ‘What a mind you have,’ said Georgiades admiringly.

  ‘It’s the scent,’ said the scentmaker modestly. ‘The fumes. They put ideas in your head.’

  ‘They don’t put ideas like that in my head. Although, now I come to think of it, I’ve had a funny feeling in my tummy lately. Do you think that could be something to do with it?’

  ‘No. My products are all guaranteed to do the job they’re meant for. And no other. If someone asks for fine-smelling scent, that’s what they get. Poison – well, if that’s what you want, what you especially ask for – that’s what you get. And what you do with it afterwards is your concern not mine.’

  ‘It could be rats.’

  ‘Could be. Usually is. I don’t get many people in here trying to poison the souk.’

  ‘But you could. It’s a bit like rats, isn’t it?’

  ‘Rats?’

  ‘They say, wherever you are, you’re never more than a yard away from a rat. Maybe it’s like that with poison. Wherever you are, you’re never more than a yard away from being poisoned.’

  ‘Well, yes, but …’

  ‘Just speculating. I mean, it could be, couldn’t it?’

  ‘Look, I don’t think it’s very likely.’

  ‘No, no, of course not. But I do get tummy ache occasionally …’

  ‘I can give you something for that.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  ‘You’ll be as right as rain in a day or two.’

  ‘But it never rains here!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Owen dismissively.

  ‘Nor do I really,’ said Georgiades. ‘But they were trying to buy poison.’

  ‘Forget about the poison. Go and call on the Kauri boys. There’s some sort of warfare going on around the Kewfik stables and we need to know what it’s about.’

  Nikos was handling the ransom negotiations, as no one else in the department, including Owen, had a clue what numbers were all about. He didn’t like it, mainly because it would probably mean stepping outside his office, which he never liked to do. He had a strong sense of territoriality. Within his usual four walls, he felt secure. If he stepped outside them, you never know what might happen. Girls, for instance, might come at you.

  But there was no escaping this. Of all Owen’s staff, Nikos had the best financial brain. The only financial brain, Owen sometimes thought – and he didn’t trust anybody, including himself. Figures, to Nikos, were for checking. Again and again. People thought he was peculiar. Including most ordinary Egyptians. The thing was he was an ordinary Egyptian. Like most of them when he went to an eating or smoking house, he liked to play dominoes. This, ordinarily, was not very mathematical. But the way Nikos played them was mathematical. As he played, he ran through various mathematical possibilities. He had an incredible facility for calculating odds. You might have thought that there wasn’t much scope for this when playing dominoes. But the Cairo aficionados played to win and there was much betting on the results. Between these games there was an intellectual brandishing of theories, and considerable argument. What might issue from using a particular configuration? From using one configuration rather than another? You had to keep a lot of moves in your mind, rather like chess.

  Nikos was a chess player too. It was a way of structuring the world, and Nikos liked to structure the world. In theory, that was. Not in practice. For practical restructuring, Georgiades was your man. Or Georgiades’s wife, who was a financial wizard, and played regularly on the Cairo Bourse, to Georgiades’s terror. Rosa, however, made a lot of money, which was just as well, because Georgiades didn’t. Rosa sometimes erected fear mountains of what might happen should her children turn out like him rather than like her. Nikos was of the Rosa school of high stakes, although he usually lacked her capacity and willingness to back her calculations by actually putting money down.

  Contact had been made with the kidnappers’ negotiators and negotiations were proceeding. Nikos, terrified but suspicious, and even more suspicious than he was terrified, which was probably the right way round, knew what he was after: spinning out the negotiations and not actually getting anywhere. Although getting sufficiently somewhere to persuade the kidnappers that he was serious and that the negotiations would issue in good things for the kidnappers. Nikos could play this game out to eternity. Or at least until there came a point when he realized what he had just committed himself to and then his brain would seize up, at which point Owen would take over. Owen knew nothing about numbers but he did know about power, and he had the priceless sense of knowing what he wanted from the numbers.

  Cairo kidnappers were not mathematically sophisticated but they, too, knew what they wanted. Bring in the banks, who were usually financing ransom negotiations, and you had quite a strong team on the Owen side.

  Owen hoped that this would stand them in good stead this time over the Marie negotiations. Provided, of course, that no one on the other side panicked.

  Early on, part of the negotiations was for the kidnappers to prove that Marie was still alive and in their possession, in exchange for putting real money on the table. And this meant producing the real girl, or at any rate showing her. This was a sticking point for the kidnappers and at first they wouldn’t play. They weren’t producing anybody. But then that meant that Nikos would not produce anything either. It was the usual impasse. Nikos had been here before, many times, and knew what to do and what would resolve the impasse: money, naturally. But how much? And under what conditions?

  Owen would be standing by when the kidnappers showed Marie, in case there was an opportunity to snatch her, but, of course, the kidnappers were very probably also experienced and would also be planning to foil any attempt to do that. So, Nikos mused, he must plan for all possibilities but move one step at a time.

  The first step was to talk to the bank so that Nikos would have real money to lay on the table at the very start of negotiations. Real money would persuade the kidnappers as nothing else would. It would not be enough, of course, not even to convince as a preliminary offer. Nikos would have to raise it, which he was quite prepared to do as an indication of seriousness. But little by little, step by step, the kidnappers would have to produce Marie each time, as an indication of their seriousness. And so it would progress. Or not progress.

  A message came from Marie’s aunt, the Khedive’s wife: What is happening? And why isn’t it happening faster?

  It all took time, Owen patiently explained. And that required patience. She must be patient.

  And meanwhile, said the Khedive’s wife, the poor child might be killed!

  That was true, Owen admitted; but it was a risk that had to be run.

  Back came another message: Would a little more money help?

  Probably; but Owen did not want to play this card yet.

  The Khedive’s wife hoped he knew what he was doing.

  Owen hoped so too – and did not send a message back.

  Then came another message: Marie’s mother is collapsing. />
  Give her support, was Owen’s reply.

  Next message (from the Khedive’s wife): You are going to need support if this goes wrong! (Confidential message via McPhee).

  (Of course, the other side would be twitching too.)

  End of messages for the time being.

  Meanwhile discussions were proceeding. Nikos thought he was beginning to get somewhere.

  There was a lull.

  Nikos thought it might be the time to increase the stakes a little, he put more money on the table.

  Then there was another lull, and then a reply from the kidnappers, demanding still more.

  Nikos required another production of Marie. This was initially refused. But eventually, reluctantly, Marie was produced. She seemed unharmed.

  Now Nikos switched to discussing how the final handover of the cash, on the one side, and Marie, on the other, might be handled. This was always an important part of the discussions, because it kept the kidnappers involved and optimistic. Marie could not be harmed while this was going on. At the same time the kidnappers would be getting used to the discussions, gaining confidence, even trusting Nikos, since he appeared to be negotiating in good faith and to be willing ultimately to disburse the money. As a guarantee of this he produced some bags of coin and bundles of notes; then took them away again.

  In the last resort, the deal would be a genuine one. There was always the strength of Owen’s side. In the last resort, the money was there and it would be produced if Marie was produced. Their priority was to rescue Marie.

  ‘We can always get the kidnappers another time,’ said Owen.

  Layla came to see him.

  How were things going, she wanted to know.

  He didn’t mind seeing her; first, because he liked her, and thought she deserved it. Second, because, who knows, he might be able to make use of her at some stage. She hung around, twisting her fingers.

  ‘Would it help,’ she asked, ‘if we were to offer an exchange?’

  ‘We are offering money,’ he said. ‘That’s what it is all about.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of that,’ said Layla. ‘I was thinking of me.’

  ‘You?’ he said, surprised.

  ‘Yes. If I swapped places with Marie, pending the outcome of the negotiations?’

  ‘What would be the point of that?’