The Point in the Market Read online

  ‘Yasmin!’

  ‘And I said to Abou: “If we don’t watch out, we’re going to land ourselves in the shit. What are we going to do?” and Abou said—’

  ‘Land somebody else in it instead.’

  ‘Thank you, Abou. Those were wise words. So we sent to the Bab-el-Khalk—’

  ‘And eventually,’ said Yasmin impatiently, ‘that strange Englishman came. McPhee, or whatever his name is. And I will say this for him: he was polite—he called me Miss—and he listened to me. He asked me what was the point I was trying to make, and when I told him, he said: “You know, I can get a woman to search you for the key. Or I can get a blacksmith to file through the chain. Or you can find the key yourself and unlock your chains. Would it not make the point equally well if you did that and I promised to take you to the police station and charge you with causing a breach of the public peace?” And I said: “Well, I’m not happy with being charged with a breach of the peace, because peace is exactly what I’m doing this for; but if you can think of some other charge, I will come with you.” So,’ said Yasmin proudly, defiantly, and—looking at her father—a little apprehensively, ‘here I am.’

  ‘I had thought we were getting somewhere,’ said Owen.

  ‘We were. But that was in the light of the status quo. Since then you’ve changed everything.’

  ‘Changed everything?’

  ‘By bringing in this new law. Conscripting people.’

  ‘Yasmin, this is not for you—’

  ‘But it is, Mother!’ Yasmin faced her. Can’t you see? Someone must protest. It won’t be the fellahin. And yet they’re the ones who will be hurt. They’re the ones who are going to be digging these trenches, probably while everyone is shooting at them. But they’ll say nothing, they never say anything— So someone else must do it for them.’

  ‘There are plenty of people speaking on their behalf, you know, Yasmin,’ said Owen.

  ‘And getting nowhere,’ said Yasmin. ‘But if I do it—a mere girl—won’t that attract attention!’

  ‘You have attracted enough attention,’ said Mohammed Sekhmet sternly. ‘Now there must be a stop to it.’ He turned to Owen. ‘Effendi,’ he said, ‘we have troubled you too long. You have tried to help, and for that we thank you. But enough is enough. If that is what she wills, then let it go to the court. In the end, God alone decides. But meanwhile, Effendi, I will see that she troubles you no more. Yasmin, you will go to your uncle in the country. You wished to speak for the fellahin; now you will get to know the fellahin. And it may be that you will find they are not as you thought.’

  ***

  Zeinab had attended her first lectures at the university—yes, she had been able to fix it—and came home looking thoughtful. Owen thought that this might be a natural outcome of studying ethics and was impressed. She sat silently out on the balcony and he didn’t like to disturb her, merely putting a glass by her hand. From down below in the square the occasional cry of an arabeah driver floated up—it was a more peaceful square than the Ataba—together with the murmurs of the old woman selling oranges from her green pyramid of cannon balls beneath the trees; and from somewhere far off in the hot, dusty streets of the Old City came the familiar faint clanging of a fire engine’s bell.

  ‘I met Latifa today,’ Zeinab said suddenly.

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yes. She was giving one of the other lecture courses.’

  ‘A talented lady.’

  ‘Yes. I find her more and more interesting. As a person, you know. At first I didn’t. She is older than me, of course, and her world was so different from mine—you know, the hospital, and all that charity work. It all seemed so—so earnest. Rather joyless, I felt, although I believe that now to be wrong. And she herself seemed so single-minded, so committed to her causes. It rather put one off, put me off at any rate. I always felt guilty when I was with her. So I rather tended to steer clear of her.

  ‘But, lately, you know, I have been thinking about her quite a lot—the way she has managed to make a life for herself. Despite everything. I told myself at first that it was easier for her because she was a widow and that she had been able to draw on her husband’s position. But I think it must still have been very difficult for her, after her husband died. She had to make her way alone. And I think she has done it so successfully.’

  ‘I’ve always warmed to her, myself,’ said Owen. ‘Though I know what you mean. She does rather button-hole you.’

  ‘Button-hole?’ said Zeinab, to whom the expression was new. He mimicked it, and she laughed. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘that is what she does. “Button-hole.” This afternoon she button-holed me.’

  ‘She did?’

  ‘She asked me what course I was doing, and when I told her, she said: “Zeinab, why are you doing a course like that? It is so beside the point. It is not what Egypt needs, or what you need.” I said: “What other course is there?” And she said: “Mine!” And I said: “Not for me, thanks. I don’t know anything about children.” And she laughed and said: “You will, Zeinab. You will.” “And anyway,” I said, “I’m not sure that I want to know. I want to keep away from anything like that. It’s another of those things that shut you up in a cupboard. Not for me, thanks.”

  ‘And she said: “Zeinab, my darling, this is where it all starts. It’s where cupboards start—the way we bring up our children. And if we want to break open the cupboards, this is where we must begin.” Well, I must say, I had never thought of it like that. It took me aback. But still I said I wasn’t interested. “It’s too private,” I said, “too inward-looking. The family is what I want to get away from. Especially my family.” “Not my course,” she said. “It’s for administrators, women who will work in Health Departments and hospitals, setting up projects. It’s just the thing for you.” ‘Anyway,’ said Zeinab, almost defiantly, ‘she’s going to tell me more about it. And I’m switching to her course.’

  ***

  The next morning when Owen got into his office, Nikos said that Garvin wanted to see him. McPhee was already in there and so was a very worried-looking Mohammed Sekhmet.

  ‘Owen,’ said Garvin, ‘there have been a lot of fires lately.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking that myself. It’s the heat, I suppose—’

  ‘Mohammed thinks they’re not being started accidentally.’

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Effendis,’ said Mohammed Sekhmet, ‘there have been more fires than usual lately, and at the Fire Station we have been asking why this should be. At first we thought it must be the heat: but then we noticed that many of the fires were at liquor houses and we thought they could be due to the foolishness of the soldiers. For, Effendis, it is mostly the soldiers who use them. And some of my men were angry, saying that these men descended on us like locusts and despoiled the land; that before they came, liquor houses were few and there were few fires. And they blamed the fires on the foolishness of the men, saying that they got drunk, and that while they were drinking, they were smoking, and that, in the foolishness of alcohol, they threw their cigarettes away and cared not where they fell. That is what they said, Effendis,’ said Mohammed Sekhmet apologetically.

  ‘And probably not unjustly,’ said Owen.

  ‘And, you see, there are so many of these liquor houses these days. They have sprung up like flowers in the desert after rain. And, with so many soldiers in the city, they are always full. We thought at first that when the soldiers went away everything would go back to being as it had been; but when the soldiers went away, more soldiers came. And there are now the wounded as well. It is not for me, Effendis, to speak ill against men who have been in the shadow of death, but it cannot be denied that some of them now take death, as life, lightly. Or so my men murmured, Effendis, and some of them become hot against the foreign soldiers, saying that this came about because of their impiety and sinfulness, and through their not following
the laws of the Prophet.’

  Mohammed Sekhmet paused.

  ‘I do but say what they said, Effendis.’

  ‘That is understood,’ said Garvin.

  ‘I reasoned with them,’ said Mohammed Sekhmet, ‘saying that men always blamed the stranger; but in my heart I could not but agree with them. “It is the vengeance of God,” they said. “Why should we seek to stay God’s wrath?” And I said: “It is not for us to assess God’s purposes. All that we can do is our duty.” Well, they agreed with that, although still they murmured.’

  Mohammed Sekhmet paused again. He looked older, and the energy and drive which had so impressed Owen when he had first seen him, in action at the fire, seemed to have drained out of him.

  ‘We understand the load you carry,’ Garvin said sympathetically.

  Mohammed Sekhmet bowed in acknowledgement.

  ‘That is what the job is,’ he said, ‘and I do not complain. Nor would I have come to you, but for—’

  He sighed.

  ‘Effendis, I am growing old and perhaps careless. I do not see things as I used to. I did not see this. It was Yussef who saw it and brought it to my attention.’

  ‘What did he see?’

  ‘We were very quick to get to a fire last week. It was in the early morning and the streets were empty, so I said: “Let us try our new motorised fire engine.” And with it we sped through the streets and arrived before the fire had time to take a hold. And I said: “Thanks be to God!” and would have left it at that.

  ‘But Yussef, going through the building afterwards to make sure all was safe, saw where a pile of materials had been brought together, and spirits emptied over them, and smelt paraffin. “Brothers, there is ill-doing here,” he said.

  ‘Well, we talked about it, and agreed that the next time we were called out we would look to see if there were signs that the fire had not happened by chance. But when the next time came, we were slow getting to it—we had not the motorised engine that time—and all was burned to the ground, and although we looked, we could see nothing untoward.

  ‘But Yussef was not content and enquired of the people round about, and one of them had seen a man running from the back of the liquor store just before it burst into flames. And Yussef followed the path of this man—it was among the rubbish of a bath house—and found an empty can smelling freshly of paraffin.’

  ***

  Owen went to the site later. The liquor house was beside a hammam, a public bath-house, and the hammam was beside a rubbish dump, from where it drew its fuel. Owen, wisely, had never studied such a dump before. The rubbish came from all over the city and was piled feet high on a deserted building plot behind the bath-house. For the most part it was household waste, green leaves, vegetable peelings, the offal of poultry or rabbits, rags, broken pots, discarded divans, and general excrement.

  Above it the air was dense with flies; and when you looked down, especially on the moist, organic matter, the rubbish was not just black with flies, it was seething with them and other insects. Everything seemed alive. He was looking at a small hammock covered with green slime. Suddenly it heaved itself up and he saw to his astonishment that it was a cat. There were similar hummocks all over the place and similar cats, dozens of them. They prowled round the rubbish and made their way on to the top of the bath-house, where they warmed themselves beside the ventilation.

  There were paths through the rubbish, where the refuse had been pressed down and trodden on, but still the ground was squelching under foot and every step released fresh odours and fresh swarms of flies. Owen was in his boots but even so he hesitated.

  Yussef, however, the fireman he had borrowed from Mohammed Sekhmet, was barefoot and he did not hesitate. He strode ahead up one of the paths and after a moment Owen followed him.

  There were cats lying in the way but they did not move. Cats rarely moved for people in Egypt. They had to step round them. The cats merely lay there and watched them.

  Yussef led Owen along the track to where there were the remains of an old house, filled with rubbish inside and with goats feeding on the rubbish in the shade of the walls. Yussef stopped and pointed.

  ‘Here, Effendi!’

  It was where he had found the can. He had picked it up and taken it to the fire station and Owen had seen it.

  ‘What made you come this way?’ said Owen.

  ‘I saw something glinting in the sun and when I looked I saw it was a can.’

  The track led back to the bath-house and then on to the rear of the liquor house, now blackened and charred.

  ‘There was only the one path,’ said Yussef.

  ‘Not easy to see in the dark,’ said Owen.

  ‘There would have been moonlight. That was why the man was seen.’

  Owen nodded. There would have been shadows, too, the shadow of the bath-house and occasional shadow from the heaps of rubbish.

  He walked further along the track. It rose over a mound of rubbish and then descended on the other side towards some houses. In this part of Cairo people lived cheek by jowl with the rubbish. This was where the man would have run to after he had discarded the can.

  It was not here, though, that he had been seen, but further back. Owen retraced his footsteps.

  The sighting had been just at the point where the track ran behind the bath-house, and it had been by one of the bath attendants. The fires which heated the water for the baths were never allowed completely to die out and the attendant, on night duty, had gone outside to collect a barrow-load of fuel. It was then that he had seen the man.

  ‘He nearly knocked me down!’ he said, aggrieved. ‘I had just stepped out when, bang, he ran into me! Nearly knocked me over. And the next minute he was off, nipping in and out of the heaps like the Devil himself was after him.’

  ‘Did you get a look at him?’

  The watchman considered.

  ‘He had a box,’ he said.

  ‘Box?’

  ‘Can,’ McPhee said later. ‘The one that was found. And it had been bought that evening from a local shop.’

  ‘Does the shopkeeper remember who bought it?’

  ‘Vaguely. An effendi, he says, but I don’t think he means that. He just means that the man wasn’t wearing a galabeah. The attendant at the bath-house says that, too. Trousers, a jacket. Some sort of uniform perhaps. Similarly dressed, anyway. The shopkeeper had seen him hanging around earlier in the day. But he doesn’t remember him very clearly.’

  ‘See if you can find someone else who does,’ said Owen.

  The scenes of the fires remained disturbingly with him. Both houses, or the remains of both houses, still reeked of alcohol but in the second, the one next to the bath-house, Owen had fancied he could pick up the smell of paraffin.

  The first house was less damaged than the second. The fire, as Mohammed Sekhmet had said, had not had time to take hold and while most of the contents had been burned, the walls were standing.

  In a back room was a pile of odd things that had been deliberately put together; doors from a cupboard, cloths, pieces of paper, some sacking. Nearby, on the ground, was a row of empty bottles. Their caps lay in a neat little pile to one side. The contents had obviously been poured over the materials before they had been lit.

  Here in this room the fire had not taken hold but in another room, adjoining, there were traces of other objects similarly gathered in the centre of the floor and here it was only burned fragments that remained. Again there were empty bottles nearby.

  There had been soldiers in both liquor houses at the time the fires had occurred, but fortunately it had been so late that most of the carousers had left.

  Owen was able to track down some of them. They came from the nearest hospital.

  ‘Went up like a rocket, mate. In a great ball of flame. We sniffed burning and were just saying, what the hell is that, when the li
ttle bloke, Ali, comes running and says, get to hell out of here, quick! And we did, too, by God, for the door went down at the end and we could see the flames. So we grabbed everybody and pulled them outside and had just about got out of the door when there was a bloody great bang and the next minute we were flat on our faces in the street.’

  ‘Yes, mate, we had been drinking, what the hell do you think we were there for? Course we’d been smoking but we’re not daft, are we, we know enough to put the fags out.’

  ‘Yes, we were pissed, but not that pissed. Had somebody gone out the back? Mate, someone was always going out the back, it comes in so it’s got to go out, but no one was out the back just at that moment.’

  ‘See anyone! Mate, the way we were, we wouldn’t have seen Queen Neffer-Titty if she’d walked in….’

  ‘But I’ll tell you what it was like, it was like being back at bloody Gallipoli, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’

  ***

  The Army issued a warning that liquor houses could be the target of enemy action and ordered all ranks to be on their guard when they were in such places. All ranks took this seriously and expressed their seriousness by beating up a few inoffensive civilians who had the misfortune to be nearby.

  The representatives of the Grand Mufti and of the Sultan came to see Owen again and he passed their messages on to the appropriate authorities, who expressed their regret. After due consideration, however, they felt unable to close down all liquor houses as had been requested.

  ‘But something must be done about it, Owen,’ said McPhee, perturbed. He had just been to the hospital to question the soldiers involved. Some of them were suffering from burns and all were suffering from a sense of injustice. This sort of thing was all right in the Dardanelles, they said, but not when you were having a quiet drink with your mates.

  The High Commissioner pointed out to Owen that attacks on Allied soldiers were prejudicial to relationships with the civil population. Likewise vice versa, said Owen. The High Commissioner, when he had understood it, didn’t take the remark kindly and suggested that Owen move the search for the arsonist up his list of priorities.