The Women of the Souk Page 4

  ‘I don’t think they ought to be getting themselves mixed up in this.’

  ‘Nor do I, really, but they’ve mixed themselves up in it and …’

  ‘And?’

  ‘They’re hard to stop. One of them has been to see me. She went to see McPhee and the police threw her out.’

  ‘They ought not to have done that.’

  ‘So she came to see me. As second best.’

  ‘After McPhee?’

  ‘After Zeinab.’

  ‘Zeinab!’

  ‘They thought they were more likely to get a sensible response out of a woman.’

  ‘Well, yes – but …’

  ‘The senior girls at the Khedivial are not like the girls you and I used to know. They are more liberated. Modern. And they think that things are stacked against women in Egypt, and even more stacked against young girls like Marie. And, you know, if people like the uncle are handling things, they could be right.’

  ‘They could, but …’

  In Egypt at that time such things were always handled by men.

  ‘Is there not some other man who could oversee the negotiations?’ said Mahmoud.

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘And theirs, too, it appears.’

  ‘Theirs?’

  ‘The wives. The harem wives, the Khedive’s wife’s sister and all that.’

  ‘The back stairs?’

  ‘And, of course, the front stairs. If you think of yourself as front.’

  ‘The Khedivial girls, you mean?’

  ‘I do. Who seem to me to be learning as fast as their mothers. Anyway, the upshot is that the Khedive himself is taking a hand. The wives have persuaded him to put the whole thing in the hands of someone more sensible than the uncle.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

  ‘It is,’ said Mahmoud. ‘And conversely, it is not.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You’re not going to like this. The person into whose hands he is putting it is you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘The Khedive’s Chief of Intelligence, the right-hand man. The Mamur Zapt. Which will show everyone how seriously he is taking it. This is at the special request of the harem wives. Which shows who really has the power around here.’

  ‘I – I really don’t think …’

  ‘Nor does the Parquet. They think they should be handling it. So does the Cabinet, and the Pashas. In fact, nobody thinks that you should be handling this. Except the Khedive and the harem wives, of course. And police, I should add to the list; and the senior girls at the Khedivial. A formidable alliance, Gareth. You don’t stand a chance!’

  Zeinab and Aisha came into the room carrying the new babies.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ said Aisha brightly. ‘At last they’re doing something about that poor Kewfik girl. Only don’t tell anyone. It’s top secret!’

  THREE

  The next morning Mahmoud was working in the Geziret, a poor area just the other side of the Gare Centrale, one of Cairo’s main stations. He knew the area quite well. About a year before he had been there when a little boy had been knocked over by an arabeah, one of Cairo’s horse-drawn carriages. The arabeah had been taking a passenger to the station and would not have stopped, but Mahmoud had stepped in its way and compelled it to. A three-way altercation had ensued – the driver, the passenger and Mahmoud. Mahmoud had suggested that the arabeah at least pick the boy up, but the arabeah had been rushing to catch a train. To save argument the passenger, a rich man, possibly a Pasha, had thrown the boy a handful of milliemes and hurried on. Mahmoud had gone with the child to his house which lay just beyond the tracks. The grateful family had offered Mahmoud a cup of tea and while he was drinking it the father had mentioned that he worked for the Kewfik family, who owned a large complex of stables nearby.

  They had been sitting on the ground in front of the house and a small crowd had gathered, as was usual in Egypt when anything interesting like an accident happened. Among the crowd were some rough-looking individuals who had sidled up in rather a threatening way. Parquet officers were not unused to such situations and Mahmoud knew how to handle it. However, action on his part proved to be unnecessary, for the father of the boy stood up in a fury and drove the men off.

  Afterwards, over a further cup of tea which the family had insisted upon, the father had said that lately there were too many bad people hanging around and that he found them near all the big houses. The Kewfik drivers were always having to chase them away. It was then that he mentioned that he himself was a stableman at the Kewfiks. He said that it had not always been like this but had got worse lately. Mahmoud had wondered why this should be. The father didn’t know but thought it might be to do with politics, which was the universal explanation in Egypt for trouble.

  Mahmoud had stored the story away in his mind, in a policeman-y sort of way. He thought no more of it at the time. Now, however, the attention to the Kewfiks rang a bell and he was turning the episode over in his mind as he went past the stables, when he was hailed by a woman. It was the mother of the boy he had picked up. He greeted her back and asked how the boy was doing. Well, God be praised, and no thanks to that arabeah driver. Her husband had asked around at the stables when he got back but it had not been one of their men. That made it doubly bad, for what was an interloper doing in their district?

  He asked after her husband. Well, she said, at the stables there was always dung to clear.

  ‘And do the bad men still hang around?’ Mahmoud asked.

  ‘It’s got worse,’ she said. ‘It’s got worse since that girl went missing. For now the police are here every day asking questions.’

  ‘So they should be,’ said Mahmoud, ‘when a child goes missing.’

  ‘She is more than a child,’ the woman said. ‘It is getting to the time to marry her off.’

  ‘And would she like that?’ asked Mahmoud.

  ‘What girl would not?’ asked the woman.

  ‘I speak from ignorance,’ said Mahmoud. ‘My own are too small.’

  ‘How many?’ asked the woman, interested.

  ‘Three at the moment.’

  ‘You’re young still. Soon there will be more and then there will be too many!’ She laughed.

  ‘A while yet,’ said Mahmoud. He felt rather shy about talking of such things with a comparative stranger. ‘How many do you have?’ he asked.

  ‘Five,’ said the woman. ‘But we have lost two.’

  ‘A blow,’ said Mahmoud.

  She shrugged.

  ‘But also a relief,’ she said.

  She said that she had often seen Marie setting out for school. Along with a little one.

  ‘That is good to see,’ she said. ‘Daughters should learn to care for little ones. Although it is surprising that they would walk and not take an arabeah. It’s not like the Kewfiks can’t afford it. Although they do say that the older girl likes to go through the souk. Well, you can understand that. There’s much to see.’

  ‘And smell,’ said Mahmoud.

  ‘And smell. They always went through the Scentmakers, so people say. Well, you can understand that too. Girls always like a bit of scent and they like it more the older they get!’

  Mahmoud laughed.

  ‘I have yet to find that out,’ he said.

  She laughed too.

  ‘You will,’ she said. ‘You will! It won’t be long before your girls have their admirers!’

  ‘Did the Kewfiks’ girl have an admirer?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh yes! Several. They used to wait for her in the afternoon when she came out of school. But she just laughed and sent them packing.’

  ‘I don’t know how they find the time,’ Mahmoud said. ‘I had to go home to my books the moment I left school in the afternoon or my father would be on to me.’

  ‘Ah, he was a proper father!’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Mahmoud, ‘as much as I respected him, there were times when I rather regretted that.’


  ‘I bet there were,’ said the woman, giggling.

  Mahmoud, always awkward when it came to chatting with women, thought it was time to steer the conversation back away from himself.

  ‘Had she reached the stage of favouring any particular boy?’ he asked.

  ‘There was a time when we thought so, about a year ago. There was a boy who used to follow her round like a pet Passover lamb. He even bought her scent! She laughed and said it would be no good putting that on because her mother would know in a flash that she’d been out with a boy! She made him take it back. They were very close for a while but it came to nothing.’

  ‘Do you remember the boy’s name?’

  ‘Ridwan, was it? Ibrahim? No, Ali. Ali Shawquat, one of the Shawquat boys. The quietest of them. I always remember him because he played the nay!’

  ‘The nay?’

  ‘All the time. He used to go to the stables when Ibrahim was working there and sit there, as good as gold, just playing his nay. Of course, his father didn’t like it. I mean, playing it a bit is one thing, but playing it all the time is another. They say that was one of the things that made him send the boy away. Others say that it wasn’t that, it was that the Kewfiks didn’t like the way things seemed to be going between him and their girl. But my man, Ibrahim, says that it was because of the stone throwing.’

  ‘Stone throwing?’

  ‘In the bazaar a couple of days ago. You must have heard about it! Everyone was talking about it.’

  The Greek put his head in at the perfume seller’s.

  ‘I thought I would just let you know that last night it worked like a treat!’

  ‘It did? I’m glad.’

  And a little surprised. However, he knew that a lot of these things were in the mind’s eye.

  ‘There may be the occasional night when it doesn’t work,’ he cautioned, ‘but don’t let that put you off. The next night you’ll find that it’s working again.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Georgiades hesitated. ‘Do you find that there are any side effects?’

  ‘Side effects? Such as?’

  ‘Well, fatigue. It could happen, you know. If you take it every night.’

  ‘In that case, give thanks to God, and go on taking.’

  The Greek still hesitated.

  ‘I was thinking about the more general effects,’ he said.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, if it has this effect on one family, what is it doing overall? I mean, if a lot of people are taking it?’

  ‘Bully for them, I say!’

  ‘Yes, but, suppose everyone started taking it?’

  ‘There would be a lot of happy people around.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but what would be the effects?’

  ‘Universal happiness.’

  ‘Look, you couldn’t make everyone happy. It stands to reason and then some people are going to feel left out. Won’t they complain?’

  ‘Some people are just old miseries!’

  The Greek was silent for a moment and then he started again.

  ‘Isn’t there going to be an effect on the population? I mean, won’t everyone start having babies?’

  ‘Well, of course, God is great.’

  ‘True, true. But I was just thinking – I mean, Cairo is pretty crowded already.’

  ‘Look, I am just a shopkeeper in the Scentmakers’ Bazaar. I can’t solve all the problems of the world! And nor can you. You worry too much, my friend!’

  ‘People do say that.’

  ‘Let others share the burden! And, look, if it’s really getting you down, I’ve got something which might help.’

  He took down a large bottle from behind him on the shelf.

  ‘Take a couple of pills. It’s on the house.’

  ‘Really? You’re sure? Well, thank you.’

  ‘You can always come back for some more.’

  The Greek took the pills and asked for some more of ‘the paste sort’.

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, you don’t want to overdo it!’

  ‘Actually, it’s my wife.’

  ‘She’s asking for them? Well, you are in luck!’

  ‘I don’t know whether I ought to give them to her. I mean, suppose I get tired and she still wants to go on?’

  ‘Give thanks to God!’

  ‘But if I find I can’t go on, and she still wants to, she may, you know, turn to other men.’

  ‘Well, there is that problem, yes. Perhaps you’d better not let her have them!’

  ‘Maybe one, just occasionally.’

  ‘That sounds sensible. You know, my friend, you are a bit of a worrier. Just relax a bit!’

  ‘I keep thinking: suppose everyone took those pills, and everyone has a baby. The streets would be full of them. You wouldn’t be able to walk along! And what about the camels?’

  ‘Camels?’

  ‘And donkeys. They wouldn’t be able to get around. Not with all the babies in the way.’

  ‘I really wouldn’t bother too much about that!’

  The Greek smiled.

  ‘I worry too much, you think? Well, I probably do. Can’t solve all the world’s problems, that right?’

  ‘You take too much on yourself.’

  ‘I probably do.’

  He picked up the pills.

  ‘Oh, by the way – do you know a Mother Shawquat? She lives somewhere around here.’

  ‘I know the Shawquat family. Who doesn’t?’

  ‘It’s like that, is it?’

  ‘That boy of theirs! Rampaging through the souk! We’re just ordinary shopkeepers, you know, finding it hard to make ends meet and what we don’t need is a bunch of hooligans going through the place, upsetting stalls, tipping things out, spoiling what we’ve got to sell, throwing stones …’

  ‘Throwing stones! That’s terrible!’

  ‘What have we done to deserve that? We’re only little people. Poor people. These hoodlums forget that or maybe they don’t care!’

  ‘Actually throw stones?’

  ‘Yes! Here, I’ll show you.’

  He got down off the counter and went to the back of the stall. He put his hand up and pointed to some splintering on the woodwork.

  ‘There! And it’s like that everywhere in this part of the souk. Things ruined. People hit! Look there!’

  He pointed to a mark on his cheek.

  ‘They didn’t do that!’

  ‘They did! And worse. A man just up the row had his head cut open. Right open. Bleeding. Blood everywhere! Why did they have to do that? Might have knocked his eye out. Might have knocked my eye out!’

  ‘And this was a bunch of …?’

  ‘Hooligans! Students. Just breaking up the place.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Protesting! They said they wanted to make a point.’

  ‘But what sort of point do they think they’re making by throwing stones?’

  ‘You tell me!’

  ‘There must be a reason. They must have done it for some reason.’

  ‘It was against the Khedive and the British.’

  ‘The British, I can understand, but the Khedive! That’s just disloyal.’

  ‘It’s not that we’re that much in favour of the Khedive. What’s he ever done for us? Throw stones against the Khedive if you want to, but why throw stones at me? It’s not right.’

  ‘It’s not! It’s outrageous! Was there some reason? Some particular things that they didn’t like?’

  ‘It’s because we just sat there, they said. Instead of getting up and throwing stones like them.’

  ‘That’s unreasonable!’

  ‘That’s students for you!’

  ‘Ah, they were students, were they?’

  ‘So they said. But I’ll bet they’ve never opened a book in their lives!’

  ‘And – and this boy Shawquat?’

  ‘He was the ringleader. Several of us recognised him. They went through the souk just like that, breaking up everything. Turning tables over. Wrecking stalls.’


  ‘Not your stall?’

  ‘Yes! My stall too. Luckily I saw it coming and put the best jars under the counter. All the same, they broke some. The place was smelling like the Khedive’s harem afterwards.’

  ‘And this boy, Shawquat, the ringleader, you say – what does he have against the Khedive?’

  ‘The whole gang of them, they think he’s too close to the British. It’s to teach him a lesson.’

  ‘They’re the ones who need to be taught a lesson. And I reckon they will be too, when the British get around to them.’

  ‘The British don’t care. Not about the Khedive. Not about the likes of us!’

  ‘Yes, but, I mean the souk! You cannot just let people go smashing up the souk.’

  ‘That’s what I said! Where will it stop, I said.’

  ‘You reported it, of course?’

  ‘Of course! And a fat lot of good that did. The thing was, though, that they upset a barrow belonging to one of the Kauris and that was a mistake. The Kauris are a big family and a rough lot and they pitched into them and sent them packing and that was the end of it. It was nothing to do with the police or the Khedive or the British. It was that they’d crossed the Kauris.’

  ‘And they chased the hooligans off? The students?’

  ‘That’s right. It’s one thing coming in here and turning over a few tables. It’s another dealing with the Kauris.’

  ‘And this boy Shawquat?’

  ‘Got out pretty fast. Having started all the trouble.’

  ‘Maybe that was the idea?’ suggested the Greek mildly.

  Minya, playing in a corner of the playground, came across a large pebble. It was smooth and round and had pretty red markings on it. She picked it up and went to show it to her cousin, who was in the form above.

  ‘You want to throw that away,’ said the cousin, ‘or else they’ll start blaming you!’

  ‘What for?’ said Minya, worried.

  ‘Throwing it at people. That is what they were doing in the souk the other day.’

  Minya dropped it like a hot potato.

  She was still worrying about it when school came out at the end of the afternoon, and after much thought found it again and took it out to Selim, who she knew would be waiting for her outside the gates.

  ‘I don’t know what to do with it,’ she said.

  Selim looked at it.