I did not say that, said Abu Bakir. I did not say that. He turned to Paul. Can we return for a moment to a distinction Monsieur Peripoulin made earlier?
What distinction? said Paul, glancing at his watch.
The one between the ordinary tourist and the specialist buyer. As far as the ordinary tourist is concerned, I think I agree with you: we should not interfere in the ordinary processes of trade. With respect to the specialist buyer and the exceptional item, however, I find myself tempted by Monsieur Peripoulins licensing proposal.
I dont think we can take a decision on something as major as that today.
Perhaps not, but I dont think we ought just to leave it. Perhaps we can ask Customs to look into it and report back?
We could do that, assented Paul.
It being past lunch-time, everyone was prepared to agree and the meeting broke up. As they walked out, Monsieur Peripoulin put a hot hand on Owens arm.
All this is missing the point. Licence, not licence, that is not the point. What happens when the goods dont come to us at all?
They should all come to you.
But what happens when they dont?
Ah well, said Abu Bakir over Owens shoulder, thats where the Mamur Zapt comes in.
Not the Mamur Zapt; the police, said Owen.
The police! said Monsieur Peripoulin dismissively.
Im inclined to agree with you, said Carmichael, from Customs. The police cant do much about it. Half the staff goes out under Capitulatory privilege.
Thats why I said the Mamur Zapt, said Abu Bakir.
I dont want to have anything to do with it, said Owen.
Very sensible of you, said Paul.
If its tied up with the Capitulations we wont get anywhere.
The Capitulations were privileges granted to European powers by successive Ottoman rulers in return for organizing international trade.
True, said Paul.
In that case thats something for the Foreign Office, not me.
Mm, said Paul.
In fact, I wonder why I was there at all. Who called the meeting?
I did.
You did? said Owen, surprised.
They were at a reception that evening in what Old India hands called the Residency and new English ones the Consulate-General. The house was, indeed, in the style of English building in India, designed to protect against the heat rather than against the cold. The floor was tiled, the roof domed, the windows shuttered and the doors arched. Through one of the arches Owen could see Miss Skinner talking to Abu Bakir.
Yes. Its moving up the political agenda.
The export of antiquities?
People are getting interested.
What people? Peripoulin goes on about it, I know, but
Other people. People outside Egypt.
Theyre the ones who are buying the stuff!
Yes. But other ones are asking questions about it.
About us exporting antiquities?
And other things, too. About our stewardship, for instance, of Egyptian treasures.
Were looking after them all right, arent we? Old Peripoulin
Were selling them off. At least, thats how some people see it.
Were not selling them off. Private individuals are. Thats nothing to do with us.
Isnt it? Some people think it is. Some people think there ought to be a regulatory framework.
I see. So thats what the meeting was about.
Its very important, said Paul, that people get the right impression.
Maybe. I still dont see why I had to be there, though.
Paul smiled.
Across the room Miss Skinner was now talking to Peripoulin and another Frenchman, LEspinasse, the Inspector of Antiquities.
Theres that damned woman. Why are you spending time on her, Paul?
Her uncle could be the next President of the United States.
Really?
If he wins the election in a years time. Hes sent her out here on a fact-finding mission.
Youd better make sure she finds the right facts, then.
I am sticking to her like glue, said Paul.
Miss Skinner came towards them.
Perhaps you gentlemen can explain to me why it is that all the people in the Antiquities Service are French? No, dont tell me! Can it be that the English concentrate on the money and leave the culture to the French?
Shame, Miss Skinner! There are eminent English archæologists working in the service, too!
And are there Frenchmen working in the Ministry of Finance?
We work a lot in French, said Paul truthfully but evading the point. Egypts links with France go back to the time of Napoleon.
The first of the spoilers! declared Miss Skinner. She waved a hand at Owen as she moved away. Im so looking forward to tomorrow!
Whats this? said Owen.
Paul looked uncomfortable.
I was hoping youd come round for a drink.
Certainly.
And bring Zeinab.
Certainly. But why particularly bring Zeinab?
Miss Skinner would like to meet her.
Shes never heard of Zeinab. Unless youve been telling her!
She wants to meet an Egyptian woman. An ordinary Egyptian woman.
Well, Zeinabs not exactly ordinary
Shes the nearest I can get. You wont believe how difficult it is in Egypt to meet an ordinary woman.
Ill see if shes free, promised Owen.
Im trying to get Miss Skinners mind off antiquities. The Woman Question is my big hope.
Just a minute: antiquities. One of Miss Skinners hobbyhorses doesnt happen to be the export of Egypts treasures, does it?
As a matter of fact, said Paul, I believe it does.
Monsieur Peripoulin bestowed a fatherly pat as he went past.
A useful meeting! he said. At last things are beginning to move.
That meeting, said Owen, it wouldnt have anything to do with Miss Skinners being here, would it? The fact that you called it, I mean?
Its been in our minds a long time, said Paul.
Some time later in the evening Owen came upon Miss Skinner and Abu Bakir having an earnest chat in one of the alcoves.
I was just explaining to Mr Bakir, said Miss Skinner, her face slightly flushed, that my friends and I are very concerned about the fact that so many of Egypts remarkable treasures are departing her shores.
And I was explaining to Miss Skinner, said Abu Bakir, smiling, that many of us in Egypt are concerned about that also.
True, said Owen, very true.
Mr Bakir was explaining to me the Nationalist position.
Not just the Nationalist position, said Abu Bakir quickly, his smile disappearing. It is one, I believe, that the Nationalists share with the Government.
Although, as you were saying, the vested interests of the big landlords make it very difficult to get anything through the Assembly.
I was giving Miss Skinner some of the political background, Abu Bakir explained.
Ill bet you were, thought Owen.
Ill bet you were, thought Owen.
There are political difficulties, it is true, he said out loud, but I think were beginning to face them.
Yes, said Miss Skinner, Monsieur Peripoulin was telling me about some meeting you had had recently.
Oh yes, said Owen, a very important meeting.
Meetings are all very well, said Miss Skinner, frowning, but its the action that results from them that is important. I understand, for instance, that there is a widespread evasion of the controls on the export of antiquities. What is being done about that?
Ah, said Abu Bakir, but that is just where we are taking action. The Mamur ZaptCaptain Owen hereis about to take steps to stamp that out.
Are you? said Miss Skinner, beaming. Oh, Im so glad. I shall follow what you do with great interest.
Owen was sitting in a café in the Ataba-el-Khadra watching the world go by. The Ataba was a good place for that because it was at the end of the main street, the Muski, which connected the old native city with the new European quarters. The square was, moreover, the main terminus for nearly all of Cairos trams.
At any hour of the day and deep into the night the Ataba was a tangle of trams, arabeahsthe characteristic horse-drawn cab of Cairogreat lumbering carts carrying stone, great lumbering camels carrying forage for the citys donkeys and horses, native buses, of the open-sided ass-drawn variety, motor-cars (a few; tending towards the stationary) and sheep.
Quite why there should be so many sheep in the Ataba was a mystery. Certainly the Arabs were very fond of their fat-tailed Passover sheep and shopkeepers liked to keep one tethered outside their premises, to eat up the garbage, it was claimed; but why so many should be wandering loose in this most hazardous of places was hard to comprehend.
You would feel something nudging your knee and look down and there would be a sheep painted in blue stripes and often with a childs shoe hanging round its neck on a cheap silver necklace.
The answer lay, perhaps, in the fact that despite the trams and despite its proximity to the new European quarters the Ataba remained obstinately part of the native city. The people you saw were the ordinary people of Cairo: blue-gowned labourers, veiled women in black, office workers in suits and tarbooshes, the red, pot-like hat of the educated Egyptian, shopkeepers in striped gowns and tarbooshes but with a turban bound round the tarboosh.
The hawkers, too, of whom there were very many, were ones who served the ordinary Egyptian rather than the tourist. Instead of the souvenir-seller and dirty-postcard-seller of the great hotels you saw the brush, comb and buttonhook-seller, the pastry-seller, the lemonade-seller and the water-carrier.
It was two different worlds and despite the incessant clanging of the trams and the shouts of the street vendors Owen on the whole preferred this one to the hotel one.
He had been visiting the fire station on the Ataba and afterwards had adjourned with the chief, as was proper after transacting business, to the coffee house. They sat there now benignly watching the mêlée in the square.
So what would you do, asked Owen, if you wanted to get out and your way was blocked?
I would ring my bell and shout.
But nearly everyone else in the square is ringing a bell and shouting, Owen pointed out.
I would exhort them, said the Fire Chief.
And by the time you got anywhere, thought Owen, half the city would have burned to the ground.
Is there no other exit?
The Fire Chief pushed back his tarboosh and scratched his head.
Well he was just beginning, when on the other side of the square there was a fierce squeal of brakes and a tram-bell started jangling furiously. An arabeah veered suddenly and there were agitated shouts.
A crowd seemed to be gathering in front of one of the trams. It looked as if there had been an accident.
A policeman somewhere was blowing his whistle. Owen could see him now pushing his way through the crowd. The crowd, unusually, parted and Owen caught a glimpse of a still form lying beside the tram.
It seemed to be a woman, a European.
He got to his feet. The Fire Chief, used to dealing with accidents, fell in beside him. Together they began to force a way through the crowd.
Even in that short time it had grown enormously. It was now well over a hundred deep. Traffic everywhere had come to a stop.
Some of the other trams had started ringing their bells. People were shouting, sheep bleating. As ass began to bray. It was bedlam.
The whole square now was an impenetrable mass of people. Owen looked at the Fire Chief and shrugged.
Over to one side was a native bus, totally becalmed. The driver had given up, laid his whip across the backs of his asses and was waiting resignedly. His passengers, content to watch the spectacleall Cairo loved a good accidentchattered with excitement.
The Chief laid his hand on Owens arm and nodded in the direction of the bus. They made their way towards it.
The bus was one of the traditional sort and was basically a platform on wheels. From the corners of the platform tall posts rose to support a roof. The sides were open and the wooden benches faced towards the rear.
The Chief put his foot on the running-board and jumped up. The next moment he was shinning nimbly up one of the posts and clambering on to the roof.
Owen followed, less nimbly. For an instant one foot hovered desperately in the air. Then someone caught hold of it and gave a heave, the Chief caught his arm, and he levered himself up on to the roof.
He could see now right across the crowd. There was a little space beside the tram where some arabeah drivers and the conductor of the tram were holding back the crowd. The driver had collapsed against the side and was clasping his head in his hands, his face turned away.
The crowd by the tram suddenly eddieda horse, it looked like, had objected to being hemmed inand Owen caught another glimpse of the woman.
Something about her seemed familiar.
And the next moment he had slid to the ground and was fighting his way through the crowd towards her.
Make way! Make way!
Someone looked up at him and took it into their head that he was the doctor.
Make way for the hakim! he shouted. Make way!
Others took up the shout.
The hakim! Make way!
The crowd obligingly parted and hands tugged him through. He arrived dishevelled beside the tram and looked down. There, lying so close to the tram that she was almost beneath its running-boards, was Miss Skinner.
I did not see her! said the driver tearfully. I did not see her!
Somebody had stuffed a jacket under her head and a water-carrier was tenderly, uselessly, splashing water on her face.
There was no blood.
Get an ambulance! said Owen.
The cry was taken up and passed through the crowd and at its back someone ran off into the café. But the Ataba was totally jammed and the ambulance, like the fire-engine, would be unable to get through.
And then, over the heads of the crowd, something was being passed, and there, scrambling over peoples heads and shoulders, nimble as a monkey, was the Fire Chief.
A stretcher was passed down and, a moment later, the Chief arrived.
He dropped down on his knees beside Miss Skinner.
God be praised! he said.