He dropped down on his knees beside Miss Skinner.
God be praised! he said.
Be praised? said Owen harshly.
She is not dead.
The Chief seized a water-skin from the carrier and squeezed some of the water out on to Miss Skinners face.
Her eyes opened. For a moment they remained unfocused. And then the sharp look returned.
What is going on? demanded Miss Skinner.
An accident, said Owen. Youve had an accident. Just stay there for a moment. Youll be all right.
Miss Skinners eyes closed again. The Fire Chief dexterously wedged the stretcher under her. Cooperative hands hoisted it into the air. It was raised head high so that it could be passed back over the crowd.
As the stretcher lurched upwards Miss Skinners eyes opened again.
Accident? she said sharply. That was no accident! I was pushed!
CHAPTER 2
Look, said Miss Skinner, I know a push when I feel one.
She was sitting in a chair in the hotel lounge. Owen had suggested she remain in bed but Miss Skinner thought that was no place for a lady to receive a gentleman. She had made an appointment with Owen for six oclock, taken a slightly extended siesta, and now here she was, not quite recoveredthere was a nasty bruise on her facebut inclined in no sense to take this lying down.
In the crowd, murmured Owen, so easy to mistake
Miss Skinner made an impatient gesture.
A push is a push, she said firmly.
So many people, said Owen, perhaps carrying things. A porter, maybe. A package sticking out.
A hand, said Miss Skinner, gave me a deliberate push.
Owen was silent. An image of the Ataba came into his mind. So many people milling about, jostling each other in the crowd, hurrying to catch a tram. The easiest thing in the world to bump into someone, collide. But a deliberate push?
Let me see, Miss Skinner: you were standing precisely where? Near where I saw you, obviously, but, just before you fell, precisely where?
I had been looking at one of the boards
Ah, so you had your back towards the traffic, then?
but it was not the one I wanted and I had just turned away. I was looking for the one to the Zoological Gardens and this one, I remember, was for the Citadel. There! That will help you to place it.
Thank you. That is very precise. You had turned away, then?
and was about to move on to the next one when it happened.
That, again, is very precise, Miss Skinner. About to move on. You had not, then, moved?
A step, perhaps.
Or two. But still very close to the Citadel board. And in the middle of the street.
Along with everybody else, said Miss Skinner defensively.
Of course. No criticism implied. But you were in the middle of the street and could very easily have been bumped into.
I think I would have noticed if an arabeah had hit me, said Miss Skinner tartly. That is, of course, before I was hit by the tram.
I was thinking of a person, Miss Skinner. Perhaps running for a tram.
Miss Skinner sighed.
A collision is not like a push. This was a push. A definite push.
Perhaps as they collided with you they put out a hand
No one, said Miss Skinner, her voice beginning to rise, collided with me or bumped into me. What happened was that someone put a hand out and gave me a deliberate push just as the tram was approaching.
But, Miss Skinner, why would anyone want to do that?
You tell me. Youre the policeman. If, indeed, said Miss Skinner, you are a policeman!
Owen could not see it. An accidental collision, a stumble, a trip, yes. But not a push. Not a deliberate push.
A sheep, perhaps? he ventured.
A sheep? said Miss Skinner incredulously.
They nudge you, Owen explained.
Look, Captain Owen, said Miss Skinner in rising fury, this was not a nudge, nor a bump, nor a jostle. This was a push. A hand. In the small of my back. Just when a tram was coming. I have been assaultedcriminally assaultedand I demand that you take action to find out who my assailant was and to see that he is punished. At once!
The arabeah-drivers, while waiting for custom, liked to gather round a pavement restaurant near where they parked their cabs; round, because what the restaurants consisted of was a large circular tray with little pegs round the edge on which the customers stuck their bread. In the middle were lots of little blue-and-white china bowls filled with various kinds of sauces and pickles and a few large platters on which lay unpromising pieces of meat.
The customers squatted round in the dust. They did not consist entirely of arabeah-drivers. The restaurant served as a social centre for that part of the Ataba and people dropped in and out all day, drawn by the smell of fried onions and the constant Arab need for sociability.
It was natural for Owen, beginning his inquiries with the arabeah-drivers, to migrate in that direction and soon he was part of the squatting circle dipping his bread with the rest of them, his inquiries now part of the general conversation.
Why was she catching a tram anyway? asked one of the arabeah-drivers. She ought to have been using an arabeah.
Thats right. She wouldnt have had to have wandered round, then. She could have just signalled to us and wed have looked after her.
Particularly if she was carrying things. Much more sense to take an arabeah.
Was she carrying things? asked Owen.
I dont know. Its just that if she was
I thought she was carrying something, said one of the other drivers. One or two small things. Perhaps she had been shopping.
You saw her, then?
I saw her go down. She certainly seemed to be carrying something.
How did she come to go down? asked Owen. Was she wandering about in front of the tram or something?
No, no, she was round the side.
What did she do, then? Walk into it? asked one of the drivers.
Must have.
She ought to look where shes going, then.
There was a general laugh.
Maybe it came up behind her, suggested Owen. You know, alongside her. She was standing a bit too close and it just caught her.
Its easily done, I suppose.
Owen turned to the driver who had thought hed seen her carrying something.
Didnt you say youd seen what happened? Was that how it was?
No, no, I didnt really see it happen. I just saw her go down. I had just cut across in front of the tramplenty of room, a couple of metres at leastand of course I was looking out to my left and I glanced along the side of the tram and she was already falling. It must have happened just at that instant.
Was she falling into the tram or away from it?
I dont know, it was all over in a flash. But I saw shed gone down as I stopped and ran over to her.
Was she all covered with blood? asked someone with relish.
No, she
No, she
The driver launched into his tale, which he told with gusto but without the kind of detail that interested Owen. After a while he stood up and slipped away. He would come back to the restaurant the next day and the days after. If anything new emerged it would certainly be retailed to him.
He went next to see the tram-driver, whom he found drinking tea with his fellows.
It wasnt his fault! they chorused. He couldnt have done anything about it. She just stepped straight into him.
You didnt see her coming?
How could I? She was down at the side.
You were moving, though. She must have been ahead of you.
Yes, but
There were lots of people ahead of him! You cant see them all!
Were there lots of people? Was there a crowd?
Theres always a crowd in the Ataba.
Yes, but was this woman part of a crowd or was she standing on her own?
I didnt see. I didnt see her at all until there was this bump. You know at once. I jammed on my brakes and looked down and there she was!
It was the first time youd seen her?
Of course! I swear on the Book
But then he would.
The conductor was strong in support.
There were a lot of people milling about. There always are. And those stupid arabeah-drivers!
Yes, those stupid arabeah-drivers!
Its a wonder it doesnt happen more often.
So not much joy there. Owen did a round of the stalls nearby, the tea stall, the sweet stall, the Arab sugar and Arab cucumber stalls, but although they all remembered the incident wellit had clearly made their dayand although all claimed to have been intimately involved, none of the owners, it transpired after some time, had actually seen anything.
Next he tried the street-sellers, many of whom had regular pitches and who, being more mobile than the stallholders, had secured places near the front of the crowd. All of them, however, were observers after the event; somewhat to their regret.
They had at least seen something, though, and he tried to turn it to advantage. Could they describe the bystanders who had been at the front of the crowd, the ones who, presumably, had been nearest when the accident, or whatever it was, had happened?
Yes, they could: unfortunately, in implausible detail.
But did they recognize anybody?
Dont I remember seeing Hamidullah? the lemonade-seller asked himself.
Hamidullah?
The carrier of water.
I remember a water-carrier, said Owen.
It would be him.
Where is he now?
Oh
The water-carrier, apparently, made long patrols of the town, passing through the Ataba three times a day, in the morning, afternoon and evening. Owen tried to establish the times more precisely.
The lemonade-seller did not possess a watch; could not, indeed, tell the time. Owen tried to get him to work it out in relation to the muezzins call but then realized that one of the times, at any rate, he knew exactly. That was the one which coincided with Miss Skinners fall. He would have to leave that now, however, till the next day.
Feeling that at least he had established something, and fed up at having had to spend most of the day on this daft business, he decided hed had enough and went in to drink coffee with the Fire Chief.
God be praised! said the Fire Chief. You have come at last!
Owen explained what he had been doing all day. The Chief, who must have seen him, affected surprise.
Of course, he said, I suppose youve got to look into it if its a European.
Not all Europeans, said Owen grimly. Just this one.
Are you going to punish the tram-driver?
Well, no, it wasnt really his fault.
All the same said the Fire Chief, casually conveying the centuries-old Cairene assumption that punishment was related more to the satisfaction of authority than to the desserts of offenders.
From what I can make out, said Owen, it doesnt seem to have been anybodys fault. It was just an accident.
What else? said the Fire Chief.
What else, indeed? Even if it had been a push, it was almost certainly an unintended one. Miss Skinner had perhaps backed into somebody and they had merely warded her off. And then perhaps they had panicked when she had fallen over and made themselves scarce. He wished he could find someone who had seen what happened. If that was all, then they could forget about it.
It must have been something like that, an accidental jostle in the crowd, someone turning suddenly. What else could it be?
A deliberate push? That was ridiculous. Who would want to do a thing like that? Miss Skinner was unknown in Cairo. All right, in her short time here she had not exactly endeared herself to people, but hardly to the lengths of provoking someone to push her under a tram!
She was a European and Europeans were not exactly popular? Well, yes, but physical attacks on Europeans were few and far between. People fancied they occurred much more often than they actually did.
And that was probably it. Miss Skinner had almost certainly imagined the whole business. She didnt seem the fanciful sort, but you never could tell.
What else could it have been?
Ive got something for you, said the Fire Chief.
He fished in a cupboard and produced a parasol and two or three small packages.
Someone brought them to me, he said. He found them under the tram, just where she had been lying.
One of the packages was torn and Owen could see what was inside. It was a ushapti image of Osiris, about a foot tall and made in glazed faïence. It was well made but Owen was surprised. He pulled it out and turned it over in his hands.
Shed been out shopping, said the Fire Chief.
Yes, said Owen.
But why had she bought this? For this one, well made though it was, was still a fake.
The meeting with Zeinab had gone well; so well, that Miss Skinner expressed the wish to repeat it. And if possible in Zeinabs own home.
This proved a problem, for Zeinab had taken it for granted that the meeting would be in some such place as the terrace at Shepheards, which was where one normally met. She had no intention of allowing anyone into her appartement other than Owen.
Whats the idea? she said to Owen.
I think she wants to see you in your natural habitat.
Shepheards is my natural habitat, said Zeinab.
Yes, but she thinks you have a home.
Zeinab considered.
Perhaps we could meet at my fathers, she suggested.
Zeinabs father was a Pasha and possessed a town house, a fine old Mameluke building.
I thinkI think she had in mind an ordinary house.
This is an ordinary house, said Zeinab, in a tone that brooked no argument.
It will do fine, said Paul hastily.
When, however, Owen arrived, shortly before the appointed hour, Zeinab was not there.
I dont know where she is, said Nuri Pasha, who had long ago given up attempting to keep track on his daughters movements. He admired her deeplyshe reminded him of her mother, his favourite courtesanbut understood her not at all.