He placed a little white enamel cup before each of them and filled it with strong black tea.
No sugar, he said. Youd think wed have sugar on board the Princes dahabeeyah but we dont.
Its that eunuch, said the steersman. The stuff never even gets here.
It goes somewhere else, does it? asked Mahmoud sympathetically.
Into his pocket! said the steersman.
Mahmoud looked up at the cook.
You were here that night, werent you? The night the girl disappeared?
Yes. I was just making supper when that stupid eunuch came along making a great commotion.
You left the girl there, Mahmoud said to the steersman, and then you came along here. Did you have a cup of tea at that point?
Yes, said the steersman, I always have one when I finish.
Tea first, then supper, said the cook.
And you had a cup with him, perhaps?
I did. I always do.
Here? Sitting here?
Yes. Several of us.
And you were still sitting here when the eunuch came?
I was, said the steersman.
I had just got up, said the cook. To make the supper.
So whatever it was that happened, said Mahmoud, happened while you were sitting here.
I suppose so, said the steersman. Well, it must have.
Yes, it must have. And you still say you saw nothing? Heard nothing?
Here, just a minute!
We werent looking!
We were talking!
You would have seen a person. Or
We didnt see anything!
Two people. On the cabin roof. Together.
Here! said the steersman, scrambling to his feet. What are you saying?
Im asking, said Mahmoud. Did you see two people?
No!
Up there together. Whoever they were.
I didnt see anything!
None of us saw anything!
Thirty feet away and you saw nothing?
We werent looking!
You took care not to look.
We were talking!
And nothing attracted your attention? Someone is attacked
Attacked!
Or falls. And you know nothing about it? If shed jumped into the water shed have made a splash.
A splash? Who hears a splash? There are splashes all the time.
One as big as this? You are boatmen. You would have heard.
Truly! said the steersman. I swear to God!
He hears what you say! Mahmoud warned him.
And sees all that happens. I know. Well, he may have seen what happened to the girl but I didnt.
The steersman showed them off the boat. At the gangway he hesitated and then ran up the bank after them.
What was it, then? Was she knocked on the head?
I dont know, said Mahmoud.
I thought youd seen the body?
No. Its not turned up yet.
Oh. He seemed disappointed. Then he brightened. Tell you what, he said, I know where it will fetch up, more than likely.
Yes?
The steersman pointed downriver to where men were working on a scaffolding which stretched out across the river.
See that? Thats the new Bulak bridge. Thats where they finish up these days.
They were sharing the boat with a kid goat, a pile of onions and the boatmans wife, who sat, completely muffled in tob and burka, as far away from them as was possible.
It had been the steersmans idea. They had been about to set out for the main bridge when he had said:
Are you going back to Bulak? Why dont you get Hamid to run you over?
He had pointed along the bank to where an elderly Arab was standing in the water bent over the gunwale of a small, crazily-built boat. The sides were not so much planks as squares of wood stuck on apparently at hazard. The sail was a small, tattered square sheet.
In that? I dont think so, said Owen.
But Mahmoud, fired with enthusiasm for the life marine, was already descending the bank.
With the two of them on board, the stern dipped until the gunwale was inches above the water. The bows, with the woman and the goat, rose heavenward. The boatman inspected this critically for a moment, but then, unlike Owen, seemed satisfied.
He perched himself on the edge of the gunwale and took the two ends of the rope in his hands. One he wedged expertly between his toes. The other he wound round his arm.
The wind caught the sail and he threw himself backwards until the folds of his galabeah were trailing in the water. The boat moved comfortably out into the river.
Now they were in midstream they could see the new bridge more clearly. There were workmen on the scaffolding and, down at the bottom, a small boat nudging its way along the length of the works.
The boatman pointed with his head.
Thats the police boat, he said. It comes every day to pick up the bodies.
Can you take us over there? asked Mahmoud.
The boatman scampered across to the opposite gunwale, turned the boat, turned it again and set off on a long glide which took them close in along the bridge.
Bring us in to the boat, said Mahmoud.
A tall man in the police boat looked up, saw Mahmoud and waved excitedly.
Ya Mahmoud! he called.
Ya Selim! answered Mahmoud warmly.
A couple of policemen caught the boat as it came in alongside and steadied it. Mahmoud and the other man embraced affectionately.
Why, Mahmoud, have you done something sensible at last and joined the river police?
Temporarily; this is my boat.
Selim inspected it critically.
The boatmans all right, he said, but Im not so sure about the boat.
He shook hands with the boatman.
Give me your money, said the boatman, and Ill have a boat as good as yours.
And the Mamur Zapt, said Mahmoud.
Selim shook hands again and gave him a second look.
I dont think weve met, said Owen.
No. Ive met Mahmoud, though. We were working on a case last year. He looked at them again. The Mamur Zapt and the Parquet, he said. This must be important.
Its the girl, said Mahmoud. Youve received notification, Im sure.
Pink shintiyan? That the one?
Thats the one.
Not come through yet. When did it happen?
The night before last. About three miles upstream.
Shell have sunk, then. Otherwise shed have come through by now.
Owen looked out along the works. There seemed a lot of water passing through the gaps.
Could she have gone through and missed you?
She could. But most of them finish up against the scaffolding. In the old days before we started building the bridge they used to fetch up on a bend about two miles down. That was better for us because its in the next district and meant they had to do the work and not us.
Ah, but that meant they missed all the glory, too!
I think the average Chief would prefer to do without the glory!
Owen laughed. Weve known a few like that!
I think the average Chief would prefer to do without the glory!
Owen laughed. Weve known a few like that!
Yes. We sometimes get the feeling that not all the bodies that come down to us need have done.
You think so?
Sure of it.
Its important to pick up this one, said Mahmoud.
Yes, Im checking them myself. Weve had two women through this week. One of thems old and one of thems young, but I dont think the young one could be the one youre looking for, not unless she changed her trousers on the way down.
The trousers is about all weve got at the moment. I hope to add some details later. Keep the young one just in case.
Itll be some time before shes traced and identified anyway. They dont always come from the city. Sometimes its a village upstream.
Well, keep her. Just on the off-chance.
If shes sunk, what then? asked Owen.
Oh, shell come up. Gases. In the body. Itll take a day or two. Then the body comes up and floats on down to us. We get them all in the end.
I hope you get this one.
They pushed off. Their boat was now downwind and they had to tack. The boatman tucked up the skirts of his galabeah, hooked his knees over the gunwale and leaned far back over the side. Owen, more confident of his transport now, trailed a hand over the side and turned his face to catch the breeze. Beside him, Mahmoud, hands clasped behind head, was thinking.
In the bows the boatmans wife sat muffled from head to foot, invisible behind her veil, anonymous.
CHAPTER 3
Does this girl have a name? demanded Zeinab.
They were lying on cushions in her appartement. Very few single women in Cairo had an appartement of their own, but Zeinab was rich enough and imperious enough and independent enough to insist on one.
The richness and imperiousness came from her father, Nuri Pasha, not quite one of the Khedives family but certainly one of his confidants, not exactly trustedthe Khedive, wisely, trusted nobodybut regularly called upon when the Khedive was reshuffling the greasy pack of his Ministers. Nuri was one of Egypts great landowners and the Khedive considered there was sufficient identity of interest between them for him to be able to use Nuris services without fear.
Zeinab was Nuris daughter: illegitimate, but that, as he explained, was not his fault. Her mother had been a famous courtesan, doted on by all Cairo but in particular by Nuri, who, though a mature man, had taken the reckless step of proposing that she become his wife and a member of his harem.
Unaccountably, the lady had refused. She was more than willingsince Nuri was handsome as well as richto extend him her embraces; but enter his harem? She was a fiercely proud, independent woman and these qualities had passed in more than abundant measure to her daughter.
Nuri had gained his way on one thing. Their child had been acknowledged as his daughter and raised in his house, which gave her all the privileges and benefits of belonging to one of Egypts leading families. While, admittedly, these were not normally conspicuous in the case of women, for Zeinab they were substantial.
Like most of the Egyptian upper classes, Nuri was a Francophile. He spoke French by preference, read French books and newspapers and followed French intellectual and cultural fashions rather than Egyptian ones. The culture of educated Egyptians was, anyway, in many respects as much French as it was Egyptian. Mahmoud, for instance, had been educated as a lawyer in the French tradition. The Parquet was French through and through.
Zeinab had been brought up in this culture. Her father, finding in her many of the qualities he had admired in her mother, had given her far greater freedom from the harem than was normal and from childhood she had sat in on the political and intellectual discussions her father had with his cronies. She came to share many of his interests and tastes and as she grew up she became something of a companion to him.
All this made Zeinab an interesting woman but a rather unusual one. Men found her formidable and she advanced into her twenties, long past the usual marrying age, without Nuri having received a suitable offer. He began to think of this as a problem.
It was a problem, however, which Zeinab herself solved. She moved out and set up her own establishment. Nuri, though advanced in his thinking, was rather shocked by this. Shocked but intrigued: was Zeinab taking after her mother?
Zeinab, however, was merely following up some of the ideas she had met in her fathers own circle. Among his friends were some writers and artists who formed a somewhat Bohemian set. Zeinab, who had strong musical interests, found their company congenial and enjoyed their artistic debates. This talk, too, was very much influenced by French fashions and preoccupations; and from it Zeinab acquired the notion that it was possible for a single woman to set up house on her own.
She did this and enjoyed it and gradually her father and his friends came to accept it; indeed, not even, any longer, to notice it. And she was living like this when she met Owen.
The intensity of their relationship surprised them both. Zeinab, alarmed at herself, backed off a little and insisted on maintaining an independent life while she was working out how to handle all this. Owen, equally alarmed, was content to let it rest like that while he tried to see a way through the likely complications. Neither of them was getting very far.
Meanwhile they carried on as they were and that went very well. They met every day, usually in Zeinabs appartement and Zeinab kept a proprietorial eye on what Owen was doing when he was away from her.
Of course she has a name, he said. Its just that we havent found it yet.
It was the way you were talking, said Zeinab.
Well, it all sounds pretty anonymous, I know
Yes.
Until we find out more about her, its bound to be.
I just ask myself, said Zeinab, what kind of woman is likely to be found on Narouzs dahabeeyah.
And what answer do you get?
Someone like me.
What nonsense! What absolute nonsense!
It disturbed him.
Nonsense! he repeated vehemently.
Its got to be someone like me, hasnt it? It cant be an ordinary girl from an ordinary family because in Egypt ordinary girls are never allowed to be seen. Not even by their husbands, until after they are married.
An ordinary girl, as you put it, wouldnt get anywhere near a son of the Khedive.
No, it would have to be someone from a family of rank, wouldnt it? Like mine.
The same thing applies to them. Theyre kept out of sight, too. More, even, since they know what the Khedives sons are like. Ive been in Egypt four years and Ive never seen a Pashas wife or daughter.
Except me.
Youre different. Youre not at all ordinary. In fact, said Owen, his mind beginning to stray on to a quite different tack, youre altogether extraordinary
But Zeinab refused to be diverted.
It would be someone like me, she said. Someone whose family is rich enough for her to meet the Khedive. Someone whose father is, well, modern enough not to care. Someone whos struck out on her own. Someone whos vulnerable.