Had his uncle ever gone off on his own before? Never! The young man was adamant. Never once since they had been in Cairo! Again he seemed a little depressed.
And how long, in fact, had they been in Cairo? About six weeks now. They would have to go back soon or they would face the reproches of his aunt, Madame Moulin. The young man gave the impression that this was something neither of them viewed with equanimity.
This was, then, purely a holiday? Not entirely. Monsieur Moulin had business interests in Egypt too.
What sort of business?
Contracting. Monsieur Moulin represented, was indeed a director of, a number of substantial French firms with building interests. But the chief point of their stay was recreational. Owen suspected it was as much to get away from Madame Moulin as anything else.
Had Monsieur Moulin received any messages? From his business friends, perhaps? Monsieur Berthelot did not think so, but would check if the messieurs desired. In any case, though, the friends would have come to Monsieur Moulin and not vice versa. Monsieur Moulin did not like leaving the hotel. He found the heat of the streets and the density of the crowds oppressive. Shepheards alone was where he felt comfortable, and Shepheards he rarely left. The young man could not understand what had happened on this occasion. He was at a loss. Surely his uncle had not left the hotel without telling him! He would never have done so voluntarily. But perhaps he had not left voluntarily.
He turned luminous, slightly protuberant eyes on Owen. The Bimbashi had spoken of kidnapping. Did Monsieur think
No, no, no, no. Monsieur did not think. There was probably some quite simple explanation.
That was what he kept telling himself. He was sure Monsieur was right. Only He suddenly buried his face in his hands.
They were in one of the alcoves of the grand central hall of the hotel. It had once been an open courtyard but had been roofed over with a magnificent glass dome. Traditional Moorish arches, painted and striped, gave on to recesses and alcoves screened off with heavily fretted arabic panelling. Inside the alcoves and scattered around the floor generally were thick Persian rugs, the predominant colour of which, cardinal red, matched the deep red of the comfortable leather divans and chairs. Beside the divans were low, honey-coloured alabaster tables and backless pearl-inlaid tabourets. Suffragis in spotless white gowns and vivid red sashes moved silently through the hall on errands for guests. Owen found the opulence rather oppressive.
McPhee stirred slightly and the young man jerked upright.
A thousand apologies! He was delaying them, and when there was so much to be done. Was there anything else the messieurs wished to know? No? Then
As they left the alcove Monsieur Berthelot said, almost wistfully, that his uncle had always preferred the light of the terrace to the dark of the hall. He came from the South, you seethe bright sunshine. And then there was always so much to see on the terrace!
A smartly-dressed young Egyptian ran up the steps.
Parquet! he said briskly.
The manager hurried forward.
Monsieur
Mahmoud el Zaki, Parquet. He caught sight of Owen and his face broke into a smile. Hello! he said. Are you on it, too?
Not exactly, said Owen. McPhee thinks it might be a kidnapping.
A kidnapping? Here?
I know. But there are some odd features.
They dont usually take foreigners.
Thats what I said.
Odd! He turned to the manager. I shall need a room.
My office. The manager hesitated. I hope it wont be necessary toto disaccommodate the guests.
As little as possible. However, I may have to ask them a few questions.
The manager looked doubtful. Of course, he said. Of course, I was hopingwould you not prefer to talk to my staff?
Them too.
The manager shrugged but still looked worried. He led them to his office.
I will send you some coffee, he said.
How is it that Mr McPhee is involved? asked Mahmoud. Surely they didnt send for you directly?
They did. A foreigner. They thought it important, said Owen.
He listened intently while McPhee brought him up to date. Then they went out on to the terrace. The tea-things had all gone from the tables now, except for the one table. In their place drinks were appearing. It was already growing dark. Night came quickly and early in Egypt. The short period of twilight, though, when it was still light enough to see and yet the heat had gone out of the sun, was one of the pleasantest parts of the day and lots of people were coming out on to the terrace to enjoy the evening air.
All along the front of the terrace was a thick row of street-vendors pushing their wares through the railings at the tourists above: ostrich feathers, hippopotamus-hide whips, fly switches, fezzes, birds in cages, snakes coiled around the arms of their owners, bunches of brightly-coloured flowersroses, carnations, narcissi, hyacinthstrays of Turkish Delight and sticky boiled sweets, souvenirs straight from the tombs of the Pharaohs (astonishingly, some of them were), interesting postcards.
The street behind them was thick with people, too. They could not be described as passers-by since they had stopped passing. Mostly they gathered round the pastry-sellers and sherbert-sellers, who stood in the middle of the road for the convenience of trade but to the great inconvenience of the arabeah-drivers, and just looked at the spectacle on the terrace above them.
With all these people looking, said Mahmoud, you would have thought that someone, somewhere, must have seen something.
He went down the steps into the crowd. Owen hesitated for a moment and then decided to join him. McPhee turned back into the hotel to conduct yet another search.
Mahmoud went straight to the snake-charmer and squatted down beside him. The snake-charmer had rather lost heart and was trying to find an untenanted patch of wall against which he could rest his back. From time to time he played a few unconvincing notes on his flute, which the snake, now completely inert, ignored.
The snake-charmer pushed his bowl automatically in Mahmouds direction. Mahmoud dropped in a few milliemes.
It has been a long day, father, he said to the charmer. Even your snake thinks so.
It needs a drink, said the charmer. I shall have to take it home soon.
Has it been a good day?
No day is good, said the charmer, but some days are less bad than others.
You have been here all day?
Since dawn. You have to get here early these days or someone else will take your place. Fazal, for instance, only he finds it hard to get up in the morning.
And all day you have been here on the steps?
It is a good place.
They come and go, the great ones, said Mahmoud.
Yes, they all pass here.
My friend Mahmoud indicated Owen, who dropped into a sympathetic squatcannot find his friend and wonders if he has gone without him. His friend is an old man with sticks.
I remember him, said the snake-charmer. He comes with another, younger, who is not his servant but to whom he gives orders.
That would be him, said Owen. Have you seen him?
No, said the charmer, but then, I wouldnt.
No, said the charmer, but then, I wouldnt.
He turned his face towards Owen and Owen saw that he was blind.
Nevertheless, said Mahmoud softly, you would know if he had passed this way.
I would, the old man agreed.
And did he?
For a long time the old man did not reply. Mahmoud waited patiently. Owen knew better than to prompt. Arab conversation has its rhythms and of these Mahmoud was a master.
At last the old man said: Sometimes it is best not to know.
Why?
Because knowing may bring trouble.
It can bring reward, too.
Mahmoud took a coin out of his pocket and pressed it into the old mans hand.
Feel that, he said. That is real. The trouble may never come. He closed the old mans fingers round the coin. The coin stays with you. The words are lost in the wind.
Someone may throw them back in my face.
No one will ever know that you have spoken them. I swear it!
On the Book?
On the Book.
The old man still hesitated. I do not know, he said. It is not clear in my mind.
The one we spoke of, said Mahmoud, the old man with sticks: is he clear in your mind?
Yes. He is clear in my mind.
Did he come down the steps this afternoon?
Yes. The old man hesitated, though. Yes, he came down the steps.
By himself or with others?
With another.
The young one you spoke of?
No, not him. Another.
Known to you?
There was another pause.
I do not know, said the old man. He does not come down the steps, he added.
Ah. He is of the hotel?
That may be. He does not come down the steps.
But he did this afternoon. With the old man?
Yes. But not to the bottom.
The other, though, the old one with sticks, did come to the bottom?
Yes, yes. I think so.
And then?
The snake-charmer made a gesture of bewilderment.
II do not know.
He took an arabeah, perhaps?
No, no.
A donkey? Surely not!
No, no. None of those things.
Then what happened?
I do not know, said the charmer. I do not know. I was confused.
You know all things that happen on the steps, said Mahmoud. How is it that you do not know this?
I do not see, protested the charmer.
But you hear. What did you hear on the steps this afternoon?
I heard nothing.
You must have heard something.
I could not hear properly, protested the charmer. There were people
Was he seized?
I do not know. How should I know?
Was there a blow? A scuffle, perhaps.
I do not know. I was confused.
You know all that happens on the steps. You would know this.
The snake-charmer was silent for so long that Owen thought the conversation was at an end. Then he spoke.
I ought to know, he said in a troubled voice. I ought to know. Butbut I dont!
The donkey-boys were having their evening meal. They were having it on the pavement, the restaurant having come to them, like Mohamet to the mountain, rather than them having gone to the restaurant.
The restaurant was a circular tray, about a yard and a half across, with rings of bread stuck on nails all round the rim and little blue-and-white china bowls filled with various kinds of sauces and pickles taking up most of the middle, the rest being devoted to unpromising parts of meat hashed up in batter. The donkey-boys in fact usually preferred their own bread, which looked like puffed-up muffins, but liked to stuff it out with pieces of pickle or fry. They offered some to Mahmoud as he squatted beside them.
Try that! they invited. You look as if you could do with a good meal.
Mahmoud accepted politely and dipped his bread in some of the pickle.
You can have some too if you like, they said to Owen. That is, unless youre eating up there.
Not for me. Thats for rich people.
You must have a piastre or two. Youre English, arent you?
Welsh, said Mahmoud for Owen.
Whats that?
Pays Galles, said a knowledgeable donkey-boy. Many of them were trilingual.
This sparked off quite a discussion. Several of them had a fair idea of where Wales was but there were a lot of questions about its relation to England.
They conquered you, did they?
It was a long time ago.
Its hard being a subject people, they commiserated. We should know! Look at us!
The Arabs.
The Mamelukes.
The Turks.
The French.
The British.
Weve had a lot of rulers, someone said thoughtfully. Whens it going to end?
Very soon, if the Nationalists have it their way, said someone else.
That set off a new round of discussion. Most of the donkey-boys were broadly in sympathy with the Nationalist movement but one and all were sceptical about its chances of success.
Theyre the ones with the power, said somebody, gesticulating in the direction of the terrace, and theyre not letting it go.
Theyve got the guns.
And the money.
At least were getting some of that, said someone else.
Youre doing all right, are you? asked Mahmoud.
Not at the moment were not.
When the next ship gets in well be all right, said someone.
When a new lot arrive at the hotel, one of the donkey-boys explained, the first thing they do is come down to us and have their pictures taken with the donkeys.
For which we charge them.
Its better than hiring them out for riding. You dont tire out the donkeys.
Or yourself, said someone.
There was a general laugh.
The children are best.
Its a bit late in the year for them, though, said someone.
Not too busy, then, today? suggested Mahmoud.
Busy enough, they said neutrally. The donkey-boys did not believe in depreciating their craft.
Theres been a lot of excitement up there today, one of them said.
Oh?
Theyve lost someone.
All the donkey-boys laughed.
Its easy enough for these foreigners to lose themselves in the bazaars, said Mahmoud.
Oh, he didnt lose himself in the bazaars.
No?
He lost himself on the terrace.
There was a renewed burst of laughter.
Get away!
No, really! There he was, sitting up on the terrace as bold as life, and then the next minute, there he wasnt!
Again they all laughed.
Youre making this up.
No, were not. Thats how it was. One minute he was there, the next he wasnt.
He just walked down the steps?
Him? That old chap? He couldnt even fall down them.
He went back into the hotel.
They can search all they like, said someone, but they wont find him there.