Beside Owen, an elderly man sprang to his feet, tore off most of his clothes, and leaped into the circle. In a moment he was jumping skyward, his face contorted, his chest heaving with great gasps of Allah.
The Zikr danced on and on. They did not seem to tire, nor did they seem affected by the stabbing or the fire. After whirling for perhaps five or ten minutes they would stop and step out of the ring for a moment, apparently steady and completely free from giddiness. They would pause only for an instant and then rejoin the ring.
Towards midnight the music slackened. No new coals were brought, and as the flames died out, the Zikr quietened. Their dance became a steady rhythmic leaping. Their voices, hoarse now, could manage only a rapt murmur of Allah. One by one they fell out of the dance and collapsed to the ground, until there were only two or three whirling in the middle. Eventually, their spinning, too, came to an end.
The music stopped.
A great sigh rose from the onlookers like a collective release. It was as if a spell had been broken. They sat back and as it were rubbed their eyes.
For a moment or two there was silence. And then one or two people began to talk, quietly at first but then more animatedly, and soon normal babble was resumed.
A white-bearded Zikr attendant came round with coffee and then, noting Miss Postlethwaite, returned with almond cakes.
We should eat them, said Owen, uneasily aware of the hour and thinking about Mr. Postlethwaite back in the hotel. It is wrong to refuse hospitality.
I would not dream of doing so, said Jane Postlethwaite, and tucked in with relish. It is not, of course, the kind of religious occasion that I am used to but it was most interesting.
I would not dream of doing so, said Jane Postlethwaite, and tucked in with relish. It is not, of course, the kind of religious occasion that I am used to but it was most interesting.
Owen was relieved. It was some time since he had been to a Zikr gathering and he had forgotten what strong meat it was.
A Zikr walked past him. Owen recognized him as the one who had put the blazing thorn bush inside his gown. He was dressed now only in a loin-cloth-the gown had burnt. Owen looked at him closely. There were no traces on his skin either of burns or of thorn scratch marks. He looked over to where some of the other Zikr were standing. These were ones who had stabbed themselves with spears and swords and one or two of them still had knives sticking in them. They looked very, very tired but not hurt. There was a thin trickle of blood coming from some of the wounds. It was nothing like the mutilations, however, which some of the sects practised. These were often combined with self-flagellation and then there was blood everywhere. In the case of the Zikr the intention was not to humiliate but to exalt, to demonstrate the imperviousness of the body when it is caught up in Allahs holy rapture.
Gradually all the Zikr who had collapsed to the ground rose to their feet. Except one, who as the minutes went by remained still.
CHAPTER 3
Paul was cross.
I said show her the sights, he complained. I didnt mean that sort of sight.
How was I to know it would end like that?
Well, Christ, if theyre always sticking knives in themselves, one day it was bound to happen. Anyway, is that the sort of thing you take a girl to? People sticking knives in themselves? Jesus, Gareth, youve got funny ideas of entertainment. You were out on that goddamn Frontier a bit too long.
She wanted to go, Owen protested.
She didnt know what the hell she wanted. You should have had more sense. Couldnt you have taken her to a mosque or something? Shes religious, isnt she?
She wanted to see a bit of Cairo life.
Cairo life, yes, but not Cairo death. Honestly, Gareth, Im disappointed in you. Where the hells your judgement?
Garvin was even crosser.
The Consul-General has been on to me, he said, personally. He wants to know, and I want to know too, what the bloody hell you were doing. Youre not some wet-behind-the-ears young subaltern fresh out from England without a bloody idea in his head. Youre the Mamur Zapt and ought to have some bloody political savvy.
She wanted to see Cairo-
Then show her Cairo. Show her the bloody Pyramids or something. Take her down the Musky and let her buy something. Take her to the bazaars. Take her to the Market of the Afternoon. Take her to the bloody Citadel. But dont bloody take her somewhere where shes going to see somebody get his throat cut.
He didnt actually-
Garvin paused in his tirade. Yes, he said, in quite a different voice, that was a bit odd, wasnt it? They usually know what theyre doing. However-his voice resumed its previous note-the one thing youre supposed to be doing is handling this pair with kid gloves. Taking this girl to a Zikr gathering is not that.
He glared at Owen, defying him to defy him. Owen had enough political sense at least not to do that.
And thats another thing, said Garvin. You were supposed to be showing them both around. Both. Not just the girl. This is not a personal Sports Afternoon for you, Owen, its bloody work. This man is important. With the new Government in England, these damned MPs are breathing down our necks. Theyre on our backs already. This visit was a chance to get them off our backs. The Consul-General wants to build bridges. Any bloody bridge he wanted to build, said Garvin pitilessly, is shattered and at the bottom of the ravine right now. Thanks to you. Postlethwaite is going crazy. Hes demanding apologies all round. The Consul-Generals apologized, Ive apologized-
I certainly apologize, said Owen stiffly.
You do? said Garvin with heavy irony. Oh, good of you. Most kind.
I shall see it doesnt happen again.
You wont get the bloody chance, said Garvin.
Back at the office there were soon developments. They were not, however, of the sort that Owen had expected.
Visitors, said Nikos.
Owen rose to greet them. There were three. Two of them were religious sheikhs and the third was an assistant kadi. There was a separate judicial system in Egypt for Mohammedan law presided over by a separate chief judge, the kadi. It was the assistant kadi who spoke first.
We have come to lay a complaint, he said.
A complaint? In what connection?
It concerns a killing. It happened last night. We understand that you were there.
A Zikr? At the gathering? If so, I was there.
The assistant kadi looked at the two sheikhs. They appeared pleased.
He was there, you see, one of them said.
Then he will know, said the other.
What should I know, Father? asked Owen courteously.
How it came about.
I expect you are already working on it, said the assistant kadi.
On what? asked Owen, baffled.
On the murder.
Murder? I saw no murder.
But you were there, said one of the sheikhs, puzzled.
A man died. I saw that.
But it was murder. It must have been. A Zikr would not die as he was reaching towards his God.
Allah takes people at any time, said Owen as gently as he could.
The sheikh shook his head.
I know what you are thinking, he said. It wasnt like that.
What am I thinking? asked Owen.
You are thinking he died from his own hand.
Well-
It was not like that. A Zikr knows.
Knows where to put the knife? Yes, but in the- Owen hesitated; the word frenzy was on the tip of his tongue- moment of exaltation he substituted. In the moment of exaltation who knows what may have happened?
The sheikh shook his head firmly.
Allah guides his hand, he said with certainty.
The Zikr does not make mistakes, said the other sheikh, with equal conviction.
They met Owens gaze with a simple confidence which Owen felt it would be churlish to challenge.
If he did not die by his own hand, said Owen slowly, then how did he die?
By the hand of another.
Owen paused deliberately.
Such things should not be said lightly.
The sheikhs agreed at once.
True.
He speaks with justice.
Then how-Owen paused-can you be sure?
The sheikhs looked a little bewildered.
The Zikr do not make mistakes. Allah guides their hand, they explained again, patiently, rather as if they were speaking to a child.
Owen normally had no difficulty in adjusting to the slow tempo and frequent circularity of Arab witnesses but this morning, what with the events of the last two days, he felt his patience under strain.
There must be further grounds, he said.
The sheikhs looked at each other, plainly puzzled.
The Zikr do not- one began.
The assistant kadi intervened with practised authority.
The assistant kadi intervened with practised authority.
There was talk of a man.
During the dance?
During the dance.
Just talk?
There are others who claim to have seen.
What sort of man?
He could have guessed.
A Copt, the two sheikhs said in unison.
As the three left, Owen detained the assistant kadi for a moment.
The Parquets been informed, I take it?
Yes. However, as you were there-
Yes, indeed. Thank you.
Besides-the assistant kadi glanced at the retreating backs of the sheikhs-there could be trouble between the Moslems and the Copts. I shouldnt be saying it, I suppose, but I thought you ought to be involved.
Im grateful. It is important to hear of these things early.
Youll have no trouble with these two, the assistant kadi went on confidentially, nor with the people in the Ashmawi mosque. Its the sheikh in the next district youll have to watch out for. Hes jealous of all the money going to the Ashmawi. Besides, he hates the Copts like poison.
Owen rang up his friend in the Parquet.
Hello, said Mahmoud.
Theres a case just come up. A Zikr killing. A Zikr death, anyway, he amended. Do you know whos on it?
Yes, said Mahmoud. Me.
Thank Christ for that, said Owen.
Have you an interest?
You bet I have. Can we have a talk about it?
About half an hour? The usual place?
They met on neutral ground, that is to say a cafe equidistant between the Parquet offices and the Bab el-Khalkh, where Owen worked. Relations between the departments were at best lukewarm and there were also practical advantages in confidentiality. Sometimes the right hand got further if it did not know what the left hand was doing. Also, although Owen had known Mahmoud for about a year now and they were good friends, their relationship was-perhaps necessarily-sometimes an uneasy one. Owen was more senior and had an access to power which Mahmoud would never have. Besides which, there were all the usual tensions between Egyptian and Englishman (or, in Owens case, Welshman), Imperialist and Nationalist, occupier and occupied. At times, too, Owen found Mahmouds emotional volatility difficult to handle; and no doubt Mahmoud on his side found British stolidity just as exasperating. There was an element of emotional negotiation in their relationship which was best managed away from their own institutions. If the meeting had been at the Ministry of Justice or at Police Headquarters both would have had to play roles. Sitting outside the cafe in this narrow back street, with only the occasional forage-camel plodding past with its load of berseem, they could talk more freely.