The man lived out beyond the bazaars, on the very edge of the old Arab city, just where it gave on to the Muslim graveyard and the desert. The streets in this part of the city were full of crumbling and decaying houses, many of them still beautiful. Beyond them, though, were houses which were not beautiful, little squat blocks, single-storey and single-room, made of cheap sun-baked bricks which the rain, sometimes hard in Cairo in winter, was already dissolving. The walls had shrunk and the roofs sagged, so that some of the buildings were now only half the height they had been, and you had to crouch to go in and crouch while you were inside. Many of them were shared, as in the countryside, with animals. But these were the richer houses.
Out here on the very rim of the city, all semblance of street plan had been lost. There were gaps everywhere and great stretches of rubble, which the sand, drifting in from the desert, was slowly covering. They stopped uncertainly.
Some men were digging in the graveyard. Mahmoud asked them if they knew the house of Ali Khedri. One of the men nodded and then, glad of the excuse, put down his spade and came out to accompany them.
The house of the water-carrier, he said, pointing.
It was one of the poorer houses. The walls had caved in so badly that the doorway had almost disappeared. You had to drop on to hands and knees to go in.
Inside, everything was filthy. There were some rags in a corner, some water-skins thrown down carelessly, and over by the rear door some pots and pans. They did the cooking outside, presumably.
It needs a womans hand, said the water-carrier defensively. He was a short stocky man dressed not in the usual galabeeyah but just in woollen drawers. His skin had been burnt black by years of working in the fields and then walking in the streets. His eyes were reddish and inflamed, the usual ophthalmia of the fellah in the Delta.
We lived better than this once, he said. I wanted to give it her again.
Through marriage to Omar Fayoum?
Well, why not? I know they said he was too old for her. Thats not the point, I said. Its not how old you are, its how rich you are. And you dont usually get rich until you get old. It takes time. Thats my experience, anyway. There are advantages, too. All youve got to do is hang on and one day hell be gone. And then youll have it all. Thats what I said. Thats what I said to her, too. Oh, I know hes not young and handsome. I know hes a hard old bastard. But thats not it. The point is, hes got a piastre or two. Hes got one cart, hes talking of getting another. Thats real, that is. Its not just a pair of nice brown eyes.
He spat on the floor.
Brown eyes! he said contemptuously. Theyre not real. Ants were already gathering around the spit. There must be something in it, thought Owen. Sugar? Tobacco? Hashish?
There was another stain just beside it. From it a moving column stretched across the floor and up the wall. Not ants, not cockroaches, either; some other sort of bug.
It needs a womans hand. Ive never said she wasnt good about the house.
And yet you were going to marry her off?
She was getting on. It would soon have been too late. I hung on as long as I could. And then old Omar comes along. Its now or never, he said. In another year shell be over the hill. Mind you, I think hed had his eye on her for some time. He was just waiting for the price to drop. You dont want them young and skittish, I said. Not in a wife, anyway. You want them hardworking and strong. I like them a bit skittish, he said, with a grin. But he was ready to take her, all the same.
But first he wanted her circumcised?
No, no. He didnt know anything about that. He took it for granted that she was. I took it for granted that she was. Her mother ought to have seen to that. Back at the village. It was only when they were putting the sugar paste on that they found out. Then they came to me fast. Shes not right, they said. Well, then, youd better make her right, I said. And it was then we got into all this stuff about her being too old and him being too old.
But you went ahead with it?
Well, it would have been off, otherwise, wouldnt it? Omar Fayoum is not going to want anything thats not a hundred per cent, is he?
And now Owens ankles were itching. There were almost certainly fleas. They were all three squatting on the floor. There was nowhere else to sit.
So it was done?
Yes.
And then it went wrong?
That old bitch! I dont reckon she knew what she was doing when she did it. And I paid her good money, too! Not all, luckily. Some before, some after. When it came to after, I went to her and said: You old bitch, youve done it wrong. I dont mind paying good money for a good job, but this isnt a good job, is it? So I docked her some. Well, then she set up a great crying and shouting. It wasnt her fault, she said. She said it was because the girl was too old. But she didnt say that before, when we were making the deal! Youve cost me money, I said. Now shes fit for nothing. She might not even be fit for old Omar when the time comes.
She was very sick?
Couldnt lift a finger. Just lay there. This wont do, I said after a while. Youve got to pull yourself together, my girl.
You didnt call a hakim?
Hakims are for rich people. When youre poor, youve got to get better by yourself.
All the same-
Besides, said Ali Khedri, by that time it was too late.
Too late? Why?
Because Id thrown her out.
6tsst?
Thrown her out? said Mahmoud incredulously.
Yes. I didnt have much choice, did I? Not when I found out.
Found out? What did you find out?
About her and this boy. To think that all the time Id been arranging things with Omar Fayoum, shed been carrying on with that little bastard! I love him, she said. Love? I said. Whats that? How much is that worth? How much does that fetch in the market, then? And how much do spoiled goods fetch? You tell me that! Youve brought shame and dishonour upon me, I said.
Oh, then she wept and said it had amounted to nothing and it had all come to an end anyway and that she would marry Omar Fayoum if I wished.
Wished? I said. Whats that got to do with it? Do you think hes going to have you now? Or anyone else is, for that matter? Youve made your bed, my girl, and now youve got to lie on it. Only youre not going to lie on it in my house. Not in the house that youve brought disgrace upon!
Well, then she wept and clung to me and begged me to let her stay. Shed work, she said, and find some way of bringing in some money. I know your sort of work, I said, and if you think Im letting my daughter go out whoring, then youd better think again, my girl. I may be poor but Im not that poor. Out on the streets is where you belong and thats where youd better go!
So she went? said Mahmoud, tight-lipped and angry.
Yes.
And you made no attempt to find out what had happened to her?
I wasnt going to ask. I thought that maybe she and that boy-But I kept seeing him around, he was always creeping around, and someone told me he was forever asking about her, so I reckoned that couldnt be it. Then I thought that maybe someone would tell me, but no one did. And then one day I heard about that woman at the Cut, you know, that woman they found buried under The Bride. Well, at first I thought nothing of it, but then-
Yes?
Well, I know some of the gravediggers, you see. And one of them has a brother who works at the mortuary. And he told him that he reckoned the girl that was found was my Leila. How he could tell, I dont know. From what the man said whod found her. But it set me wondering. And what I asked myself was, how did she get there? There, of all places? Well, someone must have put her there, mustnt they? And they must have done it for a purpose. And do you know what I reckon?
He looked at Owen and Mahmoud almost triumphantly.
It was the Jews.
Jews!
Yes. They go in for this sort of thing, dont they? And then theres the Cut.
What has the Cut got to do with it? demanded Owen.
Its the last one, isnt it? That makes it a bit special. Well, what I reckon is that they wanted to mark it out, this being the last one, and it being their turn. They take it in turns, you see, them and the gravediggers from the cemetery here. I dont know that I hold with that, really, but its been like that for centuries, they say. Turn and turn about. Well, this time it was their turn and I reckon they wanted to mark it out, this being the last time.
What are you saying?
Well, that they put her there. It was the old tradition, you see. Bury a virgin under The Bride. And I reckon they thought that would round it off nicely. Theyre great ones for tradition, the Jews. It was probably them who thought of the idea in the first place. Only I dont hold with that, not with putting a good Muslim girl under the cone. Now if it was a Jewish girl, that might be different-
What are you saying?
Well, that they put her there. It was the old tradition, you see. Bury a virgin under The Bride. And I reckon they thought that would round it off nicely. Theyre great ones for tradition, the Jews. It was probably them who thought of the idea in the first place. Only I dont hold with that, not with putting a good Muslim girl under the cone. Now if it was a Jewish girl, that might be different-
You think they found your daughter and buried her under The Bride of the Nile?
Not found her.
Not?
Killed her. The bastards.
She died, said Mahmoud, from the effects of poorly performed circumcision. And from neglect and ill treatment afterwards. If anyone killed her, it was you.
5«Sk?
They walked back up the Suk-en-Nahassin past some of the most ancient and beautiful mosques in the world, past the Sultan-en-Nasir, the Sultan Kalaun and El-Hakim, past the fountain house of Abd-er-Rahman and the Sheikhs house next to the Barkukiya. The past was all about you in Cairo, thought Owen. That was the trouble.
By tacit mutual consent they dropped into a cafe just before they got to the Khan-el-Khalil. Both were feeling depressed.
What do I do? said Owen. Put him inside until the Cut is over?
The Cut is not the problem, said Mahmoud.