The gardens occupied the land between the Rosetta and Damietta arms of the Nile which was completely flat. That was not, however, the impression you received as you walked through them. Every rise, every declivity, had been somehow enhanced so that what you were conscious of, unusually in Egypt, was wooded hills and valleys.
It was along one of these valleys that Abdullah was leading Owen. A stream ran down the middle and on the opposite side were crumbling walls festooned with brightly-coloured climbers, the remains of the old French fort which had been here. Scattered along the valley were great clumps of bamboo and prickly pear, all making, thought Owen, if you wanted it, for invisibility.
He saw now that they were coming to the edge of the gardens. For the whole of their walk they had been out of sight of the barrages; out of sight, too, he suddenly realized, of any of the watchmen who might be manning them.
Except that-
Hello, Ibrahim! said the gardener.
A man was lying on his back beneath a baobab tree, an antique musket stretched out alongside him.
He sleeps during the day, said the gardener with a grin, because he works during the night. Or so he claims.
He is, then-?
The ghaffir.
The night watchman. He sat up, yawned and splashed water over his face from a nearby gadwal.
I am showing this Effendi how a man might get to the Manufiya Regulator without being seen, said the gardener.
You are showing him the wrong way, then, said the ghaffir, for if he had come this way, I would have seen him.
Not during the night, Ibrahim. For would you not have been walking the gardens?
I might still have seen him, said the ghaffir, if he had walked this way. For that is the way I walk when I am going to see that the stores are all right.
And did you in fact see anyone? asked Owen. Or anything untoward?
The ghaffir chuckled.
I saw no one, Effendi. But I did see something untoward.
What was that?
Well, I didnt really see it, Effendi. Unfortunately. But I heard.
What did you hear?
Chuckling, Effendi.
Chuckling?
And other noises, Effendi. He winked knowingly. As of lovers.
And you saw them, Ibrahim? said the gardener, scandalized.
Not actually saw them. They were in the bushes.
And youre sure about the noises? asked Owen. I mean, that they were-?
Effendi, they were like a pair of jackals!
Ibrahim! said the gardener, shocked, but delighted.
Like this!
The ghaffir gave an orgiastic cry.
Okay, okay, said Owen. And where did all this take place?
Just there, Effendi, said the ghaffir, pointing. I had just got back from the stores when I heard-
Ibrahim!
All right, all right. And you saw, or heard, nothing else?
No, Effendi. But that was pretty good, wasnt it?
Ill bet he had a look, said the gardener, as they walked back to the regulator.
At the regulator the men were taking a break. They were sprawled tiredly on the bank.
Hard work! said Owen sympathetically
Its what were paid for, said one of the men.
If this is what were going to do all day, said the man next to him, then Im not being paid enough!
Youd rather be back at home, would you, Musa? asked someone, apparently innocently.
There was a general laugh.
I dont know about that, said Musa.
Its his wife, someone explained to Owen. She keeps him on the go.
Youd better make the most of it while youve got the chance, Musa, said someone else. Youll be back there soon enough.
If this gate business doesnt hold things back, said Musa.
The men turned serious.
You dont think itll come to that?
We wouldnt want that, said someone. Theres work to be done at home.
Youre just up here for the Inundation, are you? asked Owen.
Thats right. It works out very well usually. Theres not much we can do at home just now. At this time of year youve got to wait for the water. And then when it comes youve got to wait for it to sink in before you can plant the seed. By that time were home again.
Youre just up here for the Inundation, are you? asked Owen.
Thats right. It works out very well usually. Theres not much we can do at home just now. At this time of year youve got to wait for the water. And then when it comes youve got to wait for it to sink in before you can plant the seed. By that time were home again.
You work your own lands, do you?
There was a rueful chuckle.
Its mostly Al-Sayyid Hannams land now. But, yes, we work it.
Theyre fellahin, said Ferguson, joining him. They work in the fields. Every man jack of them. And if theres anyone who knows the meaning of water, its the Egyptian fellah. Thats why I cant believe it would be one of them. I just cant!
The workmen started to go back. Macrae was already there. He saw Owen and waved an arm in greeting. Owen suddenly realized that the man had been there since two oclock the previous night. He wondered if the workmen had, too. They were going back to work, however, willingly enough.
Ferguson squinted at the sun.
Id better be rigging up some lights, he said.
The sun was already beginning its downward plunge. The Egyptian twilight was short. Already there was a reddish tinge to the water.
The gardens were emptying rapidly.
Youd best be getting back, said Ferguson.
Owen joined the crowd streaming back down to the river on the other side of the main barrage. Down at the waters edge the boats were filling up fast. The big gyassa had already left. There was no sign of the launch. He found a felucca which was not too crowded and stepped in.
By the time the felucca nosed into the bank at Bulaq, the sun had already set and the lights were coming on in the streets. He took an arabeah back to the Bab-el-Khalk, the Police Headquarters, where he had his office. There were no lights in that. Like all Government buildings it closed for the day at two. Admittedly it opened at seven.
He found a porter, however, who produced a lamp and showed him to his office. He wasnt going to stay, he merely wanted to check for messages. There was one from Mahmoud suggesting a meeting. The first findings of the autopsy had come through.
Owen knew Mahmouds habits. Indeed, they were his own and those of most Cairenes. After the inertia of the afternoon the city came alive in the evening and made for the cafes. Owen tried one or two of Mahmouds favourites and found him at a third. He was sitting outside at a table, sipping coffee and preparing for an appearance in court tomorrow.
I tried to get you earlier, he said.
I was up at the barrage.
The regulator?
Yes. Then, knowing that Mahmoud would be wondering, he said: It looks like sabotage.
Sabotage? said Mahmoud, surprised. But who on earth would-?
Exactly, said Owen. He asked about the autopsy.
Theyre only preliminary findings, said Mahmoud, but I thought youd be interested.
The Maiden, it appeared, had not been murdered at all, ritually or otherwise, but had died of natural causes.
If you can call it that, said Mahmoud.
Why shouldnt you call it that?
She probably died as a result of circumcision.
It went wrong?
That, or infection.
As was commonly the case. The practice was widespread, especially in the older, poorer and more traditional quarters of the city. It was defended on the grounds of hygiene but the operation itself often took place in circumstances that were the reverse of hygienic, performed by an old woman in a filthy room, with consequences that were too frequently the same as those in the case of the Maiden.
Owen was silent for a moment, then shrugged.
Well, he said, in a way thats quite helpful for me at any rate. Any chance that we could publish the findings?
Why not? said Mahmoud.
It would help me if we could. It would knock all the daft Myth of the Maiden nonsense on the head. And with the Cut coming up so soon-
I dont see why not, said Mahmoud. Id have to make it clear that they were preliminary findings, of course.
Theyre not likely to be altered, though, are they?
I wouldnt have thought so. Only if something new comes up. Or if they find anything unusual. Actually, said Mahmoud, there is something unusual. Mildly so. Her age. Circumcision usually takes place at thirteen, or even younger. This girl was about twenty.
Thats not going to affect anything, though, is it?
No. I just find it puzzling, thats all.
A late marriage, perhaps?
Perhaps. At any rate it should help us to make an identification.
Are you going to do anything about it? asked Owen. When youve found out who it was?
Probably not. Its not illegal.
I know, but-
Yes. I know.
It was an issue that the Parquet generally fought shy of. Charges of some sort could certainly have been brought but the case would probably have gone to the Native Courts, where it might well have been thrown out. The Native Courts were the most traditional of the courts and unlikely to have any doubts about the practice itself. As for the consequences, while they were undesirable and unfortunate, they were also, one might say, in the natural way of things. The practice was so deeply embedded in social custom that it was, besides, something of a political hot potato. Even the Nationalists steered clear of it.
Its not illegal, Mahmoud repeated.
That for him was usually decisive. He had been trained in the French School of Law and had a thoroughly French frame of mind. A thing was either legal or it was not. If it was legal, then it was no concern of lawyers. If it was illegal, then that had to be spelled out.
All the same, Owen could see that he was not happy.
The release of the findings had the desired effect. Public interest in the Maiden disappeared entirely. No one, after all, cared much about a woman dying. Certainly, of natural causes.
The next morning Owen presented himself at the Department of Irrigation. When he learned what Owen wanted, the clerk threw up his hands.
Effendi, he said tragically, there is only I.
Owen looked round the office.
There is not, he said. There are Yussef and Ali and Selim and Abdul. Not to mention the man who has gone out to make the tea.
But, Effendi-
As well as the people in the next office. And the one after that. And what about-?
Effendi, we are as grains of gold in a desert of sand!
Im sure you are. But how about getting on with-
Does the Effendi want all the names? asked the clerk despondently.