Michael Pearce - The Last Cut

In the shallows of the river’s edge two men were loading building water-skins on to a donkey. When they had finished, they led it up on to the bank. One of them put a large hamperlike wicker basket on top of the water-skins and then perched himself above that. The other man gave the donkey a thwack on the flank.

The noise startled the doves in the palms and they fluttered agitatedly. They were all right, thought Owen. It was the ones in the basket that needed to worry.

He followed the donkey up into the Gardens. There were fewer people there than on his previous visits; or perhaps it was that, with the sun now almost directly overhead, they had retreated into the shade.

Over towards the regulator, Ferguson was ominously busy with white tape and a measuring rod. He waved to Owen as he went past.

The workmen, as Owen had hoped, were having lunch. He squatted down beside them at the tray.

‘You here again?’

‘Babikr asked me to send you greetings.’

The men received them in silence. Although Owen had embroidered a little when he was talking to Babikr, he had probably reflected their feelings.

‘He asked me to tell you he had sworn an oath.’

The men looked up.

An oath, was it?’

It did not excuse, but did explain.

‘Yes. He said he was beholden.’

‘Ah!’

They went back to their eating.

‘I think better of him,’ said Owen, ‘but still I am worried.’

He knew they were listening.

‘Why is that?’ one of them said.

‘Well, what sort of oath is it that dare not declare itself?’

‘A bad oath,’ someone said.

‘That is exactly what I thought. And then I thought: where does a bad oath stop?’

‘It’s stopped so far as Babikr is concerned,’ said someone.

‘For the moment. But where does the man who exacted the oath want it to stop? Why cannot he come forward and tell us the extent of the oath?’

‘If it was a bad oath, perhaps he is afraid,’ volunteered someone.

‘That is what leaves me afraid,’ said Owen. ‘And so I ask: to whom has he sworn the oath? Is there one of you who could tell me?’

They shook their heads. That did not surprise Owen. Nor did it trouble him. No one would wish to do it openly, but they might well come later in private, whether as an individual or after the group had consulted among itself. As they had done before.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘if it has not stopped, further harm could befall. To Babikr. To us all.’

(T«5S’t?)

‘Yes,’ said Georgiades, ‘but you’ve never given me flowers.’

‘You don’t look like a flower person to me,’ said the gardener, inspecting him critically.

‘I’ve got a wife, haven’t I?’

The two had become great buddies. They were sitting on the edge of a gadwal drinking the gardener’s tea, which, with Eastern hospitality, he had also offered to Owen.

‘Perhaps I will give you flowers,’ said the gardener, relenting.

‘You gave some to Babikr,’ Georgiades pointed out.

‘Not to Babikr; for Babikr. For him to give to another.’

Ah, there’s a woman in it, is there? And not his wife. For his wife stays in the village.’ Georgiades shook his head sorrowfully. ‘That a man like you should encourage vice!’

‘I did not encourage vice,’ said the gardener, stung. ‘I merely gave him some flowers. For which he paid me ten milliemes.’

‘Without knowing who they were going to? They might have been going to the Lizard Man for all you know!’

‘They were not going to the Lizard Man!’

Are you sure? I wouldn’t rule it out. Babikr was a friend of the Lizard Man, wasn’t he?’

‘He had other friends as well.’

‘Up here in the city?’

‘Look,’ said the gardener, ‘I know who the flowers were for and it wasn’t the Lizard Man!’

‘Whisper it to me,’ challenged Georgiades, ‘and I’ll believe you.’

The gardener opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Firmly.

‘If I tell you,’ he said, ‘the Lizard Man might hear me!’

One of the sights of Cairo was the water-carts. Every morning and sometimes at other points during the day they would go through the streets dampening down the dust. There was a tank at the back of the cart from which the water would spray out in little fountains. Urchins would dart in and out under the jets and after the cart had passed there would be a brief moment when the air was full of the seaside smell of water on hot sand. Cairenes loved that moment. They would come out into the doorways and sniff the air like dogs.

There was a water-cart ahead of Owen now. But it was not spraying the streets. It was standing at a corner and a group of water-carriers were filling their bags from the tank.

‘They won’t want to do that next week,’ Owen said to the driver as he passed. ‘Not when there’s water in the canal. What will you do then?’

‘Old man Fayoum will just move it further into the Gamaliya,’ said one of the water-carriers.

‘Ah, it belongs to Omar Fayoum?’

‘It certainly does. And they say he’s going to get another like it soon.’

‘He must be doing well, then.’

‘Never done better, he says. The last few months especially. Though I don’t know how that could be. It’s the same water, isn’t it? And it takes the same time to carry.’

‘Ah, but does it?’ said the man next to him, stooping to pick up his skins.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Owen.

‘Well, they do say he’s found another place where he can get it.’

‘That’s a lot of nonsense!’ said someone standing on the other side of the cart. Owen couldn’t see him clearly but thought it might be Ahmed Uthman, the husband of the woman who had taken Leila in.

‘It’s all got to come from the river, hasn’t it?’ said a man beside him. Owen could see him. It was Leila’s father.

‘Well, that’s more than we know,’ said the water-carrier who had first spoken.

‘You don’t know very much, then!’ retorted Ahmed Uthman.

‘What’s the trouble?’ said the driver of the cart. ‘Don’t you like our water?’

‘I like the water. It’s the price I don’t like.’

‘Well, you don’t have to pay it, then, do you?’ said the driver. ‘Tell him, Ahmed!’

‘Why don’t you just bugger off?’ said Ahmed Uthman, coming round the side of the cart.

‘Yes,’ said Leila’s father, joining him. ‘Why don’t you?’

‘Here, what’s going on?’

‘You don’t like the water? You don’t have to have it, then!’

‘Well, I won’t! Not if it’s like that!’

‘We won’t need to, will we? Not after the Cut!’ said his friend, supporting him.

‘We don’t like your water, either,’ said Leila’s father. ‘Wherever it comes from. We don’t want to see it in the Gamaliya!’

‘I take my water where I like!’

‘Oh, do you? Well, in that case-’

He moved forward threateningly.

Suddenly, he saw Owen.

Ahmed, it’s him!’ he said.

‘Him!’

Ahmed Uthman recovered first.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted to the driver. ‘Quick!’

The driver seized his whip. Ahmed Uthman and Leila’s father threw their bags into the cart and leaped up after them. The cart shot away.

‘You watch out!’ shouted Leila’s father to the two water-car-riers as they lurched away.

‘We’ll be looking out for you!’ called Ahmed Uthman.

The two water-carriers stood there for a moment, dazed. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘I don’t know. Why do they have to be like that?’

Ahmed Uthman’s always like that. But what’s got into Ali Khedri?’

‘It’s his daughter, I suppose.’