Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

‘It was, however, by eye alone?’

‘He would have liked it otherwise.’

‘But it was by eye alone?’

‘With me, it was. But not with my sister. With her it was by deed.’

‘He shamed her publicly,’ growled one of the brothers.

‘By going to Jalila?’

‘Every night. He made no secret of it. And nor did she. “I can give you sons,” she said, “even if your wife can’t.” ’

‘Who was she to talk?’ said the woman fiercely. ‘How many sons had she? At least Leila had had daughters. And sons would have come. They always do in our family. Look at them!’

She pointed to her brothers.

‘I am puzzled,’ said Owen. ‘First, he left your sister for Jalila. And then he would have left Jalila for you?’

‘If he had had the chance!’ said Khadija.

‘He wouldn’t have got the chance,’ said one of the brothers angrily. ‘What do you think we are: men who make their sisters into whores?’

‘Whores!’ shouted a familiar voice in the street.

Owen and Mahmoud looked at each other.

‘Oh God!’ said Owen. ‘It’s Sheikh Isa!’

Out in the street was Sheikh Isa, together with another religious sheikh, as old, venerable and, probably, as irascible as himself, supported by an interested crowd of onlookers.

‘This is untimely!’ said Owen.

‘God’s work does not wait on man’s convenience,’ said Sheikh Isa unyieldingly.

‘God’s work? You call it God’s work to come to a house and denounce a woman who may well be guiltless?’

‘Innocence is for God to judge, not man!’ bellowed the sheikh. ‘Man looks only at incidentals but God sees into the very heart!’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my heart!’ said Khadija stoutly.

‘There’ll be something wrong with yours in a minute!’ said one of the brothers, diving back into the house.

Mahmoud caught him as he re-emerged carrying a rifle.

‘Enough!’ shouted Owen.

He forced the gun out of the man’s hands and covered the other two.

‘Stay where you are!’

‘To the caracol with them!’ shouted Sheikh Isa, enraged.

Mahmoud looked at Owen.

‘That might not be such a bad idea.’

Owen nodded.

‘Fetch me rope!’ he commanded.

Some men ran into a nearby house and returned with a coil.

‘I’m arresting you,’ said Mahmoud to the brother he was holding. He tied the man’s hands.

‘And you! And you!’ he said to the other brothers.

‘We haven’t done anything!’ shouted the brothers.

‘Let’s keep it like that. Turn round!’

‘What about me?’ cried Khadija.

‘Whore!’ shouted Sheikh Isa. ‘You’re the one who started it all!’

One of the brothers made a grab for the gun. Owen brought it down on his arm. Mahmoud caught him from behind and tied his hands deftly.

‘You stay out of this!’ Owen said to Sheikh Isa. ‘You stay here!’ he said to Khadija.

‘And you,’ he said to the other sheikh, ‘see that she comes to no harm!’

Mahmoud finished tying the brothers and stepped back.

‘Why are you doing this to them?’ demanded Khadija.

‘To save them from being shot,’ said Owen in an aside.

The station at Matariya did not amount to much. It was merely a stop in the desert. There was no platform and no building, apart from a water tower. There was normally, however, a ticket collector, who sat on a chair under a solitary acacia tree and took tickets when they were offered.

This morning, though, when Owen climbed down from the train, he was not there. The chair stood in its usual place, unoccupied. Owen, who had been under the impression that the collector was permanently fixed to it, was a little surprised; surprised, too, that at this halt, when normally the only things moving were the little desert sparrows that liked to assemble on the arm that swung out from the water tower, there were people scurrying about.

When the train pulled out he saw what it was all about. On the other side of the track, about a hundred yards away, was a large ostrich pen and this morning it was the scene of considerable commotion. Great birds were running agitatedly about the pen, flapping their huge wings as if attempting to take off. They ran manically, not heeding where they were going, and from time to time one bore down on the fence near the station. Whenever that happened, men working on the fence would rush out and wave their arms and shout and at the last moment the huge bird, about nine feet high and twenty stones in weight, would panic and swerve and head off again across the desert.

It was all very exciting and Owen could see at once why it had attracted a crowd of onlookers, including the ticket collector. He could see now, too, that there was a gap in the fence, which the men were working on.

This side of the fence, near the track, a man was lying on the ground and a small group of people were bending over him. Owen walked across.

The man was holding his neck and groaning.

‘Be of good cheer, Ja’affar,’ said one of the men bending over him. ‘We have sent for the barber.’

‘I don’t need a barber,’ groaned the man on the ground, ‘I need a hakim!

‘The barber is cheaper, Ja’affar,’ advised one of the men. Ja’affar just groaned.

‘Perhaps Zaghlul will send for a hakim,’ suggested another of the men.

‘Zaghlul?’ said the man on the ground. ‘Not if it costs money! He might send for the sheikh to pray for me.’

‘Here is an effendi,’ said one of the men. ‘Perhaps he is a hakim!

‘I am afraid not,’ said Owen. ‘But let a hakim be summoned and I will pay.’

He looked down at the man on the ground.

‘Why, it’s you!’ he said, surprised, recognizing the man he’d spoken to with Asif. ‘Of course! You work at the farm.’

‘That bloody bird! I didn’t see it coming.’

‘It got through the fence, Ja’affar, and ran away.’

‘Did it? Well, old man Zaghlul will be more worried about that than about me!’

‘Owen! Owen! Is that you?’ called a voice.

Owen looked up. There, surprisingly, was Malik, the Pasha’s son; and there, even more surprisingly, for such things had only just come to Egypt, was a shining, brand-new motor car. ‘Come on! Get in!’

Owen walked over.

‘A bird has got out! We’ll have a hunt!’

‘Well, I don’t know-’

‘Come on, man. Get in!’

‘There’s a man who’s been hurt-’

‘A broken collarbone! Nothing!’

Malik took him by the arm and almost dragged him in.

‘Remember! I’ll pay for the hakim,’ Owen called over his shoulder.

‘You don’t need to do that, old boy,’ said Malik. ‘These fellows are pretty hardy. A few days’ rest will put him right. He’ll be back to work in no time.’

‘The air here is very good,’ said one of the other men in the car. ‘Very healthy.’

There were two other men in the car-Egyptians, and very rich. There was also a remarkable array of guns.

‘Grabbed all I had,’ said Malik. ‘I don’t know which one will be best for the job. Never shot an ostrich before.’

‘Do we have to shoot it?’

‘Oh yes. Why not?’

‘Well, it’s…wouldn’t you call it farm stock?’

‘I’d call it game. Or wild fowl. Yes, wild fowl, I think. That would suggest a fowling piece. We have a fowling piece, don’t we, Ahmed? Or perhaps that’s too light. It’s a big bird, after all. Yes, definitely too light. One of the others, then.’

The car bounced over the desert.

‘It’s the only way,’ said Malik.

‘Only way?’

‘To hunt. Tried it on horse but you never get close enough. Not with gazelles, you don’t. An ostrich would be about the same, don’t you think? Pretty fast.’