Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

‘And too quick of tongue. How was he too quick of tongue?’

‘That time when he spoke up for the railwaymen. They were angry but no one would speak. Ibrahim was angry, too, but he said he would speak. His father wanted to beat him when he heard. Ali, too,’ she said, surprisingly.

‘Ali wanted to beat him?’

‘Not beat him. But he said it was foolish to step forward. “Let others do that,” he said.’

‘Why did he say that?’

‘He said it would do Ibrahim no good if he were to let himself be singled out. The job was not forever. Put up with it, he said, take the money, and then speak if you must.’

Owen was again surprised. Ali, the moderate? The man who had run for his gun that day?

‘But Ibrahim did not take his advice,’ he said.

‘No.’

‘Was Ali angry?’

‘No. He said it was on his own head. But afterwards he came to him again and said: “There are men better at this than you.” “Let them come forward, then,” said Ibrahim. Well, Ali knew a man who wanted to work on the railway line and who was good at speaking and they let him come forward instead.’

‘Was his name Wahid?’ asked Owen.

As Owen approached the station he saw that a train was in. It was coming from Cairo, however, and no use to him. He was surprised, though, to see Mahmoud getting off.

Mahmoud, too, was disconcerted. He hesitated, gave Owen a slight bow with his head, and hurried past.

Owen was annoyed. Surely they had been friends for too long to mess about like this? On an impulse he turned and hurried after Mahmoud. Mahmoud heard the footsteps and looked round guardedly.

‘Are you going to the village? I have just come from there. I picked up one or two things-perhaps I could discuss them with you?’

Mahmoud instantly warmed. Quick to perceive a slight, especially when it came from the British, he was also quick to respond to a sympathetic initiative. In fact, he tended to overrespond, especially when it came from Owen.

‘I will stop. Where I was going does not matter. No, it does not matter at all. You are going back to Cairo? I will come with you!’

‘No, no!’ protested Owen. ‘I will walk a little of the way with you. You were going to the village?’

‘To the Tree. But I cannot allow you-’

After some while it was agreed that it was easier for Owen to accompany Mahmoud rather than vice versa and they set out across the fields. Owen looked to see if Leila was still there but she was not.

He was relieved to find that Mahmoud was still taking an interest in the village end of things. It had seemed that his attention was entirely on the railway and Owen felt that was unlikely to be productive.

He told Mahmoud what he had learned from his conversation with Leila. He hesitated for a moment over whether to tell him about the Nationalist meetings, but then decided that he would.

‘So you see,’ he said, ‘there is this connection between Ibrahim and Ali.’

‘The fact that they were friends,’ said Mahmoud, thinking, ‘wouldn’t stop the brothers from exacting revenge. Revenge overrides everything in the Arab code of honour.’

‘All the same-’

‘Yes,’ said Mahmoud, ‘I am glad you told me.’

‘And then there is the bit about the dispute, you know, the one on the railway that you are interested in, when Ibrahim acted as spokesman. I had been wondering why Ibrahim had acted as spokesman and not Wahid.’

‘I made too much of that,’ muttered Mahmoud.

‘Well, I’ve probably been making too much of Wahid.’

‘You were right, though. About the Nationalist connection.’

‘But how important is it? So Wahid is a Nationalist. So are half a million other Egyptians.’

The mutual concessions restored their old relationship and by the time they reached the village they were talking happily.

‘But you were going on to the Tree?’

‘Well, yes. I wanted to see the place without so many people there.’

‘I’m afraid-’ began Owen guiltily.

But then Mahmoud saw the Tree with its guarding legions.

‘What-?’

Owen explained.

‘And they are guarding the Tree against the French?’ said Mahmoud, amazed.

‘And each other, yes.’

The guarding cohorts seemed for the time being, however, to have struck up an amicable alliance. They had found a brazier from somewhere and fuelled it with dried dung from around the well. The bitter fumes drifted across towards them. Daniel, the Copt, emerged from the balsam trees leading a donkey.

‘Well, I’m off now,’ he said, perching himself on the back of his donkey. ‘Otherwise I won’t get home in the light. There may be bad men about. Keep your eyes open!’ he said to the Copts. ‘I’ll be back in the morning.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said the Copts. ‘It will still be here.’

They watched him go.

‘Mean bastard,’ they said. ‘You’d think he’d have found us a chicken or two!’

‘Isa’s a mean bastard, too,’ said one of the Sons of Islam. ‘I reckon he’s forgotten about us entirely.’

‘The government’s mean bastard, too,’ said the policeman, looking at Owen.

‘All right,’ said Owen, ‘I’ll get somebody from the village to bring you up something.’

The men settled down around the brazier.

Mahmoud shrugged, then turned and walked a little way away and began looking round him. Owen knew he was trying to visualize what had happened.

But it had happened at night, thought Owen. There had been nothing to see. There had only been sounds in the darkness.

Over in the balsam trees around the well there was a little scurry and two goats came bounding out. Owen went across and found the old goatherd lying under a tree.

‘Still here, then?’

‘We’ve been over to Tel-el-Hasan for a couple of days,’ said the old man. ‘We’d have stayed longer but somebody had been there before us.’

‘Eaten all the food, had they?’

‘They’ve taken the lowest shoots. We can do better here.’

Owen sat down beside him. The heat had gone out of the sun now and the shadows were creeping over the sand.

‘Tel-el-Hasan? Not many people go between there and here, do they?’

‘Only the Copt.’

‘You remember the night the man was found on the railway line?’

The old man nodded.

And you heard voices up here by the Tree?’

‘Yes.’

‘Earlier that night, perhaps just when it was getting dark, did you see anyone coming over here from Tel-el-Hasan?’

The old man shook his head.

‘A man, perhaps, or two men?’

‘I saw no one.’

‘Or even,’ Owen persisted, ‘a man and a woman? You said you had heard a man and a woman talking up by the Tree.’

‘I heard. I did not see.’

‘But earlier?’

The old man considered.

‘I remember seeing no one,’ he said finally.

Owen nodded. Mahmoud had probably already asked the questions.

‘The goats were restless,’ said the old man. ‘It was a bad night.’

Owen made sympathetic noises. Up by the Tree, Mahmoud had walked off at a tangent and now was looking back at the spot where, according to the tracker, the attack had taken place. Owen guessed he was trying to work out how the two, the man and the woman, had approached. They must have been waiting by the Tree. But why had Ibrahim gone there anyway?

‘It was a bad night,’ said the old man again. ‘The goats were restless. There was no quieting them down. First, the people. Then the bird.’

‘Bird?’ said Owen.

‘There was a bird about. An ostrich.’

‘You saw it?’

‘No. But the goats knew. That was why they were restless.’

‘When was this? About the time that you heard the people talking?’