Michael Pearce - The Snake Catcher’s Daughter

“I come in peace,” said Owen.

One of the men called through into the inner courtyard and spoke to a woman there.

While he was waiting for the Aalima, Owen glanced around him. There were lighted braziers both in the outer courtyard and the inner one and he could smell coffee in both. The men were standing around chatting animatedly. There was something of a party atmosphere.

“Your wife in there?” said Owen conversationally to a man near him.

“Daughter. My wife can’t go tonight-her sister’s having a baby-but she said Khadiya had to go. Don’t believe in this sort of thing myself.”

“Can’t do any harm,” said another man.

“Can’t it? My wife comes home half-crazed.”

“She gets over it, though, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, but what’s been going on while she has been out of her mind? That’s what I’d like to know. You don’t know what they get up to.”

“There aren’t any men there, though, are there?” said Selim wistfully.

“You don’t always need men.”

“No?”

Through the arch Owen could see white forms approaching. He moved to meet them.

“Who is it who wishes to speak with me?” said the Aalima.

“Greetings, Mother,” said Owen politely. “May we step aside for a moment?”

Just beyond the arch a little room gave off the courtyard. He had time only to see that the inner yard was full of women and children in white gowns. The smell of incense hung in the air and on the other side of the ring of firelight cast by a brazier he thought he saw animals stirring restlessly.

The Aalima led Owen into the room and then turned towards him. She had a large white cowl over her head but was unveiled and there was just enough light from the single oil lamp for him to see her face.

“Ya salaam!” he said in surprise. He had expected to see an old crone. This woman was at the most in her thirties and had a handsome, classical face.

“What is it you want?” she said impatiently. “I do nothing wrong.”

“I’m sure not. Nevertheless, at the last Zzarr you held, wrong things were done.”

“The Bimbashi? That was nothing to do with me.”

“I wasn’t thinking just of the Bimbashi. I was thinking of the Copts.”

“That was nothing to do with me, either. Or with the Zzarr.”

“You may be right,” said Owen. “Nevertheless, it was at the Zzarr that something happened to the Bimbashi.”

“If you have questions to ask,” said the Aalima, “you must put them another time. The Zzarr is about to begin.”

“You carry on,” said Owen. “I’ll wait.”

“You can’t wait here,” said the Aalima. “This is for women only.”

“I won’t interfere.”

“You cannot stay,” said the woman angrily. “Please go!”

“I’ll wait.”

A mastaba, a long stone bench, ran along one side of the room. He sat down.

The woman bit her lip.

“I’ll answer your questions tomorrow,” she said.

“Ah,” said Owen, “but will you be here tomorrow?”

“I will tell you where I live.”

“Tell me,” said Owen, “and I will send a man to make sure that that is indeed where you live.”

“I live on the other side of the Gamaliya,” she protested.

“We can wait. Or you could begin.”

She stood there for a moment. Then her foot began to tap angrily.

“Why are you here?” she burst out furiously. “Why was the Bimbashi here?”

“The Bimbashi was lured here,” said Owen. “I want to find out why.”

“That was nothing to do with me! You cannot stay here!”

Owen settled himself on the mastaba. The Aalima then rushed from the room. Out in the courtyard, women’s voices began to chatter urgently.

“Are you all right, effendi?” called Selim’s voice.

Owen got up from the mastaba and went to the door.

“Yes, thanks,” he called back. Then, seeing Selim standing in the arch, he walked over to him.

“I’m just waiting to see if she bites,” he said.

“Bites?” said Selim, intrigued. “Oh, bites. There’ll be plenty of that later.”

Owen thought Selim might be misunderstanding him. However, the constable pointed beyond the brazier to where the animals were stirring. He could see now that one of them was a large ram.

“Sacrifice?” he said. “Or a feast?”

“Both,” said Selim. “The Aalima does pretty well out of it. She gets half of it, you know.”

“She doesn’t eat half, surely?”

“No, no. She sells it. Makes a pretty piastre. What with that and the fee everyone pays.”

“She wouldn’t want to miss out on it, would she?” said Owen thoughtfully.

“Hello, my lovely!” said Selim to one of the white forms. A group of gowns rushed up and pushed him indignantly into the arch.

Owen returned to the mastaba.

After about a quarter of an hour the Aalima appeared.

“The Zzarr is off!” she said fiercely. “I have asked my women. They say they cannot begin if a man is present.”

She folded her arms firmly. Owen knew suddenly whom she reminded him of. Not for her beauty but for her manner; the Scottish Matron at the Cairo Hospital.

“I do not wish to interfere,” he said mildly. “I will stay in this room if you like. That hardly counts as being present, surely?”

“The Zzarr is off!” said the Aalima, with a triumphant smile.

Owen shrugged.

“Very well, then,” he said, rising to his feet. “Tell them to return the animals.”

The Aalima’s smile faded.

“What happens to the animals is no business of yours!” she snapped.

“I’ll tell them,” said Owen, as he went out. “Selim!”

“Wait! Wait!”

“I could sit here,” Owen offered. “It wouldn’t really count.”

The Aalima hesitated.

“You must not look,” she said, weakening.

Owen pointed to the wall.

“If I looked,” he said, “could I see?”

The Aalima made up her mind.

“Very well. You can stay. But if you set one foot outside this room,” she said coldly, “the Zzarr stops.”

As soon as she had gone, Owen extinguished the lamp. It took a short while for his eyes to get used to the darkness but when they did, he found he could see quite well.

Moonlight came in through the open door and lit up the white wall opposite him. He took care to stay in the shadow.

After a moment or two, he heard people outside.

“He has put the light out,” someone said.

There was a muttered consultation.

“Are you still there?” a woman’s voice called out.

“Of course,” said Owen.

“Why have you put the light out?”

“Out of respect.”

More consultation.

“There’s no need to do that,” someone said.

“That’s all right,” said Owen.

The consultation became agitated.

“We are going to shut the door,” a voice called out.

“Please don’t do that. It’s so hot in here.”

He heard the discussion.

“It’s a trick!”

“Yes, but it is hot in there.”

“We must ask the Aalima,” said someone after a while.

“It’s too late,” said someone. “It’s beginning.”

Across the courtyard, in the main building, a timbrel was starting uncertainly.

“I promise I won’t come out.”

Dubertas began to catch the rhythm.

“Very well, then. But mind you don’t! We are putting people to watch!”

“That is not necessary. But if you wish to-”

There was a mighty clash of cymbals and then all the instruments were playing together. A voice joined in, wavering, hanging, posing a question or an invitation. Another voice answered.

The people outside lingered irresolutely, then went away. Someone else came up and sat down just outside the door. The guard had been posted. It was, however, a very small one. About twelve years old, Owen judged.