Michael Pearce - The Snake Catcher’s Daughter

There were a lot of children in the courtyard, many of them dressed in white gowns like the Aalima’s companions. As the music caught hold, they began to dance.

Owen watched for a little while and then moved round the room until he could see out of the doorway. The main activity was going on in a room opposite. It was a long room, probably the mandar’ah, or reception room, which ran the whole length of one side of the inner courtyard. The music was coming from one end, where there was a dais, on which the performers sat. If they were men there would be a screen between them and the rest of the hall.

The music deepened and other voices joined in, passing the question or invitation from one to another until suddenly they all began to sing together. Owen could still not tell whether they were men or women. Nor could he quite make out the words although some of them seemed familiar. But what language?

There was movement on the other end of the mandar’ah. He could see the Aalima standing beside what looked like a little table. Round her a ring of white-gowned women was forming. They were holding hands, or holding on to something; a rope, perhaps. The ring began to spin.

Outside in the courtyard little rings of children began to spin also. It was like ‘Ring-a-ring of roses’ only speeded up.

He suddenly caught something move just outside the door and hastily slid back on to the mastaba. A figure entered.

“No light?” said a voice he thought he had heard before.

“Out of respect,” said Owen.

“Oh yes!” said the voice ironically. He was sure now he had heard it before.

The figure stooped. It was holding something out to him.

“Take and drink,” said the voice.

“Thank you,” said Owen. He tipped the bowl towards him and let the liquid touch his lips. It was hot and spicy. As far as he could tell, there was no drug in it. This time.

That other time, McPhee had been sitting out in the courtyard. They had put a chair just beneath the windows. He had been so close, he had told Owen, that he had been intoxicated by the music.

The music continued, the circles, both inside the house and out in the courtyard, continued to spin. The next time the woman came with the bowl, Owen could see her more clearly.

“You!” he said in surprise.

“Why not?” said the snake-catcher’s daughter.

He held the bowl back for a moment after drinking.

“Do you always do this?” he asked. “Take the bowl round at the Zzarr?”

“We all have our parts to play,” she said ambiguously.

He relinquished the bowl.

“You are a woman of many parts,” he said.

He saw the smile in the moonlight. When he had seen her before, beside the snake cistern, he had been too busy to notice her face. It was a rather pretty one. He realized suddenly that none of the women this evening were wearing veils. Some of the more modest ones had pulled their hoods forward over their faces. The Aalima and her acolytes, however, were having none of such half measures. The hoods were thrown back well behind the neck. Girls among girls, Owen supposed.

The snake-catcher’s daughter seemed disposed to linger.

“I take the bowl round,” she said, “because I can’t be one of those inside.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“I’m not clean.”

He did not understand. Then he remembered what Selim’s wife had said.

“You haven’t been purified?”

“I can’t be.”

“How’s that?”

“I haven’t been cut.” Seeing that Owen was at a loss, she explained: “When you’re a girl, they cut you. They pare it back. Afterwards, they sew you.”

“Oh,” said Owen, understanding at last. “Circumcision?”

“That’s right. Only my father wouldn’t let them do it to me. He said the snakes would notice.”

Owen wondered how the snakes would notice.

“The smell,” she said.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

“Not being done? I haven’t up till now,” she said. “But now, sometimes, I wonder. I cannot be a woman, you see,” she explained, “until that is done. Although-” she shot a glance in the direction of the house-“I’m more of a woman than some of those in there, I can tell you!”

“Some would say,” said Owen carefully, “that there are advantages in not having been cut.”

“Really?” she said.

He had taken care not to drink from the bowl. He had just let the liquid touch his lips. He had also put a finger in, and when she had gone he smelt the finger and tasted with his tongue. Still, as far as he could judge, no drug.

“How’s it going, effendi!” said a well-known voice right beside him.

He jumped.

“Selim! Christ, what are you doing here? They’ve got a guard outside.”

“Just a kid. And gone off to join the dancing, anyway.” Selim went to the door and peered out. “Wow, effendi! How about that?”

The rhythm of the music had risen to fever pitch. The women inside had arched their bodies back, still holding hands, so that they touched the ground only with their heels and their heads, continuing to writhe, however, to the rhythm.

“Yow!” said Selim. “Wow!”

The music came suddenly to a stop with a violent clash of cymbals. The exhausted women sank to the ground. All over the courtyard similar rings were collapsing.

“You’d better get back,” said Owen.

“Effendi,” said Selim, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Can I transfer to your service? Constable’s all very well but it’s nothing like this!”

“Get off back!” snapped Owen. “Quick!”

Only just in time, for the snake-catcher’s daughter reappeared with the bowl.

“What’s your name?” asked Owen, taking it from her.

“Jalila.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Jalila? There seems a bit of a break in proceedings.”

“This is when they need the drink,” she said, but she sat down; on the floor, however.

“Is it a special drink?” he asked.

“It keeps them going.”

It was drugged, then. He dipped his finger in and held it to his tongue. It seemed subtly different. But perhaps that was just from having been told. And was he being given the same drink as the others?

“They will be thirsty,” he said, “after all that dancing.”

“They go on all night,” she said. “It’s only just started.”

“They dance the whole time?”

“Until the sacrifices.”

“They must be exhausted!”

“That’s why the men are here,” she said. “To carry them home.”

“Have you a man here?”

She smiled.

“I’m not dancing,” she said.

The next time she came the taste of the drink was stronger and deeper. He thought that perhaps there were two drugs, one for the dancers, to keep them going, the other the one that McPhee had taken. Perhaps they had not put that one in yet. Perhaps they would not put it in at all tonight, knowing that he was the Mamur Zapt and guessing that he would be forewarned. He would go on tasting, not drinking; although, as a matter of fact, he felt he could really do with a drink, a long, iced, cool one.

The music had started again and the dancing was picking up.

“No drinking either?” he said to Jalila.

She shook her head.

“I just carry the bowl,” she said.

“Someone, at least, has to know what they’re doing?”

She seemed slightly puzzled.

“The Aalima knows what she’s doing,” she said.

The Aalima, from what he saw between Jalila’s visits, was doing very little dancing herself. She seemed content to preside, occasionally moving to the centre of the ring and letting them spin round her, occasionally stepping to the table and holding something up. He could see fruit, cakes and flowers on the table, together with a few pots, one of which she raised from time to time.