Michael Pearce - The Snake Catcher’s Daughter

“ ‘Actually came out’? You mean it was not the one I approved?”

“Take a look,” said Nikos. “I think you’ll find it interesting.”

The article took up most of the front page. It was an attack on the Cairo Police Force. It began with general charges of inefficiency and incompetence (plenty of examples, including, yes, the one about the whole Police Force out one day recently looking for, wait for it, a donkey!) and then moved swiftly to the suggestion that this was the fault not of the ordinary constable (fine, upstanding, brave, true, diligent, conscientious to a fault, decent, highly moral-Selim?) but of his superiors, in particular those who had been imposed on the Police Force from overseas.

It was not just that they were corrupt, though there was abundant evidence of that, some of it going back a long time (earrings), some of it more recent (jewels given to whores), nor just that they were personally immoral; it was that they had been imposed by powers overseas for a purpose. That purpose was the systematic repression of the population. It was hardly surprising, then, that the police paid so little attention to crime; they had other jobs to do.

So far, so fairly normal (for Al-Lewa). The next bit was the new departure. This was the sharply personalized form of attacks. There were detailed references to the bizarre, eccentric behaviour of a senior member of the Police Force, culminating recently in open affront to Egyptian womanhood and natural religious feeling (was this part of a deliberate attempt to subvert what had for centuries been the country’s orthodox religion?). There were references to the concupiscence of another senior figure, who had for long maintained one whore and who had recently been seen visiting another.

The most detailed reference, however, was to a third (yes, yet another!) even more senior figure whose practices were so blatant that a case he had been involved in had recently been reopened by the Parquet. Al-Lewa would not prejudice possible judicial review based on the Parquet’s findings but it would venture to suggest that the world would be shocked by the naked political manipulation that would be revealed. At least injuries done to the original native Egyptian incumbents would be exposed.

And that, really, was the point. A perfectly acceptable system had been set aside at the behest of a foreign power. Perfectly capable, decent men had been superseded. What was required was a return to old virtues. Only then would the Police Force be able to lift its head again with pride. But that would require the wholesale and immediate departure of the present holders of office.

“There you are!” said McPhee triumphantly, back in the office. “A return to the old virtues. Exactly what I’ve been calling for.”

“And the old personnel,” Owen pointed out.

“Well-”

“That doesn’t mean you. It means Mustapha Mir and Philipides.”

“Old virtues!” said Garvin contemptuously. “Old vices, more like: bribery, corruption, personal favour, brutality, flogging-”

“It’s not Al-Lewa’s usual line,” said Owen thoughtfully. “They’re a radical paper. They don’t usually go for old virtues. They’re in favour of new ones.”

“Well, I can see that,” said Garvin. “That call for efficiency, for instance.”

“I don’t think their efficiency is quite the same as yours.”

“Efficiency is efficiency,” said Garvin. “And, talking of efficiency, how does it come about that they’re able to publish something like this? I thought you approved everything beforehand?”

“I didn’t this.”

“So how come?”

“They inserted it afterwards.”

“Well, you’ve got them, then, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve got them. Only-”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I’m surprised. They don’t usually carry things this far. They huff and puff and hint and push things just about as far as they think they can go, but they don’t usually cross the line. And they don’t openly disobey by inserting things afterwards. It’s not worth it, you see. They know I’ll ban the paper for a spell. They’ll lose readers, lose influence. People will read other papers. Their rivals.”

“Radical papers aren’t really interested in sales.”

“Don’t you kid yourself. They’re interested in sales, all right. They want to spread their gospel.”

“So why run the risk by doing this?”

“Why, indeed? It’s hardly worth it, is it? Not just for merely another attack on the British.”

“It’s not just another attack, though, is it? It’s a very specific attack; on us.”

“On all three of us,” said Owen. “And now I’m beginning to wonder. Maybe the McPhee business is not an isolated event, after all. And maybe, the girl in my bed, the diamond, the necklace, are part of it, too. They’re all bound up together; bound up with reopening the Philipides case as well.”

“They’re trying to get us out,” said Garvin, “all three of us. That’s the game. That’s what it is all about.”

“If that’s the game,” said Owen, “it’s a daft one. If we went, the Administration would just put three other Britishers in.”

“ Al-Lewa would hail it as a triumph.”

“Maybe they would. But I don’t think they’re behind this. It isn’t their sort of thing.”

“Maybe it’s about time you found out who is behind it,” said Garvin sourly, “instead of spending all your time drinking coffee in cafes and generally sitting about like a lemon.”

Commotion in the Bab-el-Khalk. Cries in the courtyard, activity-unusual, this-in the orderly room. Owen, in his office, heard the agitated slap of slippers coming towards him. It was late in the afternoon and he was the only senior Effendi in the building.

“Effendi, there is a snake in the orderlies’ lavatory.”

“Has it bitten someone?”

“No, effendi, but Suleiman wants to use the lavatory.”

“Tell him to use another one. Oh, and send for the snake catcher.”

Doubt.

“Effendi-?”

“Yes?”

“Abdulla is in hospital.”

Abdulla was the usual snake catcher.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He has hurt his back.”

“Send for another.”

“We have, effendi. We sent for Ibrahim and he’s not there.”

“Surely there must be someone else? What about my snake catcher? He’s a good one.”

“Yes, effendi, but Farouz knows him and says he is visiting his son today.”

“Well, wait a minute, there’s one in the Gamaliya. Abu, his name is. Try him.”

Later.

Commotion again.

“What the hell is it this time?”

“Effendi, he’s sent a woman.”

“What woman? Oh, Jalila. She’s all right. What’s the matter?”

“She’s a woman, effendi.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Does it matter? As long as she gets rid of the snake?”

“Oh, yes, effendi”-chorus-“it wouldn’t be right at all.”

“Why not?”

“What would a woman know about it? Catching snakes is a man’s job.”

“She can do it. I’ve seen her.”

“Yes, but-”

“She would be frightened, effendi.”

“No, she wouldn’t. I’ve seen her get into a tank of snakes.”

“She might get hurt.”

“No, she wouldn’t. I’ve seen her, I tell you. She knows all about it.”

“Effendi-”

He decided he’d better go down. It was indeed Jalila. She was looking defiant.

“I can do it,” she said. “I often help my father.”

“Helping is one thing, doing another.”

“Why can’t he come himself?” asked Owen.

“He’s-he’s not well.”

“He’s dead drunk,” said one of the orderlies.