Michael Pearce - The Snake Catcher’s Daughter

“Yes.”

“And this was the smell?”

“Yes. I smelt it in the cistern. The air holds the smell. I knew at once that someone else had been there.”

“But, Jalila, you yourself-”

“I know. But this was different. You see-I should not tell you, it is a secret, it belongs to the Rifa’i-the Rifa’i take it every year. Both the drink and the ointment. They go away for a month-that is where your own snake catcher is, he is not visiting his son, that was just an excuse-they go away for a month, and they take the ointment and the drink every day for a week, and then they have to lie and see there are no ill effects. And they work on things of the spirit. Then they come back ready to do their work. And after they come back, for a week or two the smell is fresh, and-”

“And that was the smell you smelt?”

“Yes.”

“Fresh?”

She nodded.

“My own smell, it is not fresh, because my father, he does not do it properly. He does not know the exercises. He only knows how to prepare the ointment and the teryaq. I wear the ointment all the time, the drink I take three times a year.”

“That is too much.”

“I take it in very small doses. A Rifa’i takes a thimbleful. I just cover the bottom of the thimble.”

“And in the cistern it was-not your smell?”

“It was fresh.”

“Whoever it was had been treated recently?”

“Within the last two weeks.”

“And was a snake catcher?”

“One of the Rifa’i. Yes, effendi.”

“You needn’t worry about Demerdash,” Zeinab said. “At least, not about his marrying me. He thinks I’m a whore.”

“Whence has sprung this revelation?”

“He read it in the newspaper.”

“Al-Lewa? ”

Zeinab nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“One whore I can cope with,” said Zeinab, “especially if it happens to be me. It’s the other one I’m worried about.”

“There isn’t another one.”

“What about the one in your bed?”

“That’s the same one, I think.”

“Only this time it was her bed?”

“Not even her appartement. She wanted to meet me.”

“She certainly believes in making her meetings interesting. I suppose you will tell me you went there in the cause of duty?”

“Of work, yes. She’s the wife of the man I told you about; that Greek, Philipides.”

“Isn’t one man enough for her?”

“She wanted to intercede for him.”

“You swallowed that?”

Owen hesitated.

“I’m not sure. She seemed very passionate.” This, unfortunately, was a singularly ill-chosen word and it was some time before Zeinab could be persuaded to calm down.

“It’s me they’re after,” he said eventually. “It’s just that you’re tied to me, for better or for worse. And, talking of for better or for worse-”

Zeinab always liked him asking her to marry him. It was reassuring; and although she remained in a state of chronic indecision about her answer, considering the matter was very agreeable and tended to put her into a softer mood.

“At least,” she said kindly, “the competition has now been reduced.”

“Demerdash, you mean?”

“Yes. If there ever was a suit, it has now been withdrawn. He has denounced me to my father.”

“What’s it got to do with him?”

“A lot, he thinks. He is concerned about the possible damage to my father’s reputation. In fact, he’s rather more concerned about that than he is about the damage to mine.”

“Your father’s reputation is a matter for your father, I would have thought.”

“Well, no. Not if he is to return to the political fold. Not if he is to be seen as a member of the ‘Government-in-Waiting’.”

“Government-in-Waiting?”

“That’s how Demerdash sees it, apparently. Things have reached such a pretty pass, he says, immorality and materialism everywhere, that it’s only a question of time before the Khedive dismisses his existing Ministers and looks around him for new ones who can regenerate the country. And when he looks, who will he see? A group of dedicated, experienced men, whose loyalty he can count on, men in whom the country will have confidence, men of standing, Pashas-”

“Pashas?”

“Yes. None of this nonsense about democracy. That’s where it all went wrong, when politicians started thinking of themselves as professionals and everyone else started thinking of themselves as politicians. It opened the gates of self-interest. Statesmen, though, are not politicians. They are above all that. Their concern is only for their country-”

“Your father? Demerdash?” said Owen incredulously.

“And the Khedive. What is wanted is a return to the old order, the old ways of doing things, the way it was before the British got here and the Nationalists started uprising, before all the rot set in.”

“And your father believes all that?”

“Of course not. But-he’s a politician, or was a politician, and, once a politician always a politician. You’re always awaiting, if not exactly expecting, the call. Who knows? It could come again. And if it does, he doesn’t want to be left out.”

“So he listens to Demerdash?”

“Let’s say he’s more concerned about my morals than you might think.”

“But, damn it, he’s hardly in a position himself-”

“It’s one thing for men, another for women. And how can he appear a pillar of the old virtues if his daughter-?”

“Old virtues?” said Owen. “Old virtues?”

Selim’s bulk filled the doorway.

“Effendi-”

“Oh, it’s you. Come in. You wanted to see me, I gather?”

“Yes, effendi. It’s, well, it’s a private matter. I–I wish to ask a favour.”

“Ask away.”

“Effendi, one of my wives has just had a baby.”

“Oh, congratulations! Very pleased to hear it. Not-that wouldn’t be Aisha, of course.”

“No, effendi.”

“Leila, was it? But I thought-?”

“No, no, effendi, not Leila either. Fatima.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard about her.”

“Well, no, effendi, with the baby coming, you understand-”

“Quite so. Not so central in your life.”

“Exactly, effendi!” Selim beamed. “But now the baby’s come-”

“Well, very pleased to hear it. Pass on my congratulations, will you?”

“I will indeed, effendi. Effendi, I was wondering-”

“Yes?”

“Well, it was Aisha who put it in my head. She said: ‘The Effendi has shown you favour. Ask him if he will extend it to the child.’ ”

“Well, of course-”

“If you could come to the seventh day naming, that would be a great honour.”

“A pleasure.”

“Abdul will bring you to my house, effendi. It will only be a small affair, since the child is a girl-”

“A girl? Oh dear! Well, better luck next time.”

“This is the third time. All girls. If she doesn’t do better with the fourth,” said Selim darkly, “she’ll have to go.”

“Oh, well, yes. Perhaps you’d better give it a break before trying again?”

“Aisha says we should consult the Aalima. I don’t believe in these things myself, especially after all that nonsense about casting out a devil. All the same, it might be worth trying. It’s a woman’s thing, unfortunately, so you’ve got to go along with them.”

“Hmm, yes, well-”

It transpired that McPhee had also been invited. This was normal, as McPhee was Selim’s direct boss-Owen borrowed constables when he needed them-and it was the practice in the Bab-el-Khalk for superiors to be invited to family festivities. Owen had been to many weddings and several circumcisions but never to a suboah, or seventh day naming.

“A most interesting occasion,” said McPhee happily. “Pre-Muslim and even pre-Christian, I would say. Some resemblance to the Eleusinian rites. Definitely Greek influence. The strewing of flowers-Demeter? Persephone, perhaps? Anyway, definitely Greek.”