Michael Pearce - The Donkey-Vous

He did not remain the sole male guest for very long. First, a tall, thin, mournful-looking Egyptian arrived, the editor of the Palace “organ” and a fount of useful information which Owen meant to tap later; then two expensively dressed, rather languid Turks, who were, Samira told him, close to the Khedive. Next came a stiff young man from the French Embassy, new to these gatherings, who bent low over Samira’s hand. Samira, mischievously, introduced Owen as a great friend of France; then, as the young man began to express his very great pleasure, added: “ Le Mamur Zapt.”

The young man’s words froze in mid-flow. Samira burst out laughing and then, repenting, eased his retreat.

“But, really, my friend, it is not so funny at all,” she said, “ le pauvre Moulin! Why do you have to be so hard? Cannot you just let him go?”

“I’m not the one who’s holding him,” said Owen.

“Ah yes, but without you they would soon reach an accommodation.”

“I would be most happy for them to reach an accommodation.”

“You would? Then why…” She stopped to look in his face. “ Tu es serieux, cheri? ”

“ Absolument. ”

“Well, then, perhaps it will all work out. But you know, my dear, you do have an inhibitory effect on things. Perhaps you should go away for a few days. Take Zeinab. Go to Luxor and see the temples. Haidar has a house there. I would ask him to let you borrow it. It’s a very nice house. There are orange trees and lemon trees. You would enjoy it.”

“I am sure I would.”

“No, think about it!” She linked her arm through his and patted his hand. “Seriously!”

He promised he would. She looked at him sceptically. “You won’t, though, will you? Why so determined, my friend? Moulin is nothing to you.”

“I would be only too glad to see him restored to the bosom of his family. Or to the bosom of Madame Chevenement, which, I understand, is more appealing.”

The Princess laughed.

“ La Chevenement! ” she said with a grimace.

“I understood she was a friend of yours.”

“The friend of a friend, let us say.”

“May I ask the identity of the friend?”

The Princess withdrew her arm.

“No,” she said, “you may not.”

It was the middle of the afternoon and the Street of the Camel was unusually quiet. Most of the residents of the hotel were taking their siestas and Shepheard’s famous terrace was empty. The normally importunate street-vendors had retreated into the shade. Even the donkey-boys had been driven reluctantly back along the terrace into the shadow cast by a slender potted palm.

On the other side of the steps the arabeah-drivers dozed in the shade of their vehicles or lay stretched out on the ground beneath them. Their horses drooped in the heat. Owen and Georgiades walked along the rank to where three men were sitting together idly casting dice in the dust. They looked up as Owen and Georgiades approached.

“Hello!” they said. “We’ve been expecting you.” Georgiades dropped into a squat beside them.

“My friend,” he said, indicating Owen.

“We know you,” they said to Owen. “You’re the Mamur Zapt, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“We’re surprised you haven’t been along to see us before. Everyone else has.”

“Because everyone else has,” said Owen, “I have not.”

“Are you getting anywhere?” they asked. “You don’t seem to be.”

“I know some things now that I didn’t know before.”

“We do too. And one of them is how much a thing like this mucks up business.”

“You’re not going to run it all through again, are you?” asked one of the drivers. “The way you did it the other day? I can tell you that really did set us back. We were blocked in for hours. Couldn’t go, couldn’t get back. It cost us real money, that did.”

“Sorry!”

“It wasn’t us,” said Georgiades. “It was the Parquet.”

“That young chap in the smart suit? He came along and talked to us. He’s quite sharp.”

“He must make a lot of money,” said another of the men. “Look at that suit.”

“They all do. Mind you, he works hard. No siestas for him!”

“That’s the difference between him and us. I like a siesta.”

“It’s not the only difference,” the other driver insisted stubbornly.

“He’s cleverer than we are.”

“He’s got pull,” the stubborn one said. “They all have. That’s how they get these jobs in the first place.”

“Ah well, the British are different.”

“Not very.”

They all laughed.

“Ah well, it’s the way of the world.”

“That old man, the one that’s disappeared, he must have pull,” said one of the drivers.

“Why?”

“The Parquet’s here, you’re here. The Bimbashi was here the other day.”

“I don’t know how much pull he’s got,” said Owen. “That’s one of the things I’m trying to find out.”

“And so you come to us.”

“So I come to you.”

“Well, we can’t help you much. We’ve hardly had anything to do with him. He’s never used us much. He doesn’t get around.”

“It’s his friends we’re interested in.”

“Yes.” The driver looked at Georgiades. “That’s what your friend said this morning.”

“Tell my friend what you told me.”

“About that young one? The one with the bulging eyes? Very well, if you want. He’s a bit of a sly one, that one. You’d think he never did anything. But he slips out from time to time, at night especially. And comes back late.”

“You’d think he was after the ladies of the night,” said another of the drivers. “But he’s not like that, really.”

“He prefers the houses.”

“We know about Anton’s,” said Georgiades. “Which other houses does he go to?”

The men mentioned several.

“But Anton’s is his favorite. He goes there regularly. Not just when they’re playing, either.”

“Not just when they’re playing? Are you sure?”

“That’s right,” another of the drivers confirmed. “I took him there once myself. That was in the afternoon, about this sort of time, and they certainly weren’t playing then.”

“Did he go to see someone?”

The man shrugged his shoulders. “He just went inside.”

“Did anyone come out with him?”

“I didn’t see. Anton, perhaps.”

“How often does he go? When they’re not playing, I mean?”

The drivers consulted.

“Not often. Two, three times perhaps.”

“What about the woman?” asked Georgiades.

The arabeah-drivers immediately sat up.

“Ah, now you’re talking!”

“She gets around?”

“She certainly does! Andalaft’s, Cohen’s, Haroun’s: she’s got money and knows how to use it!”

“Apart from shopping, though?”

“She’s got friends. The Princess Samira, the Prince Haidar-”

“She’s got bigger friends than that, though.”

“Oh? Who?”

“That would be telling.”

“We don’t really know,” said another of the drivers.

“We don’t know,” said the third, “because when she goes to visit them she doesn’t use us.”

“Then how-”

“They send a carriage. Especially for her.”

“To the hotel?”

“Yes. We don’t like it, of course, but we know when to keep our mouths shut.”

“And did this carriage often pick her up?”

“Two or three times a week.”

“And return her?”

“Yes. A couple of hours later. Long enough.”

“If you hurry,” said another of the drivers.

“Perhaps she’s eager.”

The drivers fell about laughing.

“Anyway, maybe it’s not that,” said the first driver. “What else would it be?”