Michael Pearce - The Donkey-Vous

“So the names might be real.”

“They’d have to be real.”

“Couldn’t you hire under someone else’s name?”

“You’d run the risk of the person being asked, “I’m Mustapha, I’m a friend of Ali.” Well, they might ask Ali, and he’d say, ‘Which Mustapha?’ and that way they’d check. The whole business is very personal.”

“Of course, if Ali genuinely was a friend, they might get him to borrow it for them.”

“Yes.”

“Have you checked for that possibility?”

“Look,” said Nikos, exasperated, “it takes time to do all this checking. I’m only bringing you my first findings. There’s a lot more work to do. I’m coming to you before I’m really ready because you told me it was urgent and I thought you’d like to know.”

“I would. You’re quite right. It is urgent,” said Owen soothingly: and then, tentatively: “Was there anything particular you thought I’d like to know?”

“One of the names on the list is a name you’ll recognize.”

“Yes?”

“Daouad.”

“Daouad?”

“One of the names on the list is a name you ought to recognize,” Nikos amended.

“Who the hell is Daouad?”

“One of the donkey-boys,” said Nikos. “Remember?”

“Greetings to you, Daouad,” said Owen.

“And to you, greetings,” the donkey-boy returned politely, making to get up.

Owen motioned him down and dropped into a squat beside him.

“Greetings and congratulations,” he said.

“Thank you. But why the congratulations?”

“Are you not now a married man?”

“No,” said Daouad, looking surprised.

“Your friends spoke of you as one about to be married. And was it not to be to Ali’s sister?”

“And yes, but that hasn’t happened yet. In fact, it may never happen.”

“The dowry may not be big enough for someone like you, Daouad?”

“That is it,” said Daouad modestly, but with a faint touch of pride. “The girl herself is pleasing, but the family, alas, is poor.”

“Whereas you are rich, Daouad.”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” said Daouad, flushing, however, with pleasure.

“Or going to be.”

“So I hope.”

“Soon?”

Daouad looked startled.

“I shouldn’t think so,” he said.

“What you say surprises me, Daouad,” said Owen, settling more comfortably on his heels.

“I am expanding,” said Daouad. “I have an extra donkey in mind. But-”

“I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of your wedding. Are you not already a married man?”

“No, no. Fatima will be the First. If I marry her.”

“That is odd. I thought you had already married. Was not the wedding last week?”

“No, no. What makes you think that?”

“Did you not order the bridal palanquin?”

Daouad froze.

“That was for my sister.”

“I did not know you had a sister.”

“She is a distant sister. I mean,” said Daouad hastily, “that she lives at a distance. In a village.”

“That is strange. For the palanquin was ordered here in the city.”

“On second thoughts,” said Daouad unhappily, “it was not for a sister. It was for a friend.”

“The name of your friend?”

“Alas,” said Daouad, “I have sworn to keep it a secret.”

“It was a very private wedding, I expect.”

“It was indeed,” Daouad agreed.

“You went to it yourself, of course?”

“Of course.”

“Was it a big wedding?”

“Not very big.”

“Just a few friends?”

“That is correct.”

“To carry the mirrors and act as jesters? Not many minstrels, I expect.”

“No,” said Daouad unhappily. “There weren’t many minstrels.”

“They cost money, don’t they? Even for one as rich as yourself, Daouad, they cost money. Fortunately, Daouad, you are a man with friends. I expect that helped, didn’t it?”

“It did.”

“Just a few friends. Were your friends here among them?” The other donkey-boys were playing their stick game in a patch of shadow further along the terrace. Owen waved a hand in greeting. They waved back.

“Why!” said Owen. “There are your friends! Shall we go and sit with them?”

The donkey-boys looked up beaming as he approached. “Hello!” they said. “You haven’t been to see us for a long time. We feel neglected!”

“I don’t think you’ll need to feel that any more. How are you, anyway?”

“Oh, we’re fine,” they assured him.

“Business prospering?”

“You could say that.”

“Time passes and Allah blesses the fortunate. Here is Daouad, for instance, now a married man.”

“Married?”

“Weren’t you telling me that he was to be married? You made a joke of it.”

“Ah yes, but-”

“It is not till later that Daouad gets married.”

“Oh, of course. I was forgetting. It was the wedding that confused me.”

“Wedding?”

“Well, let us say wedding procession. You must have seen it. It passed right by here. Right by the foot of the steps.” There was a stunned silence.

“I don’t remember it,” said one of the brighter donkey-boys, pulling himself together.

“Don’t you? I thought you carried one of the mirrors?” The donkey-boy looked shaken.

“No,” he said, “that was someone else.”

“Ah! You were one of the jesters, perhaps!” Owen turned to Daouad. “What good friends you have, Daouad! I expect they all rallied around to help you. But who did you leave with the donkeys? Oh, of course, I was forgetting. You wouldn’t have had to have left them for long. Once the camels were moving again, most of you could have come straight back.” One of the donkey-boys began to get to his feet hurriedly but stopped when he saw the constable behind him.

“Do not be in such a hurry to leave us. It is good to sit here and talk. More pleasant than to sit where you will shortly be sitting.”

“It is the end,” said one of the donkey-boys bitterly. Owen nodded.

“Yes,” he said, “it is the end. For you.”

“How did you find out?”

The donkey-boys looked at Daouad.

“It wasn’t me!” he said.

“Nor was it,” said Owen. He quite liked Daouad.

The smallest donkey-boy began to whimper.

“He will take us to the caracol,” he whispered to the boy next to him. “My father will beat me.”

“That will be the least of thy worries.”

“There must be punishment,” said Owen, “But the punishment need not fall equally on everybody.”

“Let him go, then,” said Daouad, “for he but followed us.”

“I might,” said Owen, “for you are big and he is small. But it would depend on several things. First, are those you took still alive?”

“Yes.”

“Have they been harmed?”

“The Englishman is well,” said one of the boys. “I saw him this morning.”

“Good. I would need them to be returned to me. Second, I would need to know the names of all involved.”

“We were not many.”

“Then it should be easy for you to tell me then.”

“You know them.”

“But I would like to hear them. In fact,” said Owen, “you had better tell me the whole story. Begin at the beginning. With the Englishman on the terrace.”

“But that is not the beginning,” one of the donkey-boys objected.

“There are several tales you have to tell. The Englishman on the terrace is the beginning of one of them.”

Owen was not going to have another strawberry-seller/ flower-seller kind of tale.

“Begin with the Englishman on the terrace,” he said firmly. “He was up there and you were down here. And then he came down. Why did he come down?”