Michael Pearce - The Donkey-Vous

“It may be that we have done wrong,” said one of the other donkey-boys.

“You have done wrong. However,” said Owen, as a thought struck him, “it may be that you can a little undo the evil you have done. Let us return to the kidnapping of the Frenchman. Tell me what you saw. There was the Frenchman on the terrace-”

“We did not see him on the terrace. We were watching the wedding.”

“But then suddenly there he was on the bottom of the steps, and we were surprised, for he does not usually come down the steps-”

“And then we were even more surprised, for the jesters gathered round him and one put a cloak over him and two bundled him into the palanquin-”

“And then the camels rose and went away-”

“And we were left marvelling.”

“This cannot be true,” said Owen. “Are you telling me that all this happened without you knowing that it was going to happen? That no one approached you beforehand and said ‘Here is money. It will be yours if you do not see what happens when the old Frenchman comes down the steps’?”

“One approached us and offered us money. But he said nothing about the Frenchman.”

“He merely said, ‘Tomorrow when the effendi are at their tea a wedding will come to the steps. When that wedding comes, turn your eyes the other way.’ ”

“And he gave you money?”

“He showed us money and a cudgel. He said, ‘Which of these do you choose?’ We said, ‘Money.’ He said, ‘So be it. Here is money now. You will get the rest tomorrow. But if you do not avert your eyes or if you tell anyone about it after, you will feel the cudgel.’ And he told us about Hamid.”

“Hamid?”

“Hamid was found a week ago. He had been beaten until he was nearly dead. The one who spoke to us said that as it had been with Hamid, so it would be with us if we did not do as we had agreed.”

“However, you did not do as you had agreed, for when the wedding came you did look.”

“It was a good wedding.”

“Besides, we wanted to see.”

“As long as we did not tell anyone, we knew it would not matter.”

“But now you have told someone. You have told me and that is wise, for it may be that I shall put in a word for you when you come before the judge.”

“That would be kind of you.”

“But that depends on how much you are prepared to help me.”

“We will help you all we can,” they assured him.

“Good. First, the man who spoke to you: would you know him again?”

“We would.”

“And is he known to you already?”

“We have not seen him before.”

“You do not know his name, or where he comes from?”

“Alas, no.”

“He speaks like a villager,” someone said.

“A villager from near at hand? Or far away?”

The donkey-boys consulted.

“We think he comes from the other bank of the river,” they said.

“Good.”

Owen would have them taken-singly-to the villages across the river at nightfall when the men returned to their houses. It was a long shot but there was always the chance that the man might be identified.

“Next, the men in the procession: were these men known to you?”

“They wore masks.”

“What about the driver? Did he wear a mask?”

Again they consulted.

“We do not think he wore a mask. However, we did not really see him.”

“We saw the camels, though,” one of the boys said.

“And would you remember the camels?” Owen asked, not very hopefully.

“Oh yes.” The boy was quite definite. “The front one was a fine camel. Besides, I have seen it before.”

“Where did you see it before?”

“I saw it at the Market of the Afternoon. And then I saw it again at the Mosque of El Hakim.”

It was quite possible. The donkey-boys took a professional interest in livestock, and camels, like donkeys, were all individuals to them.

“Could you take me to where you saw it?”

“I could.”

“Good. Then you will do so. Next, the palanquin: have you seen that before?”

“One palanquin looks very like another,” they said doubtfully.

“Was it a hired palanquin or a private one?”

“Oh, a private one.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Oh yes, quite sure.”

“What makes you sure?”

The donkey-boys put their heads together.

“We do not know what makes us sure but we are sure.”

“Perhaps it is the ornament,” said one of the boys.

Owen was inclined to take their word. Not that it helped. To track down a private palanquin in the vast city was asking the impossible.

“Very well, then. Here is another question: what made the Frenchman come down the steps? You told me yourselves earlier that he was hardly strong enough to fall down them.”

“Ah yes, but when a man has the itch!”

“What itch is this?”

“The one between the legs.”

“The old man had an itch between the legs?”

“It never goes,” they assured him. “Wait till you are an old man and then you will see.”

“My uncle-” began one of the boys.

“Even if the old man had an itch,” Owen cut in hastily, “why did that make him come down the steps? Surely he was not going to the Wagh el Birket?”

That struck all the boys as funny and it was some time before they could contain their merriment.

“No, no. He was coming down to see Farkas.”

“You know Farkas? The postcard-seller?”

“I know Farkas.”

Several things slipped into place.

“Farkas had some cards for him?”

“Farkas always has cards. It was just that the old man wanted to see them.”

“The old man sent a message to Farkas. He sent one to speak with him. To tell him to come to the foot of the steps. Did you see who took the message?”

“No.”

“A dragoman?”

“I do not know who that would be,” said Daouad. “It could have been any of them.”

“Osman?”

“Osman, certainly.”

“Abdul Hafiz?”

“I do not think it would have been Abdul Hafiz.”

“Why not?”

“He is a Wahabbi.”

“He is very strict.”

“He does not like the cards. He thinks they are the Devil’s images.”

“He thinks Farkas is a son of Shaitan.”

“Where is Farkas?” asked Owen.

They looked around.

“He is not here.”

“He has not been here for several days,” said one of them.

“I know that,” said Owen, “and I would like to find him.”

Daouad hesitated and looked at the other donkey-boys.

“We know where he might be,” he said.

“Find him for me,” said Owen, “and I shall not forget it.”

But first they had to find Colthorpe Hartley. Daouad and Yussuf took Owen across the street and along the Wagh el Birket. There was a little alleyway between two of the houses. At the far end, in the shadows, was a small door which reached up only to Owen’s waist.

Daouad stooped and beat his fist upon it. When there was no response he hammered again. A bolt on the other side of the door was half eased back.

“Who is there?” said a voice.

“Daouad.”

Once the bolt was pulled fully back the door opened slightly. Whoever it was took a good look at Daouad and then, reassured, lifted the door open.

Daouad bent down and went through, Owen followed him. He did not like stooping in this way. It placed him at a disadvantage. He was glad when he stood up on the other side and nothing had happened.

Although it was dark inside there was light at the far end of the room or corridor. They went toward it. A door was pushed open. They walked through into a bare room, in one corner of which there was a tattered mattress on which someone had been lying.

The man who had opened the door to them peered up blindly at Owen. His eyes were red and, like many Egyptians, he was obviously suffering from ophthalmia. He was old and short and fat and when he spoke Owen realized that he was a eunuch. “Who is your friend, Daouad? He is not one of us.”