Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the return of the Carpet

“Just Denshawai?”

Fakhri looked surprised.

“So far as I know,” he said.

“The reason why I ask,” said Owen, “is that he doesn’t seem to have been directly involved.”

“More directly than he likes to pretend now,” said Fakhri.

“OK. But surely a minor figure?”

“The civil servant responsible was only a minor figure and he was the first to be shot.”

“I always thought that was in the heat of the moment when the sentences were first announced,” said Owen. Then, after a pause: “You said ‘first’?”

“Yes,” said Fakhri, “I did.”

“You think there are more to come?”

“All Cairo,” said Fakhri, “thinks there are more to come.”

He glanced at his watch.

“I really must go,” he said, getting to his feet. “I have to see the first copy as it comes off the press.”

“I shall read it tomorrow with interest,” said Owen.

‘‘If I were you,” said Fakhri, “I would read tomorrow’s al Liwa also. I think you will find that full of interest, too.”

When Nikos arrived in the office the next morning he found Owen already there, finishing a memo. It read:

The Mamur Zapt has received unconfirmed reports of a disturbing increase in the number of thefts from military installations in recent months. These include thefts of guns, ammunition and other equipment which could be used for offensive purposes. Clearly there could be serious implications for civil security if these got into the wrong hands. Unfortunately, such thefts are treated purely as an internal matter by Military Security and not reported to the Mamur Zapt, with the result that he has been unable to investigate the possibility of links with known terrorist organizations or establish whether a pattern is emerging. No analysis has been made by Military Security. In view of the possible threat to civil order and the likelihood that senior civil and military personnel could be at risk, it is recommended that:

1. an independent investigation be carried out as a matter of urgency into current security at military installations.

2. the Mamur Zapt be informed within twenty-four hours whenever a theft of arms occurs and given a full account of the circumstances in which the theft occurred.

3. Military Security be instructed to supply the Mamur Zapt with a complete list of thefts which had occurred over the past year.

“What’s all this?” said Nikos, reading it through. “ ‘Unconfirmed Reports?’ Where did you get all this stuff from? It’s not come through the office.”

“No,” Owen agreed.

“Of course, you’ve a right to use alternative channels,” said Nikos huffily.

“I haven’t been using alternative channels,” said Owen. “I made it up.”

“You what?”

“Made it up. To fix that bastard, Brooker,” Owen explained.

“It isn’t true?”

“Now look what you’ve done!” said Georgiades, who had come into the room at the same time as Nikos. “You’ve shocked him! Poor, innocent soul!” he said to Nikos, resting a fatherly hand on him.

“Never mind my innocent soul!” snapped Nikos. “What the hell is going on?”

Nikos rarely swore.

“I’ve told you,” said Owen reasonably.

“You’re doing this just to get even with Brooker?”

Owen nodded. Since coming to Egypt he had discovered that he had something of a bent for administrative politics.

Nikos took a moment to gather himself together.

“All right, then,” he said, dumping the day’s newspapers on Owen’s desk.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” he said, as he went out.

“So this is how one gets to be Mamur Zapt!” said Georgiades. He shook his head, marvelling. “Ah, what a thing it is to lack scruple! I’ve often wondered what it is that’s been holding me back.”

He followed Nikos off down the corridor chuckling.

Owen turned his attention to the newspapers. Every morning when he got in he read them all: all the Arabic ones, all the French ones and all the English ones, that is. Georgiades read the Greek ones and Nikos the Coptic, Armenian and Italian ones. Owen’s legal adviser read the Turkish ones, which were especially important. Another experienced man read the Jewish ones.

Nikos also read the London Times, the Morning Post and the Illustrated London News, although Owen assured him they were of no help at all.

Owen read for “feel” only. The papers would be read again, more thoroughly, by the censors, who would pick up cases where action was unavoidable and alert him to anything he had missed. Owen himself seldom remembered detail. His concern was rather to take the political temperature of the city.

To do that meant taking several temperatures, not one. Cairo was a polyglot city of many communities. The bulk of its population, as elsewhere in Egypt, spoke Egyptian Arabic. But there were also sizeable communities of Greeks, Italians, French, Syrians, Armenians, English, Jews and Turks. The Turks had an importance out of proportion to their numbers because until recently they had supplied the ruling class and occupied most of the administrative and military positions. The language of administration, and certainly of the law, tended, however to be French, although English was taking over. French, too, was the language of upper-class Cairenes, reflecting their many links with French culture and society. Well-to-do Cairenes sent their children to French schools. Their wives looked naturally to Paris for their fashions. They themselves not only spoke French but thought French.

To move with ease in Cairo society you really needed a command of three languages: Arabic, French and English. The polished young men about the British Agent managed this without difficulty. Many of the other British administrations were fairly at home in Arabic at least. Only the Army, lacking both Arabic and French, was completely isolated linguistically; linguistically, and therefore socially.

Owen’s own Arabic was excellent, his French fair only, though a girl in Alexandria the previous year had improved it considerably.

He read over the Arabic papers, keeping an eye open especially for anything that would support what Fakhri had said the night before. He found nothing to suggest that Fakhri’s foreboding was generally, or even widely shared. However, that did not make him discount Fakhri’s words altogether. The Egyptian might well be reflecting faithfully the views of the part of upper-middle-class Cairene society with which he was familiar. Such people might well see themselves as potential targets for attack and he might well be registering accurately their apprehension. So long as such views were restricted to them Owen did not mind. What would concern him would be if they showed signs of spreading to other people. Put ideas in people’s heads, Garvin might have said, and there’s always a chance that they will act on them.

He read, therefore, Fakhri’s own paper with particular care. It was an intellectual weekly with a fairly limited circulation, and in itself hardly likely to stir a man’s adrenalin. However, it was well known. Other journalists and, indeed, other editors might well read it; and if they read it they might take things from it.

Like most Cairo editors, however, Fakhri knew exactly where to draw the line. In the present number he had drawn it with a finesse that earned Owen’s professional admiration. The connection between Nuri and the Denshawai Incident was made, but circumspectly and in the most general of terms. Even the account of the student demonstration, which occupied most of the front page, was handled in a way to which it was difficult to take exception. Legal exception, that was. Exception might well be taken on other grounds. The account itself was sharp to the point of viciousness and the editorial, which commented on it, provocative to the limits of admissibility. The writing did not, however, actually step over the line which divided it from the inflammatory and defamatory.