Michael Pearce - The Bride Box

‘She was older,’ said Owen, ‘and there was always going to be trouble between you two.’

‘That is so,’ the woman agreed. ‘Nevertheless, I would not have dealt with her harshly if she had not been so difficult.’

‘We were afraid that Leila would grow up like her,’ said Mustapha. ‘So we thought it best to get rid of them both. The others are more amenable.’

‘Being younger,’ his wife explained. ‘I would not have you think that I am always a bad mother. I would have brought them up to be dutiful.’

‘A man must have a peaceful home,’ said Mustapha. ‘He cannot do with discord in the family.’

‘Always trouble,’ said his wife. ‘Always. There was always trouble with that girl.’

‘Soraya?’ said Owen.

‘Soraya, yes. So it was a blessing when she was noticed.’

‘By the slave trader?’

‘No, no, not by the slaver. She was noticed first, and then Abdulla was asked to see what he could do.’

‘Who was this person who first noticed her?’

‘I do not know.’

‘You do not know?’

‘I know only that Abdulla came on his behalf.’

‘Without telling you the man’s name?’ said Owen incredulously.

‘He said it didn’t matter.’

‘So you knew it was not a question of marriage?’

‘Be careful, Mustapha!’ counselled the wife, from beside the wall.

‘I hoped it would become a question of marriage,’ said Mustapha, turning to her. ‘She is a beautiful girl. Was it not likely that someone should ask after her?’

‘Asking after her is one thing,’ said Owen. ‘This is another.’

‘It could have led to a proposal. That is what I hoped.’

‘You hoped, even though you knew it was a slaver who asked?’ said Owen sceptically.

‘I hoped, yes!’ said Mustapha defensively. ‘There is nothing wrong with hoping, is there, and was it not likely that when the asker had seen her more closely, he would wish it to be? That is what I reasoned. And so I bade her take her bride box with her.’

They set off early, when the sun was poking up above the horizon, huge and blood-red, like an enormous orange. It shot up with what seemed to Mahmoud, who was not one for sunrises, incredible speed. The redness on the sand disappeared and was replaced by a soothing grey, which soon become less soothing — indeed, so bright and glaring that it hurt the eyes. The morning, which had been pleasantly cool, warmed up. The heat began to press down on his shoulders. Soon after, the first drops of sweat started to fall on the patient neck of the donkey, and at about the same time he began to discover new muscles in his thighs and new sources of pain.

After a while, he realized that the sand had given way to cultivated fields of durra. The green was more soothing on the eye. But then the durra grew taller and he was soon riding through great banks of it, which trapped the heat and attracted the insects. They came in swarms and lay black on the neck of the donkey, on the thighs of his trousers and on his arms. He had to keep brushing them from his face. It was sheer misery. As he had known it would be!

He told himself it was only for a short time, that he would arrest the men and then get back to Cairo. And never, never leave Cairo again! Much less return to Upper Egypt.

The clerk urged his donkey up alongside Mahmoud.

‘Effendi, they will kill me!’

‘No, they won’t.

‘They will see my face and know me.’

‘Cover your face, then.’

‘They will still know me,’ said the clerk despondently.

‘I will find a way that you can see and not be seen.’

Happier, but not happy, the clerk fell back.

Ahead of him, through the sand, he saw a large white house.

He stopped and told the clerk to stay out of sight. Then he went on. There was a bell-rope by the door. He pulled. After some minutes a man came to the door.

‘The Pasha? He’s not here.’

‘Very well, then. Take me to the one in charge.’

The servant slipped away and sometime later another man appeared. He looked at Mahmoud suspiciously and disdainfully.

‘The Pasha is not at home.’

‘No? That is a pity, for there are questions I have to put to him.’

‘You will have to put them in Cairo, then.’

Mahmoud was irked. This was no way to receive a stranger. And most unusual.

‘Perhaps you can help me.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Mahmoud, tired after his long ride, boiled over. ‘This is the Parquet. I come on the Khedive’s business. Summon all the servants!’

The man hesitated. ‘The Pasha …’

‘I am here in the Pasha’s interest. I have spoken with the Pasha.’

‘They are in the fields …’

‘Fetch them from the fields, then.’

‘It will take some time.’

‘I will wait. But I do not propose to wait long. If they are not here shortly I will put you in the caracol.’

The man flinched. ‘They will be here,’ he said.

‘In the yard. I want them in the yard.’

‘In the yard,’ repeated the man.

He did not offer to take Mahmoud into the house and Mahmoud was annoyed about this, too. It was rank discourtesy.

After some time a man came and took his donkey. Mahmoud followed him round the side of the house into a large yard where there was a drinking trough. The donkey bent to it greedily.

Another servant, an older man, came out of the house bringing a jug of lemonade.

‘It is a hot day, Effendi,’ he said. ‘Take some refreshment.’

‘Thank you,’ said Mahmoud. ‘I had begun to think that manners had been forgotten in the south.’

‘Don’t bother about him,’ the man said, jerking his head after his departed superior. ‘He’s always like that. Is it true you wish to speak to the men?’

Mahmoud nodded.

‘They won’t be sorry if it means that they can finish earlier. What was it that you wished to see them about?’

Mahmoud considered; then, thinking there was nothing to be lost, said: ‘It concerns a bride box.’

‘A bride box!’

‘One that was put on the train.’

‘Effendi, I think you must be mistaken. There are no bride boxes here. Nor are there likely to be.’ He stopped short, as if he had been about to say something he shouldn’t. ‘There are no young girls here of the right age,’ he said. But that was not, Mahmoud was sure, what he had been going to say. ‘Why a bride box, Effendi?’ he asked.

‘One that was put on the train. And sent to the Pasha.’

‘Ah. Now I understand. But, Effendi, you are still mistaken. No bride box has been sent from here. I would have known if there had been.’

‘The men who put it on the train said they were from here.’

The servant shook his head. ‘Effendi, I still find that hard to understand. Men do not come and go from here just as they wish. It means a day out of the fields and Ismail would not let that happen.’

‘Ismail is the man in charge?’

‘You have seen what he is like.’

‘Nevertheless, that is what the men said. They even gave the Pasha’s name, Ali Maher.’

‘Ali Maher is certainly the Pasha here. But why, Effendi, would he be sending a box to himself? In Cairo?’

‘That is what I am trying to find out.’

‘Perhaps he intends to get married again? And his eye has alighted on some girl? But if that is so, I do not know of it. And surely I would …’

‘There are questions to be asked,’ said Mahmoud.

‘Evidently,’ said the servant, still shaking his head.

Men began to assemble in the yard. Mahmoud went for a walk around the outhouses. There were quite a few of them. The estate was obviously a large one.

In one of the buildings stood some carts, used for bringing in the durra. One had a half-awning which covered most of the cart. It would do.