Michael Pearce - The Bride Box

‘Well, no, it wouldn’t be.’

‘It contained the body of a young girl.’

The woman’s hand flew up to her throat.

‘A young girl?’

‘Whom I think you know,’ Mahmoud added.

‘What do you want?’ asked the Pasha’s lady.

‘I want to talk to your servants.’

‘Why?’

‘Because servants from the estate brought the bride box to the railway station at Denderah and put it on the train.’

‘I do not think you can be right,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘It is a long way from here to Denderah on foot. Especially carrying a box.’

‘Perhaps a cart?’

‘You don’t know what you’re saying. A cart? How do you think I could spare a cart? This is a small estate. Our carts are in use.’

‘It wouldn’t take long to get there and back. It could be done in an afternoon.’

‘And who by? Do you think I can spare servants as easily as that?’

‘Nevertheless, I would like to talk to them.’

‘All of them?’

‘All those who work in the fields.’

‘They are in the fields now.’

‘Call them in. As you said, this is a small estate. It would not take long.’

The Pasha’s lady laughed. ‘You do not know our fellahin ,’ she said. ‘Let them lift their heads and they won’t put them down again! Not today, they won’t!’

‘I would not ask it if it were not important.’

‘Have you tried the main house?’

‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘I need to try yours.’

The lady laughed again. ‘Got nowhere, did you?’

‘I talked to the men.’

The lady raised her eyebrows. ‘Ismail let you?’

‘He had them come in, and I talked to them.’

‘Well, that is a surprise!’

‘As I said, it is a matter of importance.’

She stood for a moment, undecided.

‘I shall not keep them long,’ said Mahmoud.

‘It is the interruption,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘The afternoon will go to pieces.’

‘I would not ask it if it were not important,’ he said again.

‘I do not see how it could be our people,’ said the lady, wavering. ‘My Osman makes sure they keep their heads down. As does Ismail. That is what they are there for. Would you like to talk to Osman first?’

‘It needs to be all.’

She hesitated, and then made up her mind.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will tell him to bring them in. But you must allow two hours.’

‘Two hours!’

‘Yes, Osman has to get there, and they are not all together. They are scattered over different fields. And then they all have to get back here.’

‘Very well,’ said Mahmoud, submitting to the inevitable.

The lady swept out.

‘Would you like to see my guns?’ asked the Pasha’s son, at a loss for conversation.

‘Guns?’

‘I have a collection of them.’

‘Well, yes, I would, please. And, may I ask, what is your name?’

‘Karim. And you are Mahmoud?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I will show you.’

He led Mahmoud along a corridor and then into a small room with racks for rifles. Dozens of them.

‘These are all yours?’

‘Yes. They are my collection.’

There was an old, toothless man in the room. He grinned at them and gave a half-bow.

‘Ali looks after them. He oils them and that sort of thing. You have to look after them because the sand gets in them and then it is dangerous.’

They were sporting guns, the sort of guns you would find in an English gun room. There were even some fowling pieces. Mahmoud was not an expert on guns but was impressed.

When they left, Ali locked the door.

‘You can’t be too careful,’ said Karim. ‘Not with guns.’

They went back to the mandar’ah , the reception room.

‘Where have you been?’ asked the Pasha’s lady.

‘I have been showing Mr el Zaki my guns, Mother.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, shrugging.

‘Your son has a fine collection, my lady,’ said Mahmoud.

‘There is not a lot else in his life,’ the Pasha’s lady said.

She sat down on the dais and indicated that Mahmoud was to sit there too.

‘So,’ she said, ‘tell me about this bride box. And this young girl.’

‘She had worked here, I understand. Her name was Soraya.’

‘Soraya!’ said Karim.

‘She did indeed work here. For a short while. Then I found her unsatisfactory and dismissed her.’

‘But then you took her back?’

‘Well, I was sorry for her. Perhaps I had been too hasty. And there were connections, you see, between my family and hers. Her mother came from my part of the world. Not Egypt. The Sudan. And when her mother died, I thought she would be lonely. Well, I was lonely, too. I wanted to hear my own people’s speech again. Somebody told me about her and I thought, why should she not come to me and we can talk together? Her father — that awful old man — was willing. Indeed, eager. He thought he might make something out of it. And she … I think she was glad to get away from him. But it didn’t work out. She was uncouth. I know I said there were connections between my family and hers but they were very remote connections. My family was rich, hers was poor. And her manners were … unsuitable. Her mother, her proper mother that is, had tried, but with that awful old man around I don’t suppose she had much of a chance. Anyway, she proved unsuitable, so I sent her home.’

‘But then brought her back?’

‘A mistake. I shouldn’t have done.’

‘And then you sent her away again?’

‘Yes. And I don’t know what happened to her after that.’

‘Did she not bring her bride box with her the second time?’

The Pasha’s lady hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘she did. I don’t know what she thought she was doing. I made her put it in one of the barns. And I suppose she took it with her when she left. And goodness knows how she happened to finish up inside.’

Karim plucked her arm. ‘I don’t understand, Mother. Soraya’s box? And she was put inside?’

‘I will explain it to you later.’

‘But ought she not to be let out of the box?’

‘She is no longer there. I will explain it to you.’

‘But, Mother …’

‘Go now. Go to your room.’

‘But …’

‘Now!’

Karim left the room obediently.

‘He is simple,’ said Karim’s mother, after he had left. ‘You will have seen that.’

‘Yes. It is sad. I feel for you. He is a nice boy.’

‘Yes,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘He is.’

‘And he speaks well. He speaks English well.’

‘The words are there but not the sense. We did not realize at first. We sent him to a good school. A good English school. His father had hopes. “The English are masters now,” he said. “Let him be brought up as an Englishman. Then he, too, will be one of the masters.” But it was not to be. It soon became apparent that he was not … as the other boys were. At first we thought it was because he had difficulty with the different language. But then we saw that it was not. He had the words. The words came easily. But not the sense. After a while we saw that the sense was not there.

‘We brought him home, here. His father did not wish anyone to see him. He was ashamed. He blamed me. “What have you brought into the family?” he said. “There are two sides to a family,” I said. “Perhaps the fault is on your side.” “There has never been a monster on my side,” he said. “The boy is not a monster,” I said. “He is a good boy.”

‘“But he will never be a good man,” he said. And it was true. As he grew up it became apparent that something was missing. We kept him here. His father did not want anyone to know that his son was not as other boys were. He turned his face from him, and from me also. “Take him away,” he said. “Take him into another house.” “If I take him, I will go with him,” I said. “Go, then,” he said. “For I do not wish to set eyes on him. Nor on you, either, who have brought this thing into the family.” “God has brought him,” I said. “And he has brought him as a punishment for your misdeeds.” For I knew that my husband had not led a good life before he married me.