Michael Pearce - The Bride Box

‘Was money given?’

‘A little, Effendi, a little. But more was promised. And, besides, Effendi …’

‘Yes?’

‘The slaver spoke of it as a done thing. I thought of it as a done thing. And so I asked him if I should send the bride box with her, and when he laughed and said, “Why not?” I believed it to be certain.’

He shook his head.

‘I still cannot believe it, Effendi. Why should he kill her? As he himself said, she was a beautiful girl who would surely fetch a good bride price. So why kill her, Effendi? That is what I cannot understand.’

‘Tell me more about the slaver, Abdulla Sardawi. Where does he come from?’

‘Suakin.’

‘Suakin? The Dead City? Is that likely?’

‘Not many live there, Effendi, but he does.’

‘So that he may more easily slip his slaves across the sea?’

‘So they say, Effendi.’

‘I hope you are telling me truly. If so it may go some way towards reducing the punishment that awaits you. But if not, expect the punishment to be heavier.’

‘I have told you truly, Effendi. I tell you not because of the punishment. Let it fall upon me; I have deserved it. I tell it for Soraya. I tell it for the daughter who was once mine.’

Owen went back to the railway station. Mahmoud and the clerk were not yet back and the clerk’s brother was still standing as substitute.

‘Babikr …’

‘Effendi?’

‘Can you send a cable?’

‘I can, Effendi. I am a master of all the arts.’

‘Good. Well, send this one, then. It is to the Sudan.’

‘There will be no difficulty, Effendi. It will go straight to Khartoum.’

‘I wish it to go to the Slavery Bureau.’

The clerk’s brother handed him a pad. ‘Write your message there, Effendi, and I will send it at once. Within the moment.’

Owen took the pad and wrote:

Request assistance. Slaver active in Upper Egypt area. Believed based in Suakin. Possibly returning there with child slaves. Name Sardawi, Abdulla Sardawi.

The Mamur Zapt.

A long line of camels had just come in and were unloading their bales beside the rail tracks. The stacks of gum arabic had suddenly grown, and in the town itself there were more people. Many of them were from the desert and they wandered around the shops, not buying but looking at the wares. The space behind the station was filling up. After depositing their loads the camels had moved on to the square and were tearing at the forage thrown down on the ground for them to eat. Beside them sat their drivers, sometimes around a brazier, drinking tea. They were a different kind of Arab from the ones seen in the town, thin, wiry, with short galabeyas showing knees burned almost black by the sun. Some of them had great masses of fuzzy hair. These were Kipling’s ‘Fuzzy-Wuzzies’ and they came from the other side of the Sudan, near the coast, from the Red Sea Hills. They often had short stabbing spears. One or two merchants were already setting up stalls in anticipation of the caravan’s arrival.

Seeing the shoppers reminded Owen that he would be returning to Cairo the next day — he had already spent far too long away from his desk — and he ought to take something back for Zeinab. And also for Leila. He mustn’t forget about her!

But what? He had never bought for a child before and had no idea of what to buy. A toy of some kind? But they didn’t seem to have toys in the shops here. In Cairo it would have been no problem, but here …

Clothes? He would do a lot better in Cairo, where he would be able to draw on other people’s expertise. Zeinab, perhaps, was not the world’s expert on anything for children, but Georgiades’s Rosa was sure to have a sharp eye for these things. Nikos, of course, would be a dead loss.

And then there was the question of size. He knew roughly what size Leila was but not in the way a woman would. Better steer clear of clothes.

Slippers, say. There were some nice little embroidered ones in the shops here. She would like those. But again there was the question of size. He had an uneasy feeling that the ones here would be too small for Leila. He rather thought her feet were quite big in relation to her general size. Maybe feet grew first? Again he was venturing into areas new to him. If the slippers wouldn’t fit, they would be useless. Better steer clear of footwear.

But what then? Material? One or two of the shops had what seemed to him quite attractive lengths of material. But he could hear Zeinab dismissing them scathingly over his shoulder. They might do for Musa’s wife, he thought, but for Leila?

He was going to buy a carved wooden bracelet for Zeinab, something made locally and with a curiosity value. Would that do for Leila as well?

He was passing a carpenter’s shop. It was just an empty space with a few planks leaning against the walls. There was no counter. In the other shops, as in the less sophisticated parts of Cairo, there would have been a counter, with a shopkeeper sitting on it. There was one like that nearby, the one where they sold materials. But the carpenter’s shop was not like that.

He could see the carpenter working away in the back of the shop. He looked up and came across to Owen. ‘Does the Effendi desire anything?’

‘Advice,’ said Owen. He explained the situation.

‘What I would give my grandchildren,’ said the carpenter, ‘is something I had made. A spoon, perhaps? Like this.’

He produced some long, finely carved spoons.

‘That looks pretty good!’ said Owen, relieved.

‘Or this. To keep things in. Children always like something like this.’ He produced a little box.

Why not? It was small, about six inches long, made of nice wood. Sandalwood? It was smooth, pleasant to touch and agreeably smelling.

‘I’ll take it.’

‘Wait! Wait! Some paper, Selim. Go to Ali’s and ask him for some nice paper to wrap a present in, a present for a little girl.’

A boy at the back of the shop rushed out. There seemed something familiar about him. Selim?

‘Is that the Selim who came with me to the old temple? And found the things from Soraya’s bride box?’

‘Yes, it is. I don’t like to think of that, Effendi. Soraya was a sweet girl. I made her bride box for her. To think of the use it was put to! Oh, Effendi, there are wicked men in the world!’

He shook his head.

‘But you’re right, Effendi, it was Selim who found the things.’ He looked around furtively, but Selim was not yet back. ‘Between you and me, Effendi, there was something between Selim and Soraya. He has not been the same boy since. I try to keep him busy but you can tell his heart’s not in it.’

The boy returned and began to wrap up the box.

‘This is for Leila,’ said Owen quietly. ‘I will tell her that you wrapped the box.’

Mahmoud was getting ready to leave. By the time he and the clerk got back to Denderah it would have long been dark, but there was no point in staying here. He had done what he could. He had hoped that, with the clerk’s aid, he would have been able to wrap the whole thing up. They would have identified the men who had put Soraya in the bride box. They would probably be the men who had killed her but even if they weren’t, it could have opened the whole thing up. The end would have been in sight and so would have been his return to Cairo. Cairo, and his family. Mahmoud was missing his children. He had never been away from them for so long before.

But it hadn’t worked out like that. There had been no identifications. He was no further on than when he had started. Although perhaps he was. Not as far on as he had hoped, but at least he had been given a lead.

He called the clerk to him and told him to let it be known that Mahmoud would like to know when Suleiman returned. And there would be money in it. The clerk was to drop this in casually. Mahmoud had not been able to speak to Suleiman while he was here. As they knew, Suleiman had gone off on an errand for the lady, so Mahmoud had missed him. But he still wanted to talk to everyone, to make sure that he had spoken to all the lady’s servants. All, without exception. He wanted to be sure that he hadn’t missed anything. And so he would be grateful if he could be told when Suleiman had got back. And, as the clerk had said, there would be money in it.