Michael Pearce - The Bride Box

More than that he could not do. At least for the moment. It wasn’t much but it was something. He might still be able to extract something from his visit to the Pasha’s estate. To both the houses. That at least he had learned.

At the last moment, as he was setting out for Denderah, the lady appeared. Give it another hour, she said. It would be cooler then. The sun’s heat would have gone from the ground, and it would be much nicer for travelling. True, it would be dark, but she would send someone with him to show him the way. Mahmoud accepted the offer gratefully. He could still feel the day’s heat in the air, and both he and certainly the clerk had just about had enough of it.

A servant brought him lemonade in the mandar’ah . Karim looked in once or twice, friendly but at a loss for conversation. He offered to show Mahmoud his guns, having apparently forgotten that he had already done so. Mahmoud politely declined.

The lady herself did not appear.

A servant came and said that Salah was now waiting. Mahmoud went out into the yard, where the donkeys were standing docilely. Salah was a short, stocky man who presumably worked in the lady’s fields. At the last moment Karim came out to say farewell. He said he would walk with them a little of the way.

As they went past the barns Mahmoud saw that activity of some sort was going on. The doors, which he had previously seen locked, were now open and men were bringing out heavy boxes. In the torch light something glistened.

‘It’s the guns,’ said Karim.

‘From your collection?’

‘No, no; these are the ones we’ve been storing for Hafiz.’

Mahmoud could count six boxes. There might be more inside the barn. ‘That’s a lot of guns,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Karim casually.

They moved on past.

‘Yakub will be sending someone to collect them tomorrow,’ said Karim. ‘Sometimes he brings a gun for me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, a present. Mother says it’s a way of saying thank you. I hope he gives me one of these. They’re a new model. It’s the sights, mostly — they’ve improved them. And certainly that would be a help with the small birds.’

They came to the edge of the out buildings.

‘Well, I must turn back,’ said Karim. He held out his hand. ‘Nice to have met you, Mr el Zaki.’

‘A pleasure to meet both you and your mother,’ returned Mahmoud. ‘Give her my thanks for her hospitality, will you?’

‘I will,’ promised Karim.

The night was soft and warm. Once they had got away from the house it seemed pitch dark but gradually their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the track ahead was easily visible. It threaded its way through the thorn bushes. The donkeys padded softly along.

Mahmoud drew alongside Salah. ‘What is all this about the guns?’ he asked.

‘The Pasha’s lady keeps them in her barn until the great caravan comes,’ he said. ‘Then they send someone over to pick them up.’

‘And take them on to Denderah?’

‘That is right, yes.’

‘They don’t come with the caravan?’

‘They came with a smaller caravan earlier,’ said Salah. ‘Then they are left here.’

‘Who brings them?’

‘Yakub.’

‘In another caravan?’

‘In another caravan, yes. Yakub has camels of his own, which he hires out.’

‘Someone hires him to bring the guns?’

‘That’s right, yes.’

He didn’t seem disposed to say more. Perhaps he didn’t know more.

Gradually it became lighter, and Mahmoud realized that the moon had risen. It shone a silvery light on everything. It was almost as bright as day.

The night now was still warm but the heat was gentle. Mahmoud realized that the lady had been right. It was a much better time to travel.

Mahmoud was thinking about the guns. Although they were not particularly his concern on this occasion, they were of concern to anyone responsible for law and order in Egypt. Owen, he knew, would be interested. The governor kept a close watch on the illicit movement of guns. And this ‘movement’ was surely illicit. He would remember the names and pass them on to Owen. Yakub — it might come in useful.

The soft padding of the donkey’s feet and the slow, regular movement was quite soporific. He felt himself nodding off, and jerked himself awake.

The clerk, he saw, had bent so far forward over the donkey’s neck that he looked in danger of falling off. He was almost certainly asleep. Mahmoud wondered whether to wake him but decided not to. It would pass the night more quickly for him and, on the whole, it looked as if he was not going to actually fall.

Just as Mahmoud thought that, the clerk did fall, but forward over the donkey’s neck. He gave a start and raised himself. When Mahmoud looked again he was inclining forward once more.

Mahmoud himself must have dozed off because when he next took stock of his surroundings, the moonlight had become a drabber grey. He fancied he could see touches of dawn in the sky. He suddenly realized that he was very stiff and more than a little sore. This was the longest ride he had had on a donkey for many years, if ever. And he hoped it would be as long again before he had another one!

The next time he looked up he saw palm trees and buildings. He made out the black water tank of the railway station. Camels. People. Far more camels and people than when he had left, surely?

Owen found the omda hoeing a piece of land at the end of the town. He looked up when he saw Owen and wiped his forehead.

‘Effendi!’ he said, pleased to stop.

‘A question,’ said Owen, ‘about Soraya’s bride box. It was, we all agree, sent after her. But where to? It is said that it was sent to the Pasha’s lady’s house, and that she was angered when she saw it arriving. But I have just been speaking with Mustapha, and Mustapha says that it was the slaver who came for Soraya. And that when Mustapha asked him if he should send the bride box with her, the slaver laughed and said: “Why not?” The slaver said he knew of someone who had his eye on Soraya, and Mustapha understood that Soraya was going to him. And so he sent the bride box. But what happened then? Because the next thing we hear is that Soraya is again with the Pasha’s lady. And so is her bride box. Does this man exist? And if not, why should the slaver say he did? And how comes it that then Soraya and the bride box go to the Pasha’s lady’s house?’

The omda scratched his head. ‘I know not,’ he said.

‘The men who came for Soraya’s box — were they the slaver’s men? Or the Pasha’s lady’s men?’

‘The slaver’s men, surely.’

‘And yet the box turned up in the lady’s house. Did Soraya know that it was going to the lady’s house, or did she think it was going to a man the slaver knew of?’

‘I do not think she thought she was going back to the lady’s house. She thought, and Mustapha thought, that she was going to a man the slaver was acting for. “Leave it to me,” he said, “and I will arrange all.” We all thought that she was going to her marriage. The slaver spoke so. And she herself believed it, so when Mustapha spoke to her about it, she said she would not go to him unless she thought him worthy. And Mustapha was angered and wanted to beat her, but we restrained him.’

‘And yet she finished up at the Pasha’s lady’s house?’

‘It seems so.’

‘I find that hard to understand.’

‘It must be a trick. Men such as the slaver are full of tricks.’

Mahmoud had ridden into Denderah just before dawn. He had discharged the lady’s guide, the station clerk, and the donkeys and then snatched some sleep for himself. Only a little, for there were things to do. But he was good at waking himself up and midway through the morning he went to find Owen. He met him just coming back from talking to the omda. They walked back together to the station, where the stacks of gum arabic were growing all the time, and then out behind the station to what had been, when Mahmoud left, a vast, empty square but which was now brimming with people and camels and donkeys. Some stalls had been set up selling tea and Owen and Mahmoud ordered some from one of them. The man brought it to them sitting on the ground.