Michael Pearce - The Bride Box

‘One thing I do like,’ said Georgiades, ‘is a good aubergine! With onions, of course. They’re good for you, did you know that?’

‘Of course they’re good for you!’ said the cook. ‘They keep headaches off.’

‘I find they’re good for my back,’ said one of the customers.

There was some discussion about this.

‘You need onions if you’re a porter,’ said the Greek.

‘You do,’ various people assented.

‘Talking of porters,’ said the Greek, ‘is Abdul here, by any chance?’

A man raised his hand. He had a great strap round his shoulders to assist carrying.

‘You look a big, fine fellow,’ said the Greek.

The porter grinned. ‘What is it this time?’ he said. ‘A piano?’

‘I’ll bet you could manage it.’

‘I could.’

He meant single-handed.

‘I’ll be back for you!’ said Georgiades.

In fact, someone else called for Abdul, and off he went.

Later in the afternoon, however, he returned. The Greek had eaten a lot of aubergines by that time and had gone away. But he was standing at the edge of the little square, from where he could keep an eye on the pavement restaurant, and when Abdul reappeared, he went up to him and suggested a beer. Strictly speaking, as a good Muslim, he shouldn’t touch alcohol, but, as he said, in his job you needed a lot of liquid, so he went off with Georgiades around the corner.

‘I could have a job for you,’ said the Greek. ‘It’s a big one, and there’s big money in it. For a good porter. A reliable man who knows how to keep his mouth shut.’

‘Big money, did you say?’

The Greek nodded.

‘I’m not a fussy man,’ said Abdul.

‘It might mean working at night.’

‘One of those, is it?’

‘Well, you know how it is. These rich men don’t want their right hand to know what their left is doing!’

‘I can keep my mouth shut.’

‘That’s important.’

‘Carpets, is it?’

‘Heavier.’

‘No problem.’

‘The thing is, my boss insists that his porters have got to be absolutely reliable.’

‘He can rely on me,’ said Abdul.

‘He likes recommended people. Your name was mentioned to me by someone who manages a warehouse near here. Nassir, his name was …’

‘I know Nassir.’

‘You’ve done jobs for him before, I gather?’

‘I have.’

‘He says he might be needing you in the next few days. I wouldn’t want to clash with him. I mean, he’d done me a favour by putting me on to you. So just tell me, will you, when his job comes up? And I’ll see we keep clear of it. I’ll be around here for a while, so I’ll be sticking my head in at the eats place and you can tell me there.’

Owen and Mahmoud were walking across the midan when they ran into Karim. Mahmoud introduced them. ‘This is my friend, Captain Owen,’ he said.

‘Hello!’ said Karim. ‘Pleased to meet you. Are you really a captain?’

‘Well, I was,’ said Owen. ‘But not now.’

‘Have you given it up?’

‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve given it up. Some time ago, actually.’

‘Does that mean you were a soldier?’

‘Yes. In India.’

‘India,’ said Karim uncertainly. ‘Where is that? Is it near Cairo?’

‘A long way away from Cairo, actually. It’s over the sea. You’d have to go on a ship.’

‘I’ve never been on a ship,’ said Karim. ‘But I’ve been in a boat. On the river.’

‘It’s like that,’ said Owen. ‘Only the sea is much, much bigger.’

‘I would like to go on the sea.’

‘Perhaps one day you will.’

Karim contemplated the prospect. But then the distance in time and space was too much for him. He lost interest. His attention was caught by the parcel Owen was carrying. ‘What is that parcel?’ he asked.

‘It is a present,’ said Owen. ‘A present for a little girl.’

‘Can I see it?’

Owen unwrapped it.

‘I know what it is,’ said Karim. ‘It’s a box.’ He took it from Owen and fondled it. ‘It is a nice box,’ he said. ‘All smooth.’ He stroked it, thinking. ‘I know what it is!’ he said suddenly. ‘It is a box like Soraya had. Only smaller, much smaller.’

‘It is a plaything only,’ said Owen.

Karim nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘for a child. But it is like Soraya’s box. Only smaller. She showed me her box once, you know. She opened it and let me look in. There were all sorts of nice things in it. Things she had made. There was a little …’

He stopped, and frowned.

‘A little thing,’ he said. ‘I don’t know its name. It was a little patch of cloth. Only about this wide.’ He indicated with his hands. ‘And soft, very soft. She let me feel it. She said she would make me one. I wanted her to make me one.’ He imitated putting it to his face. ‘So soft,’ he said. ‘So soft. Like Soraya.’

‘Like Soraya?’

‘Soft,’ said Karim, ‘so soft.’

‘You touched her?’

‘She let me touch her. She let me hold her hand. It was very nice. And when she touched me — she touched my face — her hand was so soft. So gentle! No one had ever touched me like that before. I said that. I told her that. And … and she cried! I don’t know why she cried! Do you know why she cried?’

‘I can guess,’ said Owen.

‘It was a little square,’ Karim said. ‘She had sewn it herself. There were little beads on it. They were made of glass and they sparkled in the sun. It was lovely. I asked her to make me one, and she said she would. I wonder what has happened to it. They have taken all her things away, you know. When she left. With the box.’

‘Did you see her go?’

‘No. It happened one night. After I had gone to bed. She left, and she took her box with her. And that little thing — I don’t know what you call it — must have been inside. And I don’t think she ever made one for me. Or perhaps she did? And it’s lying around somewhere. I’ll ask my mother if she’s seen it.’

‘Pity me, Mahmoud!’

It was his old friend from student days.

‘Willingly; but why should I pity you, Idris?’

‘I told you a lie yesterday, Mahmoud.’

‘One of many, I am sure; but which one specifically?’

‘I told you I was a trader in trocchee shells.’

‘And are you not?’

‘Oh, I am. But also I am not.’

‘But that is not a lie, Idris. That is merely a half-truth.’

‘Put it another way, Mahmoud: I have not one job, but two.’

‘But, Idris, this is astonishing. Two jobs! And are both of them paid? You must be on your way to riches!’

‘I should be so lucky! I am barely paid enough for one.’

‘It will build up, Idris, I am sure.’

‘But slowly. And the trouble is, Mahmoud, that there is no gain without pain.’

‘You have to work for it?’

‘Worse. A consignment has just arrived. And when it arrives, it has to be split.’

‘That is not an insurmountable problem, Idris.’

‘And I have to split it.’

‘It is still not insurmountable, Idris. Challenging, possibly, but not impossible.’

‘One part has to go to Cairo. The other to the Sudan.’

‘Difficult, but not-’

‘And I have to go with it.’

‘To the Sudan?’

‘If it was to Cairo, there would be no problem.’

‘Still …’

‘The Sudan, Mahmoud, the Sudan! Where giant scorpions lie in waiting. And lizards as large as crocodiles. And flies , Mahmoud, flies in abundance!’

‘But are you not used to flies?’

‘Not flies like these. They are cannibal flies, Mahmoud. They consume you.’

‘Not flies, Idris, not flies!’

‘Mosquitoes, then. Truly malignant ones. The sort that give you malaria by a stab. And the sand, Mahmoud, and the heat. Where the water, if there is any, runs already hot from the taps! I shall die, Mahmoud, I shall die!’