Michael Pearce - A dead man in Tangier

‘A pastis, I think. With plenty of cold water. One for you, too?’

They sat down at a little table in the corner and sipped their drinks. Seymour had been going to go for beer but this was a less heavy alternative.

‘So how are you getting on with your particular chasse?’ asked Meunier.

‘Less exciting than the pig-sticking,’ said Seymour, ‘and proceeding more slowly.’

‘A lot of bother,’ said Meunier, ‘and to what purpose? People come and go, often quite quickly out here. Does it make a lot of difference in the end? Of course, as a doctor, I’m biased. I see too much of it.’

‘Do you treat the military casualties, too?’

‘Not in the field. They have their own doctors. But back here in Tangier. Usually for venereal diseases.’

‘I should think that’s likely to be a long job. Maybe like my job?’

‘At least we both get paid for the work we do,’ said Meunier.

They drank to that.

‘Tell me,’ said Seymour, putting down his glass, ‘are you a pig-sticker yourself?’

‘I was once,’ said Meunier, ‘but gave it up while the going was still manageable. Before I got too old. Unlike that old idiot, Ricard.’

‘A veteran of the cause, is he?’

‘You could say that. Rides every meet. And, actually, he’s not too bad. Or, at least, he wasn’t in his time. Now, of course, he’s rather slower. But that’s partly because Suzanne will only let him ride on a sensible old horse, which keeps him out of trouble. Fortunately it also keeps him out of the way of everyone else. “It’s not you I’m bothered about, Ricard,” I say. “It’s everyone else.” But, he says, they’d be all right if only he had a better horse! “Don’t, for God’s sake, let him get one,” I say to Suzanne. Just been saying it, in fact.’

‘You know,’ said Seymour, ‘I’ve been wondering about that. About the way the hunt goes. From what I could see, it spreads out a lot.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘The better riders push on, the weaker drop behind.’

‘Inevitably.’

‘And, presumably, the same ones are always lagging behind?’

‘I don’t think they mind that too much. People like Leblanc and Digoin are just there for the ride. And there’s nothing wrong with that. You get the benefit of the exercise, enjoy the air, the desert, sand, if you like that sort of thing.’

‘So you find the same people taking up the rear each time? People like Digoin and Leblanc — oh, and, presumably Monsieur Ricard, too?’

‘Yes. The same old stragglers. I won’t mind confessing, though, that it’s with a certain sense of relief that I see them come in each time. But they do!’

Seymour went to call on Macfarlane. He arrived just as Sheikh Musa was coming out of the Consul’s office.

‘I’m sorry, Musa,’ Macfarlane was saying, ‘but there’s not much that I can do.’

‘But there is; you’re Chairman of the committee, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, but this doesn’t come within the committee’s brief.’

‘Then why are you authorizing it?’

‘We’re not authorizing it. We’re just sketching out the kind of arrangements that the Tangier zone will need to put in place for this to happen.’

Musa snorted.

‘That’s just legalistic quibbling!’ he said. ‘You know that once the committee has indicated the nature of the arrangements that will be likely, everyone will be shovelling things that way: money, guns, everything that is making Moulay stronger.’

‘Look, I don’t like it any more than you do. The man is just a bandit. But there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘He’s getting stronger all the time.’

‘Yes, I know. But he’s outside the projected zone and therefore nothing to do with me or the committee. He doesn’t exist as far as we are concerned.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! If you go ahead with these “arrangements”-’

‘Possibility of. We’re just sketching out the possibilities, that’s all.’

‘-you’ll have to make them with somebody. And that will be him.’

‘We’re not making arrangements with anybody. That comes later.’

‘Building a railway line?’

‘Making it possible to build a railway line. Once the zone has been declared. There will need to be a railway line, Musa, connecting Tangier with the south. All my committee is doing, Musa, is outlining the legal powers the Tangier council would need to be given for it to be able to conclude arrangements for such a railway to be built.’

‘And make Moulay even stronger!’

‘I agreed with you, Musa, it probably would. But that’s not my concern. I have to look at things narrowly from the point of view of Tangier.’

‘Who’s looking at it from the point of view of Morocco?’

Macfarlane was silent. Then he shook his head.

‘I’m sorry, Musa,’ he said. ‘These things go ahead.’

‘The French, I suppose,’ said Musa, answering his own question. ‘The French!’

He saw Seymour and nodded to him. Then he turned back to Macfarlane.

‘Do you know what I think?’ he said. ‘I think the French will do a deal with Moulay. I think they’ll bring him back and make him Sultan in place of that other. Well, that might be no bad thing. The other has been useless. He has already given Morocco away. Moulay could hardly do worse. But you see what that would do? It would cement French control. And then there would be no more Morocco!’

He shook his head.

‘And no one is doing anything about it!’ he said.

He gave Macfarlane a quick embrace and stalked out.

As he went, he nearly collided with Seymour.

‘Ah, the Bossu man!’ he said. ‘Bossu! At least that was a step in the right direction!’

‘Grand old boy!’ said Macfarlane, looking after him. ‘The trouble is, he can’t accept that Morocco is changing.’

‘He seems to me to have a pretty shrewd idea of what’s going on.’

‘Oh, he has that. But he can’t accept — well, he can’t accept that now it’s inevitable. The French have taken over.’

‘And there won’t be a place for the likes of Sheikh Musa?’

‘There would be a place for him. Lambert would be only too willing. But Musa’s heart is with the older order, with the Parasol, you might say. And that has gone for good.’

He led Seymour into his office. There were the usual small teacups on the low table and a beautiful old teapot. Macfarlane lifted the lid and peered inside.

‘Still some,’ he said. ‘Like some?’

The sharp smell of mint drifted into the room.

He poured some out for Seymour and filled his own cup.

‘Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?’

‘Three men,’ said Seymour. ‘Digoin, Leblanc and Ricard.’

‘I know them, certainly,’ said Macfarlane. ‘But…’

He look puzzled.

‘I’d like to talk to them.’

‘Well, that can be arranged. But — laddie, are you sure you’re not barking up the wrong tree?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘Because I know all three of them and the idea that they could have had anything to do with — which is, I take it, what you want to see them for… Look, Digoin is a danger on a horse, that is true. Especially with a lance in his hand. But that is because he is so short-sighted. He might stick anybody. Or anything. The idea that he might-’

‘No, I wasn’t thinking that.’

‘And Leblanc is — well, he’s one of the sweetest blokes around. He’s a chemist, an apothecary, as they say here. Lovely chap. But wouldn’t hurt a soul. Finds it hard to hurt even a pig. In fact, never hurts a pig. Never hurts anyone. Just rides along for the fun of it. And usually behind everyone so that there’s no chance of being anywhere near at a kill.’