Michael Pearce - Death of an Effendi

‘Well,’ said the Minister unhappily.

‘Well,’ said the Adviser.

‘Mamur Zapt?’

Owen hesitated. It was sometimes difficult serving two masters: the Khedive, to whom in theory he was responsible, and the British, who had put him there.

‘Ordinarily,’ he said, ‘I would side with Prince Fuad. However, I think that in this case we have to remember that the eyes of the world may be upon us. This was the death of someone who was being invited in to invest in Egypt’s prosperity, and if we seem to be taking it too lightly, other investors may be deterred.’

‘I do think the Mamur Zapt has a point there!’ declared the aide-de-camp.

‘So do I!’ said the Adviser.

‘I’m afraid so,’ murmured the Minister.

‘Well,’ said Prince Fuad crossly, seeing that he was outgunned, ‘what are we going to do about it, then? Couldn’t you tell your people merely to go through the motions?’ he asked the Minister. ‘I mean, that’s what they usually do, don’t they?’

The Minister murmured something about the officer in question being particularly zealous.

‘Would you like me to speak to him?’ demanded Prince Fuad.

‘No!’ said the Minister, who knew Mahmoud and knew that if Prince Fuad spoke to him in his usual way, he was likely to speak back.

‘I agree,’ said the aide-de-camp quickly. ‘The less the Khedive’s office is seen to have to do with this, the better!’

‘There’s something in that,’ conceded Prince Fuad. ‘However, we are still left with the question of what we’re going to do. We can’t just leave the Parquet to run wild on a thing like this.’

‘Nor should we,’ said the aide-de-camp. ‘I have a suggestion. This is the death not just of an effendi but of a foreign effendi. Given the circumstances, it is likely that if a case comes to court, it will fall under the Capitulations.’ The Capitulations were a system of privileges granted to foreign powers which, among other things, gave their citizens the right to be tried under their own national courts. ‘Would it not be wiser if a representative of the Capitulatory Powers was associated with the case from the start?’

‘That would certainly please the Russians,’ said the Adviser.

‘It would have to be someone we could trust,’ said Prince Fuad.

‘Quite so; and for that reason I was thinking of someone in the service of the Khedive who would also be acceptable to the Powers: the Mamur Zapt.’

‘You’ve landed me in it,’ said Owen accusingly, as he walked away from the meeting with the aide-de-camp.

‘You were already landed,’ said the aide-de-camp, Paul, whom he had hitherto considered his friend.

‘You do not usually join me in my investigations,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Why this one?’

‘An important person, I suppose.’

‘And yet they seemed prepared to let the whole matter drop.’

‘I think they would have let it drop if you hadn’t started asking questions.’

‘But is not an important person an important person whether I ask questions or not?’

‘I think the important thing may be that he was foreign.’

‘But that is wrong. The law is the same whether a man is foreign or not.’

‘Quite.’

‘Or should be.’

‘Exactly so.’

They were waiting on the platform of the Gare Centrale. On learning that Owen was going to join him in his inquiries, Mahmoud, scrupulous as ever, had sent him a note saying that he was going down to the Fayoum to see the spot where the incident had occurred and inviting him to accompany him.

‘What was it in the report that made you ask questions?’ asked Owen.

Mahmoud looked slightly ashamed.

‘I was angry,’ he admitted. ‘It was such a slack piece of work. An accident, yes, but even with an accident there are details that should be included. The death of a visitor to our country, a guest, you could say – one needs to be satisfied. All the more when it is a shooting. An accident, maybe, but even when the shooting is accidental, someone is responsible. The Mudir made no effort to find out who had fired the gun. That is deplorable. He should have called in the guns at least—’

‘I did suggest that.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes. They didn’t feel it was necessary.’

‘Who didn’t feel it was necessary?’

‘Prince Fuad. The Russian Consul.’

‘What is it to do with them?’

‘Strictly speaking, nothing, I suppose. However, if you’re a humble Mudir—’

‘I know, I know.’ Mahmoud frowned. ‘But it is wrong all the same,’ he burst out excitedly – dereliction of duty always excited him. ‘A Mudir should have pride, he should have a sense of his responsibilities, he should—’

Mahmoud stopped and shook his head.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘He is only a Mudir after all. And in the provinces the older relationships still—’

He stopped again.

‘But that is what is wrong! It is what is wrong with the country, too. There is still the old deference to the Khedive, to the Pashas. It gets in the way of doing things properly. And until we start doing things properly, what hope has the country of advancing? All right, he is only a Mudir, but—’

‘Even if he had called the guns in,’ said Owen placidly, ‘all that it probably would have shown us was that it was one of the financiers. And I don’t think they were very anxious to show that.’

‘But that, too, is wrong. You cannot have the law applying to some people and not others. We would have treated him fairly. We understand about accidents. Why cannot they trust us?’ said Mahmoud bitterly.

‘They do trust you,’ said Owen quickly. ‘Of course they trust you!’ It could come out of the blue, this touching of the Egyptian nerve.

‘Even from their point of view it is a mistake. It makes you ask questions. It made me ask questions. When the Mudir couldn’t answer them I went round to the Russian Consulate, because Tvardovsky was, after all, one of their nationals, but they – well, it wasn’t as if they weren’t interested, rather that they suddenly closed down. They wouldn’t tell me anything. And then I went to the Khedive’s office – the Khedive was the host, after all – and got the same response from them. They wouldn’t even give me a list of who was there. And so I thought: why won’t they? Is it that they have something to hide?’

They arrived at the hotel in late mid morning. It was beginning to get very hot and people were already returning from excursions along the bank of the lake. The hotel, which had been emptied of its guests to accommodate the Khedive’s party was full again with its normal clientele: Greek and Levantine businessmen escaping the heat of the city with their families, old hands of the Administration who had done all the sights and were looking for something green, somewhere, perhaps, that would remind them of England, a few foreign tourists complete with Kodaks.

They went at once down to the lake. The foreshore was now lined with boats. Fishermen were shovelling their catch into wickerwork baskets. Every so often one of them would lift a basket on to his shoulder, step over the side of the boat and splash ashore. Gulls would swoop down even as he was carrying and snap at the fish. The baskets were taken to an outbuilding of the hotel, where the fish were emptied out on to the floor. Through the open door Owen could see the grey-and-silvery pile growing and growing.

The heaps of fish inside the boats were diminishing rapidly. From time to time one of the fish would give a squirm and a jump and then fall back again. Some of the fishermen had turned to coiling their ropes and spreading their nets out on the ground to dry.

Mahmoud went across and began to talk to some of them. They pointed along the bank to where the shoot had taken place. The reeds were thick at this point, about six feet high and spreading out in a little headland. The shoot had taken place just off the headland. Around the other side, where ducks crowded in such numbers as to make the water white.