The Donkey-Vous

Chapter 12

" In fact,” said Daouad, “that was what gave us the idea in the first place.”

“When we saw how simple it was-” said Yussuf.

“And when as time went by you still did not catch them-”

“And we heard the size of the ransom-”

“And we thought of the donkeys that would buy-”

“We thought that Allah had decided to smile on us by placing the opportunity in our way-”

“Which if we did not seize would be clearly to go against his wishes-”

“Let’s get this straight,” said Owen. “You saw how the Frenchman was kidnapped-?”

“We did.”

“And then as time went by and nothing happened you thought you might as well try it too?”

“That is so.”

“Had you no thought of evil?” said Owen sternly.

“We thought only of the money,” Yussuf said sadly.

“It may be that we have done wrong,” said one of the other donkey-boys.

“You have done wrong. However,” said Owen, as a thought struck him, “it may be that you can a little undo the evil you have done. Let us return to the kidnapping of the Frenchman. Tell me what you saw. There was the Frenchman on the terrace-”

“We did not see him on the terrace. We were watching the wedding.”

“But then suddenly there he was on the bottom of the steps, and we were surprised, for he does not usually come down the steps-”

“And then we were even more surprised, for the jesters gathered round him and one put a cloak over him and two bundled him into the palanquin-”

“And then the camels rose and went away-”

“And we were left marvelling.”

“This cannot be true,” said Owen. “Are you telling me that all this happened without you knowing that it was going to happen? That no one approached you beforehand and said ‘Here is money. It will be yours if you do not see what happens when the old Frenchman comes down the steps’?”

“One approached us and offered us money. But he said nothing about the Frenchman.”

“He merely said, ‘Tomorrow when the effendi are at their tea a wedding will come to the steps. When that wedding comes, turn your eyes the other way.’ ”

“And he gave you money?”

“He showed us money and a cudgel. He said, ‘Which of these do you choose?’ We said, ‘Money.’ He said, ‘So be it. Here is money now. You will get the rest tomorrow. But if you do not avert your eyes or if you tell anyone about it after, you will feel the cudgel.’ And he told us about Hamid.”

“Hamid?”

“Hamid was found a week ago. He had been beaten until he was nearly dead. The one who spoke to us said that as it had been with Hamid, so it would be with us if we did not do as we had agreed.”

“However, you did not do as you had agreed, for when the wedding came you did look.”

“It was a good wedding.”

“Besides, we wanted to see.”

“As long as we did not tell anyone, we knew it would not matter.”

“But now you have told someone. You have told me and that is wise, for it may be that I shall put in a word for you when you come before the judge.”

“That would be kind of you.”

“But that depends on how much you are prepared to help me.”

“We will help you all we can,” they assured him.

“Good. First, the man who spoke to you: would you know him again?”

“We would.”

“And is he known to you already?”

“We have not seen him before.”

“You do not know his name, or where he comes from?”

“Alas, no.”

“He speaks like a villager,” someone said.

“A villager from near at hand? Or far away?”

The donkey-boys consulted.

“We think he comes from the other bank of the river,” they said.

“Good.”

Owen would have them taken-singly-to the villages across the river at nightfall when the men returned to their houses. It was a long shot but there was always the chance that the man might be identified.

“Next, the men in the procession: were these men known to you?”

“They wore masks.”

“What about the driver? Did he wear a mask?”

Again they consulted.

“We do not think he wore a mask. However, we did not really see him.”

“We saw the camels, though,” one of the boys said.

“And would you remember the camels?” Owen asked, not very hopefully.

“Oh yes.” The boy was quite definite. “The front one was a fine camel. Besides, I have seen it before.”

“Where did you see it before?”

“I saw it at the Market of the Afternoon. And then I saw it again at the Mosque of El Hakim.”

It was quite possible. The donkey-boys took a professional interest in livestock, and camels, like donkeys, were all individuals to them.

“Could you take me to where you saw it?”

“I could.”

“Good. Then you will do so. Next, the palanquin: have you seen that before?”

“One palanquin looks very like another,” they said doubtfully.

“Was it a hired palanquin or a private one?”

“Oh, a private one.”

“You are sure of that?”

“Oh yes, quite sure.”

“What makes you sure?”

The donkey-boys put their heads together.

“We do not know what makes us sure but we are sure.”

“Perhaps it is the ornament,” said one of the boys.

Owen was inclined to take their word. Not that it helped. To track down a private palanquin in the vast city was asking the impossible.

“Very well, then. Here is another question: what made the Frenchman come down the steps? You told me yourselves earlier that he was hardly strong enough to fall down them.”

“Ah yes, but when a man has the itch!”

“What itch is this?”

“The one between the legs.”

“The old man had an itch between the legs?”

“It never goes,” they assured him. “Wait till you are an old man and then you will see.”

“My uncle-” began one of the boys.

“Even if the old man had an itch,” Owen cut in hastily, “why did that make him come down the steps? Surely he was not going to the Wagh el Birket?”

That struck all the boys as funny and it was some time before they could contain their merriment.

“No, no. He was coming down to see Farkas.”

“You know Farkas? The postcard-seller?”

“I know Farkas.”

Several things slipped into place.

“Farkas had some cards for him?”

“Farkas always has cards. It was just that the old man wanted to see them.”

“The old man sent a message to Farkas. He sent one to speak with him. To tell him to come to the foot of the steps. Did you see who took the message?”

“No.”

“A dragoman?”

“I do not know who that would be,” said Daouad. “It could have been any of them.”

“Osman?”

“Osman, certainly.”

“Abdul Hafiz?”

“I do not think it would have been Abdul Hafiz.”

“Why not?”

“He is a Wahabbi.”

“He is very strict.”

“He does not like the cards. He thinks they are the Devil’s images.”

“He thinks Farkas is a son of Shaitan.”

“Where is Farkas?” asked Owen.

They looked around.

“He is not here.”

“He has not been here for several days,” said one of them.

“I know that,” said Owen, “and I would like to find him.”

Daouad hesitated and looked at the other donkey-boys.

“We know where he might be,” he said.

“Find him for me,” said Owen, “and I shall not forget it.”

But first they had to find Colthorpe Hartley. Daouad and Yussuf took Owen across the street and along the Wagh el Birket. There was a little alleyway between two of the houses. At the far end, in the shadows, was a small door which reached up only to Owen’s waist.

Daouad stooped and beat his fist upon it. When there was no response he hammered again. A bolt on the other side of the door was half eased back.

“Who is there?” said a voice.

“Daouad.”

Once the bolt was pulled fully back the door opened slightly. Whoever it was took a good look at Daouad and then, reassured, lifted the door open.

Daouad bent down and went through, Owen followed him. He did not like stooping in this way. It placed him at a disadvantage. He was glad when he stood up on the other side and nothing had happened.

Although it was dark inside there was light at the far end of the room or corridor. They went toward it. A door was pushed open. They walked through into a bare room, in one corner of which there was a tattered mattress on which someone had been lying.

The man who had opened the door to them peered up blindly at Owen. His eyes were red and, like many Egyptians, he was obviously suffering from ophthalmia. He was old and short and fat and when he spoke Owen realized that he was a eunuch. “Who is your friend, Daouad? He is not one of us.”

Daouad took no notice. He went straight across the room to an alcove, in which there was another door. He pulled back the bolts and beckoned Owen.

Colthorpe Hartley looked up.

“Good God!” he said. “You here?”

Owen sent Georgiades with one of the donkey-boys to see if he could find Farkas. They returned some time later holding the filthy-postcard-seller firmly between them.

“I haven’t done anything!” Farkas protested, even before he got through the door.

“I am sure you haven’t,” said Owen.

“No?” said Farkas, surprised and, probably, disbelieving.

“Nor would you wish to,” said Owen, “lest you might find yourself in the caracol or helping the men build the dam.”

“That is true!” Farkas assented fervently.

“So I know you will help me.”

“I will help all I can,” said Farkas cautiously.

“You certainly will. And, first, you will tell me why it was that the old Frenchman came down the steps from the terrace on the day he disappeared.”

“I do not know. Why should I know?”

“Because he came down to see you.”

“Why, so he did!” said Farkas, after a moment’s reconsideration.

“You showed him the cards.”

“He may indeed have looked at them.”

“And then he was seized. Who seized him, Farkas?”

“I do not know!”

“You were there. You saw. You must know.”

“I was there. But…but I did not see!”

“Come, Farkas, you are not telling the truth.”

“I swear it!”

“You are a forswearer, Farkas!” said the donkey-boy, clearly enjoying his role. “Everyone knows that.”

“It is the truth!” the postcard-seller protested. “I was there, yes, but I did not see. They pushed me aside. Anyway, they were all wearing masks.”

“But they weren’t wearing masks when they approached you and asked if you would help them.”

“It was one man only and I did not know him. He said he would beat me if I didn’t agree to help him. He was a bad man, effendi, and I knew he would keep his word.”

“Which is more than you would,” said the cooperative donkey-boy.

“Tell me what you were to do.”

“I was to go to the foot of the steps when I was told. The old man would come down the steps and then I would show him the cards.”

“And then?”

“Then I was to get out of the way. And tell no one.”

“You have told someone,” said the donkey-boy, carried away, “you have told us, Forswearer!”

“I would not have told,” protested the postcard-seller. “I tried not to. I ran away after you came the first time because I knew you would come again.”

“Farkas,” said Owen, “you said you were to go to the steps when you were told. You were told and you went. Who told you?”

Farkas moistened his lips.

“If it makes it any easier,” said Owen, “I may already know the answer. He came across the terrace, did he not, and spoke to you?”

“Abdul Hafiz,” whispered the postcard-seller.

“I had a feeling it was going to be him,” said Owen, “even before Colthorpe Hartley told me. While he was being held in that place in the Wagh el Birket he had a chance to do plenty of remembering and eventually he got there. He didn’t know Abdul Hafiz by name, of course. He remembered him as the serious one.”

“He saw him go across the terrace?”

“And speak to Farkas, yes.”

“Did he go straight to Farkas?” asked Georgiades.

“He went to Moulin first.”

“Yes,” said Georgiades, “that makes sense. I was wondering-”

“Presumably he told him something like that a new supply of cards had come in and would he like to see them?”

“How did he get on this sort of terms with Moulin in the first place? I mean, if I wanted someone to go on a dirty errand for me, Abdul Hafiz is not the man I would choose.”

“Abdul Hafiz dragomaned for Berthelot and Madame Chevenement. Moulin must have met him through them. When you first come to Egypt one dragoman looks pretty like another. Think of Colthorpe Hartley. It’s only later that you get to see the difference.”

“Abdul Hafiz went to Anton’s, of course. Carrying messages for Berthelot.”

“My guess is that they knew that the plan to build a big salon on the other side of the river was already beginning to seep out. Zawia might have already been tipped off by one of the Khedive’s entourage. When it began to break, Abdul Hafiz was the right man in the right place. And Moulin, the man behind it on the French side, became the obvious man to go for.”

“You think they were out to stop the Khedive?”

“And raise money. And hit at the Great Powers. Maybe at tourism, too. If you’re a Wahabbi you’re dead against all that kind of foreign contamination.”

“You reckon they’re all Wahabbi?”

“If one of them’s Wahabbi, the others are likely to be.”

“Not Senussi,” said Georgiades, as one reporting a fact.

“Not Senussi. That’ll disappoint the Army,” said Owen with satisfaction.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it any easier for us. There are a hell of a lot of Wahabbi in Cairo.”

“We’re not much further,” Owen conceded.

“Especially now that Abdul Hafiz has gone,” said Georgiades.

Someone must have been watching, for by the time that Owen had got downstairs again after taking Colthorpe Hartley back to his room, Abdul Hafiz had gone. It confirmed for Owen that someone had overheard Colthorpe Hartley’s groping attempts to identify the dragoman he had seen when he had been talking with Owen on the terrace, but this was no consolation.

“Abdul Hafiz was about all we had,” he said to Georgiades, “and now we haven’t even got that.”

He consulted the donkey-boys again but this time they were unable to help. They were more than willing-in fact, they were desperately eager to help-but the Wahabbi milieu was not really something they knew about. They were now locked up in the caracol, racking their brains to remember anything which might provide a clue to the dragoman’s present whereabouts.

One of them was not in the caracol. This was the boy who had claimed to recognize the camel. He was still at liberty, though accompanied everywhere he went by one of Owen’s agents. In the afternoons, he went to the Market of the Afternoon. The rest of his time he spent at the Mosque el Hakim, the two places where he thought he had previously seen the camel. If he saw the camel again he was to come back at once to Owen.

This was about all Owen could do, and he was worried. For he thought that Abdul Hafiz’s sudden flight might be a sign of panic. And when kidnappers panicked they usually killed their prisoners.

He was quite relieved when he got a phone call from Paul.

“Another Diplomatic Request,” said Paul. “The same as before. Stay away.”

“At the moment,” said Owen, “I am not aware that I am sufficiently near anything for anyone to think it worth-while asking me to stay away.”

“You are too modest. Now that the Mamur Zapt has smashed the Donkey-boy Mob, the Cairo underworld is all a-tremble. So think our Gallic colleagues, anyway. Besides, you have cocked it up for them before and they don’t want it to happen again.”

“Is it the same thing as before? They’re going to hand over the money?”

“In exchange for Moulin, yes.”

“What makes them think it’ll work any better this time than it did last time?”

“The fact that this time Zawia seem very keen to deal. They swear it will go ahead this time. Besides, the French are offering more money.”

“So what do you want me to do? I mean really want me to do?”

“Stay away, of course. Like I told you. It’s a Diplomatic Request, isn’t it?”

“But-”

“I am sure a sharp fellow like you has got it all worked out,” said Paul, and rang off.

“They’re preparing to pull out,” said Nikos.

“Zawia? Or the French?”

“The French pulled out a long time ago. Zawia.”

“When they’ve got the money.”

“Of course.”

“Presumably they won’t get their hands on the money until they’ve handed over Moulin. That means he’s still alive. Which is a relief.”

“ Are you going to stay away?”

“Yes, I bloody am. If the exchange goes ahead at least Moulin is free and out of the way. If it doesn’t go ahead they’ll probably kill him.”

“I would expect so,” said Nikos neutrally. Now that it was not Senussi but just another boring kidnapping, he had lost interest.

Further support for Nikos’s supposition that Zawia were pulling out came soon after from Georgiades.

“I’ve been talking to Madame Tsakatellis,” he said. “Which one? The older or the younger?”

“I steer clear of the older. No, the younger. I happened to hear that she was pawning everything she hadn’t got. Including the shop. So, naturally, when I ran into her I asked her about it. She says that Zawia have contacted her again. They made her an offer. Bring everything you’ve got, they said, and provided it’s big enough you can have your husband.”

“They didn’t name a price?”

“They named an ‘at least’ sort of price. More than she’s got, of course. So she’s having to raise it.”

“Still without telling the old lady?”

“So far. The point is,” said Georgiades, “that Zawia seem anxious to settle.”

“They’ll settle,” said Nikos, “and then get out.”

“There seems an urgency about this,” said Georgiades. “As with Moulin,” said Owen.

“Moulin?”

Owen told him.

“Are you going to stay away?” asked Georgiades.

“Yes. I’ve had a diplomatic request.”

“Besides which, you cocked it up last time.”

“ We cocked it up.”

“As I said. Of course,” said Georgiades, thinking, “you’ve not had a diplomatic request in the case of the Tsakatellis family.”

“I’ve had bloody Rosa’s request.”

“Quite a girl, isn’t she?” said Georgiades. “All the same…”

The phone call came through in the early evening. The offices were closed-the working day started at seven and finished at two because of the heat-but Owen had gone back to his office and was quietly working.

“I’ll be right with you,” he said.

Outside, it was already dark. The streets were filling again after the prolonged siesta. People sauntered up and down looking at the shops, the goods piled high on the pavement outside them and the stalls crowding into the street. Except in the really wealthy areas there was no glass frontage to the shops. They were open to the world and their light spilled out on to the streets and as you walked past you encountered a succession of smells: the pungent bazaar-smell of Egyptian leather, the more subtle but still heavy fragrance of sandalwood, the sharp, burnt smell of coffee, the different burnt smell of roasted peanuts, the various aromas of spices and perfumes, tobaccos and caramel.

The streets became narrower and darker, the shops smaller and less frequent. People were no longer promenading but sitting quietly talking on their doorsteps or gathered round the pumps in the tiny squares or forming animated groups outside the small cafes. For the most part the talkers were men. The women, almost indistinguishable in the shadows because of the blackness of their clothes, kept to the sides of the streets.

A few looked curiously at Owen as he went past. In the darkness and with his tarboosh on, however, there was nothing to mark him out from any other Egyptian.

When he reached the Sharia en Nakhasin he looked around for the little square and found it tucked away to one side. It was not much more than twenty yards across and was dominated by a huge lead pump around which a number of men were sitting. They looked at Owen as he came up and one or two of them muttered greetings. He stood quietly at the edge of the group, waiting.

It was not one of the men but a small boy. Owen felt his trousers tugged and glanced down to see a small urchin apparently begging for alms.

“You are the Mamur Zapt,” said the boy, quietly so that no one else would hear.

“I am,” said Owen, equally quietly.

“I have a message for you from the fat Greek.”

“Yes?”

“He said you would give me piastres.”

“I shall. Here is one now. The rest when you have told me.”

“Go along the Sharia el Barrani to the Bab el Futuh. He will meet you there.”

“Here is another piastre. Come with me and there will be another piastre when I see him.”

As they walked along the boy said: “I have a friend who knows you.”

“What is his name?”

“Ali.”

“I know many Alis.”

“This one lives in the Coptic Place of the Dead.”

“I remember him.”

“When I saw the fat Greek I remembered Ali and thought of you.”

Cairo was a very personal city. The contacts and allegiances you made on one occasion carried over to others.

“What is your name,” asked Owen, “that I may note it?”

“Narouz.”

“Very well, Narouz. I shall remember.”

He could see now, ahead of him, the massive bulk of the Bab el Futuk, one of Saladin’s two great gates, and realized with a sudden shock of recognition that he was coming again to where he had been previously. To the right of the great Gate, outlined unmistakably against the night sky, were the square, pylon-like minarets of the Mosque of el Hakim.

A man stepped out of the shadows and said, “Effendi!”

“I am here.”

“The Greek sends me.”

Owen went with him, first giving the boy a piastre. Narouz slipped away but afterward Owen could see him following at a distance.

There were lights among the ruins where people had built their homes, and the glow of braziers where women were cooking. One or two of the workshops were still open. Owen could see the men bent at their serving machines.

They came as before to the liwan, the sanctuary, and its forest of pillars. For a moment Owen thought they were returning to the lamp store where he had come on that earlier, fruitless occasion. His guide branched off, however. They came to the far edge of the liwan.

Georgiades was waiting among the pillars.

“Thank Christ you’ve come!” he said. “I was beginning to think you would be too late.”

“Who is it?” asked Owen.

“Someone from the house. One of the servants.”

“I thought it might be the mother.”

“No. One of the boys.”

“Where?”

Georgiades took Owen’s arm and pointed. His eyes were used to the darkness and perhaps it was not yet quite dark, for he could see the figure clearly, a slight, thin figure, walking away from the liwan.

“You would have thought they’d have met here. As before.”

“Yes,” said Georgiades, “but they haven’t met. Yet.”

The figure came to a high wall, hesitated and then turned along it, bringing him back closer to Owen and Georgiades. “You’re sure?”

“We haven’t seen anyone.”

“What about the money?”

“It’s in the bag.”

“Where is the bag?”

“He’s carrying it.”

“I can’t see it.”

Georgiades looked.

“Bloody hell!” he said.

“For Christ’s sake!”

“He had it. He’s been carrying it all the time.”

“Well, he’s not bloody carrying it now.”

“But-but-we’ve been watching him all the time!”

“Like bloody hell you have!” Owen was furious. “For Christ’s sake!” he said. “This is bloody incompetent! What the hell were you doing?”

“He had it!” Georgiades appealed to the two agents by his side. “He was bloody carrying it, wasn’t he?”

The agents were standing thunderstruck.

“He couldn’t have given it to anyone. We’ve been watching all the time!”

“You’ve cocked it up. Again!”

Georgiades swallowed.

“He couldn’t have met anyone,” he said obstinately. “We’d have seen it.”

“Where the hell’s the bag, then?”

The thin figure reached the end of the wall and turned away again.

One of the agents looked at Owen.

“Yes,” he said resignedly. “You’d better.”

The agent slipped off in pursuit.

Again! It had happened again! Owen felt sick, furious. They had fooled him the first time. Now, they had done it again. And it wasn’t even properly Zawia! Just some slip of a boy from the Tsakatellis household, told what to do, no doubt, by Zawia but quite capable on his own of pulling the wool over Georgiades’s eyes. Georgiades! Christ, Owen had always thought he was good, about the only good one he had got. Two agents, too! All three of them, hoodwinked. Before their very eyes!

Before their very eyes. Just as it had been on the terrace when Moulin and Colthorpe Hartley had disappeared. Zawia seemed to make a specialty of it. They didn’t want just to trick you, they had to do it in a way which would humiliate you. Well, they had certainly succeeded. He felt humiliated and he didn’t like it.

“Christ!” said Georgiades. “Christ!”

The thin figure had all but disappeared into the darkness. A great wave of fury swept over Owen. They were not going to get away with this.

“Get after him!” he said savagely. “Get after him! If you don’t know what he’s done with the bag, he bloody does. And he’s going to tell me. Christ, he’s going to tell me!” The figure, clearly unfamiliar with the ground, came to a pile of huge blocks of demolished masonry and began to skirt around it. Georgiades, like Owen beside himself with fury, ran across to cut him off, moving with surprising speed for a bulky man. The two agents, coming up behind the thin figure, began to close in on it. They must have made a noise, for the thin figure looked back and then began to run. It disappeared behind some huge stones and Owen could hear it stumbling desperately on the loose rubble. Then it emerged again and ran around behind a rock-straight into Georgiades’s hands. Rosa screamed.