getting old,” he said, “and time is going by. Beggars cannot be choosers.” ’
Aisha looked at Owen.
‘That was two years ago,’ she said. ‘Now I am even older.’
‘A man looks for all sorts of things in a wife,’ Owen said. Aisha shrugged.
‘Perhaps. “I would rather grow old alone,” I said, “than be wife to a man like that.” “What do you have against him?” Osman asked. “What do you see in him?” I countered, for I was angry that he should have forgotten. “He knows how to rise,” ’ said Osman.
Aisha’s cousin appeared through the pillars.
‘ “And you think he will show you how to rise?” I said to Osman. “He has friends who have helped him and could help me.” “If?” I asked.’
‘What did he reply?’
‘He walked away. But I think, effendi,’ she said, looking him in the face, ‘that if there was a beginning, then that could have been it.’
The cousin began to signal imperatively.
‘I shall have to go, effendi.’
As she walked away, Ali suddenly appeared beside him, studying the women in apparent bewilderment.
‘Haven’t we got this wrong, effendi,’ he asked. ‘Oughtn’t the babies to be coming later?’
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
There’s trouble in the Derb Aiah district,’ said Nikos.
Owen reached for his sun helmet. He kept both sun helmet and tarboosh in his office but when missiles started flying sun helmet was best. ‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Riot. The police are down there.’
Owen hurried along the corridor. As he went past the office of the Deputy Commandant he looked in but McPhee was not there. He went on and into the orderly room.
‘Where’s the Bimbashi?’
At Kasr el Aini, effendi.’
Kasr el Aini was on the other side of town.
‘There’s a riot in the Derb Aiah.’
‘Yes, effendi.’
‘I’m going over. Tell the Bimbashi when he gets back.’ Strictly speaking, immediate policing was the preserve of the police. The Mamur Zapt, however, was responsible for the preservation of order in the city and Owen took the view that the first thing was to get on top of any disorder and argue about the division of responsibility afterwards.
There was a one-horse arabeah in the street outside the Bab el Khalk; one-horse, unfortunately, in every sense. Owen jumped in and told the driver to hurry to the Derb Aiah.
This was asking for the impossible. The cab proceeded at its usual slow amble along the Khalig el Masri, past the House of the Grand Mufti, past the Syrian Church, the Maronite Church, the Armenian Church, the Coptic Church, the Greek Orthodox Church and the French Church and, some time later, at last, turned into the Derb Aiah.
Where there was no sign of a riot. The street was deserted.
Suspiciously deserted. Shops were closed, stalls abandoned. There was just one solitary figure, an old man limping along with a stick.
Owen caught up with him.
‘Where is it?’ he said.
The man lifted his stick and pointed down a side-street. Owen hurried ahead. He found himself in a warren of mediæval alleyways and streets. All were deserted.
He stopped and listened.
This was puzzling. Usually you could hear. There was, indeed, a low murmuring, but…
He plunged on. At the end of a street he saw people.
He came up behind them. Tall, he was able to see over their heads. There was a little square, not so much a square as a widening of the street where several alleyways joined. The space was crammed with people.
But they were all quiet! What sort of riot was this?
He began to push his way through the crowd. Everyone was looking in one direction, towards the other side of the square.
All he could see was an old fountain-house. There was the fountain chamber, at ground level and open to the street, and there above it the usual arched second chamber.
There was someone standing in one of the arches. It was a woman, short and stout and dressed in black. Her arms were folded.
There seemed something familiar about her.
Owen pushed
Aisha looked at Owen.
‘That was two years ago,’ she said. ‘Now I am even older.’
‘A man looks for all sorts of things in a wife,’ Owen said. Aisha shrugged.
‘Perhaps. “I would rather grow old alone,” I said, “than be wife to a man like that.” “What do you have against him?” Osman asked. “What do you see in him?” I countered, for I was angry that he should have forgotten. “He knows how to rise,” ’ said Osman.
Aisha’s cousin appeared through the pillars.
‘ “And you think he will show you how to rise?” I said to Osman. “He has friends who have helped him and could help me.” “If?” I asked.’
‘What did he reply?’
‘He walked away. But I think, effendi,’ she said, looking him in the face, ‘that if there was a beginning, then that could have been it.’
The cousin began to signal imperatively.
‘I shall have to go, effendi.’
As she walked away, Ali suddenly appeared beside him, studying the women in apparent bewilderment.
‘Haven’t we got this wrong, effendi,’ he asked. ‘Oughtn’t the babies to be coming later?’
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
There’s trouble in the Derb Aiah district,’ said Nikos.
Owen reached for his sun helmet. He kept both sun helmet and tarboosh in his office but when missiles started flying sun helmet was best. ‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Riot. The police are down there.’
Owen hurried along the corridor. As he went past the office of the Deputy Commandant he looked in but McPhee was not there. He went on and into the orderly room.
‘Where’s the Bimbashi?’
At Kasr el Aini, effendi.’
Kasr el Aini was on the other side of town.
‘There’s a riot in the Derb Aiah.’
‘Yes, effendi.’
‘I’m going over. Tell the Bimbashi when he gets back.’ Strictly speaking, immediate policing was the preserve of the police. The Mamur Zapt, however, was responsible for the preservation of order in the city and Owen took the view that the first thing was to get on top of any disorder and argue about the division of responsibility afterwards.
There was a one-horse arabeah in the street outside the Bab el Khalk; one-horse, unfortunately, in every sense. Owen jumped in and told the driver to hurry to the Derb Aiah.
This was asking for the impossible. The cab proceeded at its usual slow amble along the Khalig el Masri, past the House of the Grand Mufti, past the Syrian Church, the Maronite Church, the Armenian Church, the Coptic Church, the Greek Orthodox Church and the French Church and, some time later, at last, turned into the Derb Aiah.
Where there was no sign of a riot. The street was deserted.
Suspiciously deserted. Shops were closed, stalls abandoned. There was just one solitary figure, an old man limping along with a stick.
Owen caught up with him.
‘Where is it?’ he said.
The man lifted his stick and pointed down a side-street. Owen hurried ahead. He found himself in a warren of mediæval alleyways and streets. All were deserted.
He stopped and listened.
This was puzzling. Usually you could hear. There was, indeed, a low murmuring, but…
He plunged on. At the end of a street he saw people.
He came up behind them. Tall, he was able to see over their heads. There was a little square, not so much a square as a widening of the street where several alleyways joined. The space was crammed with people.
But they were all quiet! What sort of riot was this?
He began to push his way through the crowd. Everyone was looking in one direction, towards the other side of the square.
All he could see was an old fountain-house. There was the fountain chamber, at ground level and open to the street, and there above it the usual arched second chamber.
There was someone standing in one of the arches. It was a woman, short and stout and dressed in black. Her arms were folded.
There seemed something familiar about her.
Owen pushed
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