The Levant Trilogy by Olivia Manning Page B

her bicycle into the
country. It was an ordinary English winter landscape; a large field ploughed
into ridges that followed the contours of the land, bare hedges, distant elms
behind which the sky's watery grey was broken by gold. She could smell the
earth on the wind. There was a gust of rain, wet and cold on her face - then,
in an instant, the scene was gone like a light switched off, and she could have
wept for the loss of it.
    Once an old man,
white bearded, of noble appearance, had stopped her and held out his hand. He
was wearing priestly robes and a green fez. They talked for a while about life
and her reasons for being in Egypt, then he asked her to marry him, saying he
had had many wives in a long life but never one who would go out in the heat of
mid-day without a covering on her head. She asked how it was his fez was green
while all others were red and he said he had had it specially made for him to
indicate to the world that he was a descendant of the prophet. He was a jocular
old man and they parted with a lot of laughter.
    Now, reaching
Suleiman Pasha where the shop blinds were pulled down but doors were ajar in
case custom should come, unlikely though it was, Harriet saw ahead of her a
single living creature. It was a man in khaki shirt and shorts, a lost British soldier, hung over with baggage. When he reached the Midan
he sank down on the steps of an office block and began pulling the straps off
his shoulders. Beneath the straps, under his armpits, in every crevice of his
clothing the cloth was black with sweat. He was wiping his face when Harriet
approached him.
    The large
buildings of the Midan threw one side of the square into shadow so deep it gave
an illusion of darkness. Although the sky was a pure cerulean blue, the eye,
reacting against excess of light, covered it with a dark film. The banks and
office blocks, ponderously imitating western buildings, seemed as flimsy as
theatre flats. The whole Midan might have been made of cardboard, not painted
but blotted over and bloated with grey, black or umber dye, uneven and dimmed
by dust.
    Seeing Harriet,
the soldier called out, 'Excuse me, miss. You English? I thought so. Strange
how you can tell.' He plashed his hand over his pink brow, drew it down his
cheeks and shook the sweat from his fingers. 'I missed the transport, went to
the barracks and they say I got to wait till seventeen hundred hours. Thought
I'd look around but what a place! I was just saying to m'self, "Where do
you go now, chum? What's to see and do around here?'"
    Harriet, looking
about her, wondered what there was to see and do in the wide, empty streets of
Cairo at this hour. She told him: There's the Rivoli cinema not far from here.
It's air-conditioned and so chilly, you might catch a cold. I've caught cold
myself there.'
    'Can't be too
chilly for me.' The soldier rose and looking her over said with jaunty fervour,
''Spose you wouldn't come with me?'
    She smiled,
knowing to these lost men an Englishwoman, any Englishwoman, was not an
individual but a point of contact with desirable life. 'I'm sorry. I have to go
back to work, but I 'll walk part of
the way.'
    'Right-e-o.' He
put the straps back and with all his belongings lurching around him, went with
her towards Fuad al Awal. Eyeing her with some curiosity, he said, 'Funny meeting
someone from England, just like that! What you doing here, then?'
    'Egypt's full of
English people. My husband has a job here.'
    'Oh, yes?' At the
mention of a husband the soldier retreated into respectful silence and Harriet,
to start him talking again, asked how he had come to miss his transport.
    'It was like
this, see. Me and my mates went down into one of those bars and had a few beers
and I passed out. Not in the bar, mind you. I went in - well, if you'll excuse
me mentioning it - I went in the toilet. They didn't know I'd passed out, did
they? I mean, I could've gone after a bint, couldn't I? Can't blame them, can
you?'
    'No, it could
happen to