around great wooden posts, gulls cried overhead. As the heat of the day lifted he felt part of a newer, fresher world.
In theory, the Mamur Zapt’s writ ran even to Suez. In practice it was confined to Cairo. Cairo was where it all happened. There was a buzz, a life about the city that Owen found it hard to tear himself away from. It was part of an older, more Arab world; cosmopolitan, it was true, but not in the way of Alexandria or the port cities. Suez was hardly a city, still not much more than a bunker port, although growing rapidly. He had no agents here.
He would have to find someone. Nikos normally looked after that side and no doubt would find someone in time. But had they got time?
He sat down on a bollard and watched some dockers unloading a large, seagoing dhow. They were carrying sacks up out of the hold, huge, heavy sacks that bulged. Filled with grain, probably. But why was Egypt importing grain when it had all the fertile land of the Delta?
The men’s faces were streaked with sweat. It was hard, hot work. Everything was done by hand. There was an intimacy between the men and the load. That was why they knew the goods so well.
A small boy appeared beside him.
‘Effendi, I have a beautiful sister. So ve-ery beautiful!’ The boy’s hands described improbable shapes. ‘Would you like to meet her?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Ve-ery good! She make wonderful bump-bump. You like?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘You prefer boy? I have brother. Handsome! Not like me, Effendi.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘No boy?’
‘No, nor girl, either.’
The urchin was temporarily silenced, while he considered the restricted possibilities.
‘Effendi,’ he said at last, ‘I know a special house. All sorts. You want something different, can do. Dog, perhaps? Donkey? You want donkey?’
Owen turned to give the urchin his full attention.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Sidi, Effendi.’
‘Sidi, I am surprised at you. Is this the only way you can make money? I would have thought a resourceful boy like you would be growing fat on the pickings from the docks.’
‘Effendi,’ said the boy indignantly, ‘I am. I get my share. But it is only a small one. Ibrahim says it will be bigger when I can carry a load myself. The men who carry the loads get first choice of the pickings. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. But, Effendi,’—(confidingly)—‘I would prefer not to carry the loads. The sacks are heavy and in the sun it is hard work. I would prefer to share in the pickings and not carry the loads.’
‘Wouldn’t we all. Tell me about your friend, Ibrahim.’
‘He carries the loads, Effendi, two, perhaps three, times a week.’
‘I would like to meet him. It could be to his advantage.’
‘Effendi, I don’t know—’
‘And yours.’
Owen put his hand in his pocket and jingled some coins. ‘Oh, well, Effendi, that’s different!’
The boy slipped away and returned some ten minutes later with a thin, wiry man in an embroidered skull cap. Sweat was running down his face and he was mopping his neck with a dirty handkerchief.
‘Hard work!’ said Owen sympathetically.
‘Effendi, I will not deny it.’
‘And for not much money.’
‘That, too, I will not deny.’
‘Even with the pickings.’
‘They are few, Effendi. A burst sack, a broken packing case. And then, besides, most of the regular work is with coal and there is not much reward in that.’
‘I think I could add to your rewards.’
‘What is it you had in mind, Effendi?’
‘I need to know if a certain consignment comes in.’
‘Will not the office tell you?’
‘The consignment I speak of is not likely to be known in the office.’
‘It is hidden goods, then?’
‘It is likely to have been concealed.’
‘That may make it difficult.’
‘The reward will be commensurate.’
‘I could not do it on my own, Effendi.’
‘If the word were spread,’ said Owen, ‘and what I seek, found, you would take your share. For the finder,
In theory, the Mamur Zapt’s writ ran even to Suez. In practice it was confined to Cairo. Cairo was where it all happened. There was a buzz, a life about the city that Owen found it hard to tear himself away from. It was part of an older, more Arab world; cosmopolitan, it was true, but not in the way of Alexandria or the port cities. Suez was hardly a city, still not much more than a bunker port, although growing rapidly. He had no agents here.
He would have to find someone. Nikos normally looked after that side and no doubt would find someone in time. But had they got time?
He sat down on a bollard and watched some dockers unloading a large, seagoing dhow. They were carrying sacks up out of the hold, huge, heavy sacks that bulged. Filled with grain, probably. But why was Egypt importing grain when it had all the fertile land of the Delta?
The men’s faces were streaked with sweat. It was hard, hot work. Everything was done by hand. There was an intimacy between the men and the load. That was why they knew the goods so well.
A small boy appeared beside him.
‘Effendi, I have a beautiful sister. So ve-ery beautiful!’ The boy’s hands described improbable shapes. ‘Would you like to meet her?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Ve-ery good! She make wonderful bump-bump. You like?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘You prefer boy? I have brother. Handsome! Not like me, Effendi.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘No boy?’
‘No, nor girl, either.’
The urchin was temporarily silenced, while he considered the restricted possibilities.
‘Effendi,’ he said at last, ‘I know a special house. All sorts. You want something different, can do. Dog, perhaps? Donkey? You want donkey?’
Owen turned to give the urchin his full attention.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Sidi, Effendi.’
‘Sidi, I am surprised at you. Is this the only way you can make money? I would have thought a resourceful boy like you would be growing fat on the pickings from the docks.’
‘Effendi,’ said the boy indignantly, ‘I am. I get my share. But it is only a small one. Ibrahim says it will be bigger when I can carry a load myself. The men who carry the loads get first choice of the pickings. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. But, Effendi,’—(confidingly)—‘I would prefer not to carry the loads. The sacks are heavy and in the sun it is hard work. I would prefer to share in the pickings and not carry the loads.’
‘Wouldn’t we all. Tell me about your friend, Ibrahim.’
‘He carries the loads, Effendi, two, perhaps three, times a week.’
‘I would like to meet him. It could be to his advantage.’
‘Effendi, I don’t know—’
‘And yours.’
Owen put his hand in his pocket and jingled some coins. ‘Oh, well, Effendi, that’s different!’
The boy slipped away and returned some ten minutes later with a thin, wiry man in an embroidered skull cap. Sweat was running down his face and he was mopping his neck with a dirty handkerchief.
‘Hard work!’ said Owen sympathetically.
‘Effendi, I will not deny it.’
‘And for not much money.’
‘That, too, I will not deny.’
‘Even with the pickings.’
‘They are few, Effendi. A burst sack, a broken packing case. And then, besides, most of the regular work is with coal and there is not much reward in that.’
‘I think I could add to your rewards.’
‘What is it you had in mind, Effendi?’
‘I need to know if a certain consignment comes in.’
‘Will not the office tell you?’
‘The consignment I speak of is not likely to be known in the office.’
‘It is hidden goods, then?’
‘It is likely to have been concealed.’
‘That may make it difficult.’
‘The reward will be commensurate.’
‘I could not do it on my own, Effendi.’
‘If the word were spread,’ said Owen, ‘and what I seek, found, you would take your share. For the finder,
Similar Books
