The Bride Box (16 page)

‘It does. That's what I always tell him. “You don't know the half of it,” I say.'

‘He's a lucky man to have you to rely on.'

Further along the street was a barber's shop. Well, not quite a shop – this was a poor area – but certainly a barber. He worked from the pavement, where he had put a chair, an old cane chair, on which he sat his clients. His equipment was on the ground beside him: two pairs of scissors, one for hard work, the other for fine: a razor, of the cut-throat variety, a shaving brush, a tin bowl and a large pewter jug containing the hot water he had to fetch from the café up the road where Georgiades and the warehouse clerk went for their coffee. And there was a length of cloth, not overly clean, which he tied round the neck of his client. From time to time he shook it into the gutter.

There was always a circle of onlookers gathered round the chair, sitting on the pavement, offering advice or critical judgement or just generally chatting. The barber was good at chatting and the people who came to join him were regulars. Some passed the day there.

The Greek ambled along the street, paused when he saw the barber and hovered uncertainly. The chair was empty at the moment and the barber spread his apron cloth invitingly. Georgiades sat down. ‘Short back and sides,' he said.

‘It's pretty short already,' said the barber doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you want a haircut?'

‘My wife says I need one.'

‘Perhaps she was thinking of your beard?'

‘I haven't got one!' protested Georgiades.

‘Maybe that's the problem. You've got a lot of stubble there.'

‘My hair grows quickly!'

‘It does on some people.'

‘I shave every morning, you know, and by ten o'clock it looks as if I haven't touched it.'

‘It's the jowls – they hide the hair, and you can't cut closely, and then as the day wears on, the hairs come back from behind the flesh.'

‘This is getting personal!' said Georgiades.

‘No, no, it's just a technical observation. I'm right, aren't I?' he appealed to the onlookers.

‘It's true he's a bit fleshy,' one observer piped up.

‘I can't help that!'

‘No, he can't. And stop going on at him. Some people carry a lot of weight. It's the way they are.'

‘It's certainly the way I am,' said Georgiades.

‘All he needs is a shave!' someone else shouted.

‘You could be right,' said the barber.

‘All right, a shave, then.'

‘Go on,' the crowd advised. ‘Make it nice for his wife. She doesn't want to be scraping herself against his bristles all the time. That's the problem. It's not his hair.'

‘A shave, then,' said the barber. ‘As smooth as a baby's bottom.'

After this promising beginning, the conversation flowed, and soon the Greek was in a position to ask about the porters.

‘Reliable ones,' he stipulated.

‘You'll be lucky!'

‘I know, but a chap who works in one of the warehouses here was telling me that he reckoned he'd found some.'

‘All the warehouses use porters!'

‘Yes, but some are better than others. This bloke I was talking to seemed to need especially good ones. He worked for a foreign Effendi, you see, who was always on to him.'

‘Would that be Nassir?'

‘It might be. I didn't quite catch his name. But he said he worked for a foreign Effendi who was often away – a trader. Gum arabic, I think. And trocchee shells.'

‘That definitely was Nassir.'

‘Why do his porters have to be so special?' asked someone. ‘That's just ordinary work.'

‘Sometimes they have to move stuff at night,' said Georgiades. ‘And then, I suppose they're working without supervision.'

‘Why do they have to move the stuff at night?'

‘God knows! But apparently they do. Anyway it sounded as if he'd got some good porters, and I just wondered if anyone knew who they were? Because I could certainly use them.'

‘They come from outside, I think.'

He meant outside the quarter. Cairo was a very localized place as far as ordinary people were concerned.

‘They do mostly,' said someone. ‘But I think he makes use of Abdul.'

‘Well, Abdul is very good. If you want someone who's reliable, he's your man.'

‘How could I get hold of him?'

‘You'll find him just along the road. At the trough there. When he's not working, that is, which is most of the time.'

Yet further along the road was another business conducted entirely on the pavement. It consisted of a large flat tray resting on a layer of cinders and filled with cooking oil, usually olive or sunflower. Beside the tray was a cloth on which were lying various pieces of meat and sundry vegetables. From time to time its attendant would drop a piece of meat or a few vegetables into the cooking fat. They would sizzle and turn brown. When they were done he would fish them out and hand them, usually on a piece of paper, to whoever had requested them. Then they would sit on the pavement and eat them.

For this was a restaurant. It did not cater for the exalted (it was not even like the place Georgiades and the warehouse clerk attended just along the road) but for porters, donkey-boys, warehouse workers and the humbler men who did menial jobs round about. And, like the barber's shop, it was a humming social centre.

Georgiades stood over the tray, obviously tempted. The smell of frying onions rose enticingly into the air.

‘Try some!' invited the cook.

Georgiades sat down. The cook ladled some onion slices on to a square of paper and put it in front of Georgiades.

‘Yes?' said the cook anxiously.

‘Yes,' said Georgiades, and handed the square back for more.

‘And something else?'

‘Aubergines?' said Georgiades hopefully.

The cook pointed. ‘In the pot,' he said.

Georgiades held out the square.

‘And …?' said the cook.

‘Beans.'

‘Beans, yes. And …?'

Georgiades held up his hand. ‘No more,' he said. ‘My wife says I eat too much anyway.'

‘How could she say that?' said the cook, affecting amazement. ‘A slim fellow like you!'

‘That's what I say. But somehow she's not convinced.'

There were several other men squatting around the tray. They pointed out, in the friendly, intimate Egyptian way, the best aubergines and helped him to extract them from the pot.

‘One thing I do like,' said Georgiades, ‘is a good aubergine! With onions, of course. They're good for you, did you know that?'

‘Of course they're good for you!' said the cook. ‘They keep headaches off.'

‘I find they're good for my back,' said one of the customers.

There was some discussion about this.

‘You need onions if you're a porter,' said the Greek.

‘You do,' various people assented.

‘Talking of porters,' said the Greek, ‘is Abdul here, by any chance?'

A man raised his hand. He had a great strap round his shoulders to assist carrying.

‘You look a big, fine fellow,' said the Greek.

The porter grinned. ‘What is it this time?' he said. ‘A piano?'

‘I'll bet you could manage it.'

‘I could.'

He meant single-handed.

‘I'll be back for you!' said Georgiades.

In fact, someone else called for Abdul, and off he went.

Later in the afternoon, however, he returned. The Greek had eaten a lot of aubergines by that time and had gone away. But he was standing at the edge of the little square, from where he could keep an eye on the pavement restaurant, and when Abdul reappeared, he went up to him and suggested a beer. Strictly speaking, as a good Muslim, he shouldn't touch alcohol, but, as he said, in his job you needed a lot of liquid, so he went off with Georgiades around the corner.

‘I could have a job for you,' said the Greek. ‘It's a big one, and there's big money in it. For a good porter. A reliable man who knows how to keep his mouth shut.'

‘Big money, did you say?'

The Greek nodded.

‘I'm not a fussy man,' said Abdul.

‘It might mean working at night.'

‘One of those, is it?'

‘Well, you know how it is. These rich men don't want their right hand to know what their left is doing!'

‘I can keep my mouth shut.'

‘That's important.'

‘Carpets, is it?'

‘Heavier.'

‘No problem.'

‘The thing is, my boss insists that his porters have got to be absolutely reliable.'

‘He can rely on me,' said Abdul.

‘He likes recommended people. Your name was mentioned to me by someone who manages a warehouse near here. Nassir, his name was …'

‘I know Nassir.'

‘You've done jobs for him before, I gather?'

‘I have.'

‘He says he might be needing you in the next few days. I wouldn't want to clash with him. I mean, he'd done me a favour by putting me on to you. So just tell me, will you, when his job comes up? And I'll see we keep clear of it. I'll be around here for a while, so I'll be sticking my head in at the eats place and you can tell me there.'

Owen and Mahmoud were walking across the midan when they ran into Karim. Mahmoud introduced them. ‘This is my friend, Captain Owen,' he said.

‘Hello!' said Karim. ‘Pleased to meet you. Are you really a captain?'

‘Well, I was,' said Owen. ‘But not now.'

‘Have you given it up?'

‘Yes, that's right. I've given it up. Some time ago, actually.'

‘Does that mean you were a soldier?'

‘Yes. In India.'

‘India,' said Karim uncertainly. ‘Where is that? Is it near Cairo?'

‘A long way away from Cairo, actually. It's over the sea. You'd have to go on a ship.'

‘I've never been on a ship,' said Karim. ‘But I've been in a boat. On the river.'

‘It's like that,' said Owen. ‘Only the sea is much, much bigger.'

‘I would like to go on the sea.'

‘Perhaps one day you will.'

Karim contemplated the prospect. But then the distance in time and space was too much for him. He lost interest. His attention was caught by the parcel Owen was carrying. ‘What is that parcel?' he asked.

‘It is a present,' said Owen. ‘A present for a little girl.'

‘Can I see it?'

Owen unwrapped it.

‘I know what it is,' said Karim. ‘It's a box.' He took it from Owen and fondled it. ‘It is a nice box,' he said. ‘All smooth.' He stroked it, thinking. ‘I know what it is!' he said suddenly. ‘It is a box like Soraya had. Only smaller, much smaller.'

‘It is a plaything only,' said Owen.

Karim nodded. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘for a child. But it is like Soraya's box. Only smaller. She showed me her box once, you know. She opened it and let me look in. There were all sorts of nice things in it. Things she had made. There was a little …'

He stopped, and frowned.

‘A little thing,' he said. ‘I don't know its name. It was a little patch of cloth. Only about this wide.' He indicated with his hands. ‘And soft, very soft. She let me feel it. She said she would make me one. I wanted her to make me one.' He imitated putting it to his face. ‘So soft,' he said. ‘So soft. Like Soraya.'

‘Like Soraya?'

‘Soft,' said Karim, ‘so soft.'

‘You touched her?'

‘She let me touch her. She let me hold her hand. It was very nice. And when she touched me – she touched my face – her hand was so soft. So gentle! No one had ever touched me like that before. I said that. I told her that. And … and she cried! I don't know why she cried! Do you know why she cried?'

‘I can guess,' said Owen.

‘It was a little square,' Karim said. ‘She had sewn it herself. There were little beads on it. They were made of glass and they sparkled in the sun. It was lovely. I asked her to make me one, and she said she would. I wonder what has happened to it. They have taken all her things away, you know. When she left. With the box.'

‘Did you see her go?'

‘No. It happened one night. After I had gone to bed. She left, and she took her box with her. And that little thing – I don't know what you call it – must have been inside. And I don't think she ever made one for me. Or perhaps she did? And it's lying around somewhere. I'll ask my mother if she's seen it.'

‘Pity me, Mahmoud!'

It was his old friend from student days.

‘Willingly; but why should I pity you, Idris?'

‘I told you a lie yesterday, Mahmoud.'

‘One of many, I am sure; but which one specifically?'

‘I told you I was a trader in trocchee shells.'

‘And are you not?'

‘Oh, I am. But also I am not.'

‘But that is not a lie, Idris. That is merely a half-truth.'

‘Put it another way, Mahmoud: I have not one job, but two.'

‘But, Idris, this is astonishing. Two jobs! And are both of them paid? You must be on your way to riches!'

‘I should be so lucky! I am barely paid enough for one.'

‘It will build up, Idris, I am sure.'

‘But slowly. And the trouble is, Mahmoud, that there is no gain without pain.'

‘You have to work for it?'

‘Worse. A consignment has just arrived. And when it arrives, it has to be split.'

‘That is not an insurmountable problem, Idris.'

‘And I have to split it.'

‘It is still not insurmountable, Idris. Challenging, possibly, but not impossible.'

‘One part has to go to Cairo. The other to the Sudan.'

‘Difficult, but not—'

‘And I have to go with it.'

‘To the Sudan?'