I know their consultations and I hate them. I know how their wars start and how they end. In my youth, this drove me to madness. So why did I go back to them? I had grown old and the wandering and loneliness had worn me out, though not as much as being close to them and living among them does now.
I stood up sluggishly. I had to continue my journey. Before I could leave the place, however, I heard the sound of the Crier's trumpet coming from the direction of Shali with the call that announces a death. Who, I wonder, has given up the ghost today, and passed into the mercy of Our Lord?
6. Mahmoud
I woke from sleep before dawn, as usual, drowning in sweat and the last remnants of a beautiful dream whose details dissolved into nothingness, with the exception of a face that withdrew, leaving me to wake smiling.
I washed quickly and left Catherine to go on sleeping. Then I gently opened the door of the house and sat at the top of the steps. Usually there was a breeze from the north but it didn't come today. Even so, the air was fresher than inside.
Shali, to my left, was a dark lump, quiet and sleeping, and directly in front of me was that blackish hill they call by the attractive name of the Mountain of the Dead! Couldn't they have come up with something more comforting? It's understandable why they should call it that: its caves all consist of ancient tombs of the pharaohs and others, so what do you expect them to call it, the Mountain of Joy and Celebration? The name fits well enough, so stop grumbling so early in the day! Try a little joy and celebration yourself! True, yesterday evening I received my first real threat since I came to the oasis, but I was expecting it and it added nothing to what I already knew.
In fact, I have suffered nothing from them here that I can complain about, while I have every reason to complain about Cairo. They pay no attention in the Protected City to what I write to them. I send messages and what comes back to me with the caravan is a new copy of the first letter I received — the text of the very orders that Harvey discussed with me before I left, with neither explanation nor comment; in fact without any indication that my message has even been received. All that reaches me are requests that the late taxes be collected in a hurry and sent to Cairo. They don't ask themselves, or provide me with any guidance on, how. On each occasion that the taxes have been late, it has needed an army and cannon, so what am I supposed to do with the handful of troops I have with me and our ancient rifles? Last time, two years ago, they waited until the district commissioner before me had been murdered, then sent an army that killed the mayor and collected the taxes, and thought that order had been restored.
It hadn't, my dear bashas of Cairo!
In the evening, their leader, Sheikh Sabir, came to see me. He's the only one among the agwad who comes. I never meet the rest except at Friday prayer at the Shali mosque. He told me the agwad continued to regard the reduction I'd asked for as small, and they wanted more. I reminded him forcefully — in fact I became livid as I thought of Cairo's silence — that I had promised nothing. 'I told you what I'd asked for, but it is the government in Cairo that decides,' I said. He replied, 'I understand, Mr Commissioner. But some of the agwad are asking what would be left for us to live on if we were to pay everything that the government is asking for.'
I replied with acerbity, 'Nevertheless, this is not the first time you've paid taxes. Sort it out.'
Sabir didn't get angry. I have never seen him angry. On the contrary, he said, as though in confirmation of my own words, 'The wiser heads know that. But what is to be done when some heads among the families, and even indeed among the agwad, are not so wise? No one knows what they may do. We seek God's protection.'
I understood his message well and replied to him in kind: 'In that case, Sheikh Sabir, the wiser heads should warn the others of what will happen if recklessness prevails.'
'I am not the mayor of this town,' he said, 'and I do not possess the means to impose anything on them.'
I replied, 'As far as the government is concerned, you are the leader of the agwad, and that is enough.'
I felt like telling him he should thank God he wasn't the mayor. It was he himself who told me the story of the mayor, who was also the owner of the house in which I now live. Mayor Hassouna built it outside the walls of Shali, on a rise. He took care to have it fortified, like all the other fortified things in this town. Then, behind it, he built a group of additional buildings that extended to the town wall. By virtue of its elevated position and the connection between his little castle and the town, he was able to resist the most recent punitive military expedition, which followed the murder of the district commissioner. He never surrendered, despite the siege, which lasted for weeks, and fought gallantly until he died, or so I heard, and I respected him for his courage.
All that's left of the castle is this raised house, which the government confiscated, and another building to the south of the wall, which it turned into a police station before demolishing everything in between. Sabir, however, told me the story of Mayor Hassouna without an ounce of sympathy for him or his fate. Could that be because he was a Westerner and Sabir's an Easterner? I need time if I'm to understand the people here, supposing fate should allow any. The calm that surrounds me does not deceive me and I understand, even without Sabir's hints and their concealed threats, that they are waiting to pounce on me. Nevertheless, I go about my work as though I have noticed nothing. Sabir and the others must not sense any weakness in my behaviour here.
But I do not like this Sheikh Sabir! He has flattered me openly from our first meeting and his impassive face resembles a mask incapable of revealing any expression.
There is something disturbing about his eyes, especially. He gazes into my face with a fixed look that never changes, so I believe nothing he says. What does he want from me exactly? To recommend him as mayor? Cairo has abandoned the idea of appointing mayors from among either the Westerners or the Easterners so that we anger neither. He ought to have worked that out for himself. Despite which, there is some truth in what he says. How indeed are these people to live if the government collects what it wants from them?
The poverty took me aback from the first moment of my entry into the oasis, and especially the poverty of the zaggala, just as I was taken aback by the massive amount of the taxes that the government demands I collect from them. I sent my opinion to the ministry: excessive taxation is the cause of their rebelliousness and the murder of the officials appointed by Cairo to govern them. I suggested the taxes be cut by half.
Perhaps I'm naive, though. Why am I trying to help them when I know they want to get rid of me? I sensed their deadly hatred for me and Catherine from the first day. They have walled us in with silence and avoidance. There is no communication between us but the looks of hatred in their eyes, so how can I say I have nothing to complain about with respect to them? I have a thousand causes for complaint! They are a vexation and Cairo is a vexation and I am caught in the middle. If Cairo has forgotten me, however, I shall forget them too. This will delay the moment of confrontation here. I shall deal with them as I have from the time of my arrival. I always go around without a guard of troops but my revolver holster is open the whole time. I know it's a pointless precaution, but what other measure could help me when I'm on my own in their midst?
In the desert, in the sandstorm, it all seemed easy. The faster the better, as I said to Catherine. Even now I still hope that the end will be fast and unannounced. Despite that, I feel joy at night when I'm lying in bed. A thought creeps into my mind that delights me. The day has finished and the end didn't come! I almost feel the intoxication of victory over the unknown that made the Bedouin sing for joy as they bathed in the desert spring after escaping it. So what do I want? I wish I knew what I wanted! I wish I knew who I was!