Sunset Oasis

Sitting in my office on the second floor, I heard a hubbub from the station, accompanied by the shouts of children. I'd become accustomed to hearing this noise when the family shares arrived, or, I thought, it might be the return of the troops sent to meet the Matrouh caravan. But no. Here was the sound of many horses' hoofs.

I went to look out of the window and was surprised to see a young officer getting off his horse. With him were six cavalry troopers who also dismounted and quickly formed a single line, which the soldiers I had sent to meet the caravan joined.

The officer stood for a moment as though reviewing them and they gave him a salute. Then he left them standing where they were and pointed to one of the soldiers from the station, who had surrounded the incoming company in silence and apprehension. He said something to the soldier, then walked ahead of him to the stairs.

I was standing when he entered my office. He raised his hand in salute and clicked his heels hard. Then he came towards me with measured steps and held out to me a yellow envelope, saying in an official tone of voice, 'Captain Wasfi Himmat Niyazi at Your Excellency's command, sir!'

Captain? At his age? I didn't make his rank till I was a few years past thirty and he looked barely twenty-five. What was going on?

Indicating a chair in front of the desk, I said, 'Welcome, Captain. Be seated.'

I contemplated him as I sat at my desk. Blond, with a boyish face, of middling build but on the short side. The most noticeable thing about him was his honey-coloured eyes, which were always on the move.

Wasfi didn't sit until I'd resumed my seat behind the desk. Laughing, I said, 'The ministry promised me these reinforcements months ago, but they didn't inform me as to the time of their arrival or we would have prepared a welcome for you.'

I didn't say that I'd been expecting a larger number of both troops and officers. While casting a quick glance at a letter he'd brought with him to the oasis, which was covered with signatures and official seals, I said, 'However, I certainly need you and your horses. The only horses left in the station are worn out.'

I clapped and Sergeant Ibraheem, who minded the door, entered, and I asked Wasfi whether he wanted tea or coffee. He replied he'd be grateful if I could offer him a glass of water because he didn't drink either.

I said, smiling, 'You mean a tin mug of water. We don't have glasses at the station.'

When the soldier had left, I said to Wasfi, 'You will rest now from your journey. Then tomorrow we shall talk about work. The first order of business, though, is to find you a place to stay.'

He said that they'd told him about that in Cairo and explained to him the traditions of the oasis and that it was better for him to stay at the station. Things would be no different from when he was in military college.

I said, 'Life may be a little more difficult than at military college. You will discover that—'

But Wasfi suddenly set down the mug of water from which he'd been drinking in large gulps, and interrupted me to say, 'Excuse me, Your Excellency. Perhaps I should have informed you before anything else. I took Miss Fiona to Your Excellency's house before coming here. They showed me the place so I took her there before reporting for duty.'

At first, I didn't take it in. I had in fact forgotten the business of Fiona in the rush of events that had overtaken us. Wasfi, however, went on to tell me with a certain zeal that the chief of police of Alexandria had recommended Miss Fiona to his keeping until she reached the oasis and that His Excellency the Basha had come himself with his deputy to bid her farewell before the caravan left. Wasfi was dazzled by this and ended his speech by saying that His Excellency the deputy chief of police had sent me his greetings.

I asked him, 'Who is that?' and he replied that it was His Excellency Brigadier General Tal'at Abd el Aziz.

'My thanks to you and to the brigadier general.'

My spirits sank and I postponed my return to the house. So now there were two problems. I would have to send the two sisters back together and in the shortest time possible. Perhaps with the very same caravan. I would see.

Somewhat distracted, I asked Wasfi how it was that the journey hadn't affected the smartness of his turnout or soiled his uniform or tarboosh. He replied earnestly that he'd changed his clothes that morning in preparation for meeting me and assuming his duties.

I explained to him the circumstances in which we worked in the oasis, without referring to recent events, and said that his first task would be to help with the collection of the remaining taxes and arrange for the dispatch of the first consignment with the caravan that had just arrived. Then I made a brief tour of the station with him. I picked out a suitable room for him to move his things into and asked Sergeant Ibraheem to find places for the new troops and give them lunch. Then, before I left, I told Wasfi that I had to pass by the house briefly and that if he wasn't too tired he could come with me for lunch later on.

I knocked a number of times on the door and waited a little before opening it. I found Catherine and Fiona standing in the main room on either side of the table, ready to greet me. I had prepared myself to say, with false jocularity, 'Welcome to our desert, Fiona,' but I stood at the door and couldn't get a word out after 'Welcome'. I saw identical twins, two copies of Catherine.

I went towards them with slow steps and stammered out the same 'Welcome…' and Catherine gave a soft laugh and said, 'You've already said that, Mahmoud. What do you think of this surprise?' I responded, out of politeness, 'A pleasant one indeed. You have the same eye colour and high cheekbones.' Then Catherine said, 'But Fiona is much prettier.'

I drew nearer to them. Catherine wasn't lying. Her sister was svelte and her features were more symmetrical — a gloriously beautiful face indeed, framed by golden hair thicker than her sister's. Nevertheless, when I held out my hand to shake hers, her pallor, despite the sweet smile that was almost a part of her features, took me aback. Perhaps it was owing to the fatigue of the journey.

The three of us sat down in the main room and I told Catherine that the new officer might come and have lunch with us today. Fiona asked, 'Captain Niyazi?'

'Right. Wasfi.'

Catherine told her sister, 'You'll have to get used to that. Here they address people by their first name. I was surprised at first when they'd say "Miss Catherine" or "Mister Mahmoud" but you have to know that from now on you're "Miss Fiona".'

Smiling, she replied, 'It's much nicer that way. Not so formal.'

This chatter made me lose focus on the conversation and I started observing Fiona. She had a calm yet strong presence, exerting no effort to impose herself. I asked myself idly whether the chief of police and his respected deputy had gone to see her off in obedience to a recommendation from some important person in the embassy or elsewhere, or to take another look at this beautiful woman. What surprised me too was that there was something else there, despite her beauty, that made her in no way arousing, as though she were a picture or statue of a perfect woman and not one of flesh and blood. I asked myself, 'Could that be why she's never married?'

I realized, however, that Catherine was asking me excitedly, 'Did you know that?'

I hadn't been following their conversation and she noticed that, so she repeated her question,'Did you know that Captain Wasfi is interested in antiquities?'

'There hasn't been time to ask or find out.'

Fiona nodded her head in confirmation and said, 'He is extremely cultured and speaks English exactly like the English.'

She fell silent for a moment before continuing, 'He behaves exactly like an English gentleman.'