Sunset Oasis

'So are you certain that no one can see this temple of yours below the water?'

She received no reply, so she went on in the same confident tone, 'I say that because, until today, if you pass by the Lough of Cork and your sight is strong, you can see through its pure water the towers and walls of the palace, and in the evenings you can hear the music and song of the outspread banquet, though only in the summer because the lake freezes over in winter!'

The magic of the tale held us all, and we continued to look expectantly at Fiona, hoping that there would be a continuation to the story, but Catherine suddenly laughed and clapped, saying, 'I was sure, Fiona. I was certain you'd do it.'

Then she turned to us and said, 'I think Fiona is the last of the line of the Irish storytellers. We had hundreds, maybe thousands, around whom the people would gather, but now they are becoming extinct. Fiona, though, still knows by heart all the stories, isn't that so?'

Fiona made a gesture with her hand and said, 'Never mind that. Fortunately there are still many others, but now, tell me, what did you understand from the story?'

We looked at one another for a while, but Catherine said, 'Don't ask me. I've known the story since I was small and I know its meaning. The king was punished because he kept the poor people from the water.'

Fiona said, 'That was when we were small. But how do you understand it now?'

Catherine shrugged her shoulders, smiling.

Fiona said, 'That too is an answer.'

Then she turned to me and said, 'And you?'

I hesitated a little and then said, 'I think it's a beautiful story.'

A serious expression passed over Fiona's face and she said, 'You're right, but you have to say what you understood from it. The story doesn't end with its telling. Its listeners have to finish it.'

I thought hard for a while. Then I said, 'Maybe the story means that what we see may not be the truth, and the clear surface of the water may hide a life we do not know, and the truth may escape us under any surface. Is that the meaning?'

Fiona smiled and said, 'Maybe. Didn't I tell you that the story is fashioned anew by everyone that listens to it? And what about you, Mr Niyazi?'

A frown appeared on Wasfi's boyish face and for the first time he lowered his eyes, making himself look like a schoolchild being examined, but he said, 'I'm not good at solving puzzles, but I don't understand how what happened could be a punishment for the king, as Mrs Catherine says. On the contrary, the story says that the king, the princess, the prince and the guests are living an eternal life under the water in an unending party.'

Catherine interrupted him to say, 'But don't forget that all of that is in a prison under the water.'

I said, 'Perhaps the palace, before it was drowned, was a prison above water. Perhaps the whole world is a prison!'

Addressing her sister in a joking tone, Catherine said, 'Observe, Fiona! Now my husband's dark side is at work. But don't worry, another story may well put him back in a good mood!'

At that moment, however, Fiona seemed distracted. Her lips were pursed, she was supporting herself with her hands on the table, and her face had suddenly turned red.

She put her hand over her mouth and her body began to shake as she exerted an effort to stifle short staccato coughs. Then she tried to rise, putting the table napkin over her mouth, but she sat down again, the coughing racking her body, her breathing now a painful rattle in her throat, as she tried to catch her breath. Wasfi and I stood up in fright. Catherine was also standing next to her gasping sister, her arms around her shoulders, and she addressed me, trying to master her fear, and pointed to a bottle at the end of the table, saying, 'Quickly, Mahmoud. Pour a spoonful of the medicine.' Fiona, however, gently pushed her sister's hand from her shoulder and made a gesture of refusal, which she repeated several times, still coughing, and when the crisis was past she gripped Catherine's hand hard and raised her tear-filled eyes to her standing sister. Then she looked at us and said vehemently, as though angry at herself, and still panting, 'I'm sorry. I've spoiled the… meal, and the first… the first time…'

We muttered meaningless expressions of protest, but Fiona, trying to catch her breath, was addressing her sister and pointing dismissively at the bottle of medicine, saying, 'It doesn't do to take too much of it. It doesn't help at all. I took a dose before dinner in fact.'

Then she pulled herself together and went on, 'The doctors in Ireland told me that my illness isn't at all infectious. Otherwise I wouldn't have permitted myself… you two… and Catherine.'

I protested, 'Why talk of such things now? What matters is for you to recover your health.'

In firm tones she repeated, 'All the same, I would never have allowed myself.'

Catherine bent over her sister and kissed her on the cheek, saying in tones she tried to make cheerful,'You only infect people with good things, Fiona. I wish I could be infected by you.'

The evening came to a rapid end. I went with Wasfi as far as the station and we were silent and oppressed. Halfway there, however, I stopped suddenly and asked him, 'Why do you think Fiona told us the story of that sunken palace? And why did she ask for our opinions?'

Wasfi stopped too, looked, somewhat surprised, into my face, and said, 'I think, Your Excellency, that she told us the story to entertain us. I forgot all about it in the crisis that overcame her.'

Resuming my progress, I said, 'You're right.' Something inside me, however, told me that she didn't tell her story frivolously. At the very least, she had wanted to get to know us. And then what? At that moment, Wasfi was saying, in a tone of pity, 'These bouts used to come to her sometimes while we were in the caravan and everybody would feel sorry for her. On those occasions, she'd usually go away from us or avoid us. We discovered that she hated anyone to show concern for her at such moments. She wouldn't reappear until the crisis had passed, and then with a smile on her lips, as though nothing had happened.'

The following morning I was on the verge of sending Sergeant Ibraheem to summon Sheikh Sabir so that I could introduce Wasfi to him, when the sheikh himself surprised me by appearing in my office. Rarely had he done so since the incident with Maleeka and the firing of the cannon. He said he'd heard of the arrival of the new officer and had come to welcome him in the name of the agwad. I received him with lukewarm expressions of politeness, then introduced him to Captain Wasfi and explained that from now on the latter would be responsible for liaising with him with regard to everything that concerned the collection of the taxes. Wasfi, however, surprised me when he started talking about how happy he was to meet 'His Reverence' Sheikh Sabir, of whose learning he had heard so much before coming to Siwa.

I couldn't prevent myself from asking him, in front of the sheikh, 'Where did you hear about him?'

He answered with a certain excitement, 'Corporal Wahba el Salmawi, who came with me. He's from Marsa Matrouh and lived here for a while and he knows all the agwad of Siwa.'

'I know him,' said Sheikh Sabir.

Then the captain asked permission to leave 'for one minute' and returned with a small oval box of red velvet in his hand and addressed Sheikh Sabir, saying that his father had gone on pilgrimage to Mecca this year and brought back with him things from the Hejaz, for the blessing they contained, and that he wanted Sheikh Sabir to accept this modest gift. Astonishment appeared on Sheikh Sabir's face too when he opened the box and took out a string of yellow prayer beads, which he turned in his hand, saying, 'Pure amber!' Then he repeated his thanks to Wasfi, saying that it brought great blessing from the Sacred House, and that he would say many prayers for him and for his father, the pilgrim.

When Sheikh Sabir had left, I said to Wasfi, overcome by anger, 'What do you think you're doing, Captain?'