Why did Fiona come here at this time?
No. Let me think of something else. To work! But my mind isn't in a mood to calculate the figures and write the reports to the ministry. Why not write a letter to Brigadier General Saeed? From time to time he too writes me letters full of brotherly greetings. I cudgel my brain to read between the lines in them news of the Protected City or even of the ministry but find nothing. It is this caution that he has used to keep himself safe through the vagaries of the times without losing his integrity. Why wasn't I like him? I took out his last letter and read it again:
Your Excellency my dear brother Mahmoud Effendi Abd el Zahir. The expressions of brotherly love now in full measure attached, and the yearnings of which the Creator, glory be to Him and exaltation, alone is aware dispatched, should I attempt an exposition of all that the heart contains, such an exposition for ever would extend, and never reach its end. God willing, you are all, with His help and favour, in the best of health and on the topmost rungs of enjoyment…
'The topmost rungs of enjoyment!' How can I reply to this good-hearted man without lying?
It was no use. I got up and started as usual moving about the spacious office. That too was no use.
Whatever I think about, she comes back to me. What am I to do? Catherine says that her father always used to call her the Saint. Why did this sick saint come here to add more agony to my soul's agony? It's not her saintliness or her goodness of heart which have captured me. My interest in such things is feeble; the period when I used to attend the meetings of the Masons spoiled me. I didn't lose my faith entirely, but I became used thereafter to not giving much thought to what was 'forbidden' and 'permitted'. I abandoned Masonry after reading Afghani's attack on it and his renunciation of it. I hated it too when I saw the European Masons supporting the British in Egypt. Despite this, I retained faith in the mind and in logic above all, and a little of the old faith too has survived. I experience true repentance every year in the month of Ramadan. I don't go near alcohol or women, I perform both the obligatory and the supererogatory prayers, and I read the Koran. At the end of the fasting month, though, I
go back to being exactly the way I was. And from time to time, when my spirit is disturbed, I find comfort in prayer, so I pray a lot. Catherine knows nothing of all that. She takes me as she finds me, or perhaps more accurately, she doesn't care. But what about her? It seems to me all she knows about her religion is the silver cross that she sometimes hangs on her chest, saying, 'I inherited it from my grandmother.' And Fiona? In her evening tales there are no lessons or morals and I haven't heard her saying prayers under her breath. She just tells beautiful stories. In fact, she…
Enough!
A knock on the door. I gave thanks for it, whatever it might bring! As though calling for help, I shouted at the top of my voice, 'Come in!'
Sergeant Ibraheem opened the door and said that Corporal el Salmawi was asking to see me. I gave him permission to enter, and the sergeant opened the door and called to him. When the corporal entered, his huge body filled the doorway, so he moved to the side a little to let Ibraheem out. I didn't know why he had come. I myself wanted to hear from him in detail what had happened when he went with Catherine and Fiona to meet Sheikh Yahya, but I thought of what Ibraheem had said and asked him whether he had known the sergeant in the oasis when he came with the army. He replied that he had known Ibraheem but only a long while after that, when they had fought together in Urabi's army at Kafr el Dawwar.
I thought of the Bedouin of Alexandria and asked him with some astonishment, 'You fought with him in Urabi's army?'
'Indeed, Your Excellency. We fought together, and he's a courageous soldier. He risked his life once to save me from death in battle. I was coming out of the trench when firing started, and he jumped out and pulled me back with him.'
He fell silent for a moment. I said, 'It seems saving people's lives is a hobby with Sergeant Ibraheem.'
He understood nothing and remained silent, so I went on, 'But they dismissed you from the army after the war, as they did Ibraheem and the rest of the troops, isn't that so?'
'They did. But then later they needed me in the police in Marsa Matrouh. They don't have many trained troops there.'
'And why have you come now, Corporal?'
He said he'd been going to ask to see me before but the business with the boy who'd thrown the stone had delayed him. They'd searched for him and found no trace. Now, though, he wanted to inform me that Sheikh Yahya had sent him a letter with one of his grandsons asking to see me as soon as possible.
After a moment's silence, I said, 'That's strange, but he can come and see me here whenever he wants.'
'How can that be, Your Excellency? He has vowed not to leave his garden until he dies.'
'So I'm being asked to go to him?'
'It's up to Your Excellency, but if you wish to go, allow me to go with you.'
'You'll have to, because I don't know the way.'
On our way to Sheikh Yahya's garden, I wanted to pass by the house to let Catherine know, and to find out whether Fiona had started to try the treatment. When I got down from my horse, however, one of the soldiers of the guard that I'd put in front of the house stopped me, saying, 'There's a woman from the oasis inside.'
I exclaimed, 'Another woman from the oasis in my house? What disasters will this one cause?' I sprang towards the steps, but Salmawi stopped me with a gesture from the first step, saying imploringly, 'Wait a moment, Your Excellency, till we find out from the guard what happened. As Your Excellency put it, there's no call for more disasters.'
The guard was eager to tell what he knew. He'd seen a woman going up to the house walking very slowly and supporting herself on the shoulder of a boy. From the way she walked it looked as though she was a very old woman and he'd become sure of that when she came close and he saw a part of her face that was uncovered. She wanted to climb the stairs but he prevented her, at which she addressed him in speech that contained words of Arabic and words in the language of the place, which he had difficulty in understanding. She knew the madame and wanted to see her.
Salmawi asked him, 'Did she say her name was Zubeida?'
'Yes, Corporal,' answered the soldier. I looked at Salmawi enquiringly and he said, 'I know her, Your Excellency, that old woman who speaks a bit of Arabic. She was with us in the caravan and Miss Fiona took a liking to her. She wanted to buy her tarfottet mantle, but she gave it to her as a present.'
The soldier continued, 'All the same, I didn't let her go up, Excellency, but sent the boy, and he knocked on the door and gave them the message. The younger lady came to the door and waved to Zubeida to go up and she hugged her at the door. Then they went inside together.'
The guard finished his story in the same state of excitement with which he'd begun and pointed to the boy, who was sitting on the sand and watching us from a distance. As though to defend himself, he said, 'That's the boy who came with her. He'll tell Your Excellency how I tried to stop her.'
I wanted to go on up the steps, but Salmawi approached me and whispered in my ear, 'Even if she is an old woman, Excellency, a woman a hundred years old, no man can enter the house so long as she's inside.'
Pointing to the cloak thrown down on the stairs, he went on, 'So long as she's left her cloak in front of the door, men aren't allowed in. It's their custom, and the boy sitting there will tell if you go in. Now we can rest assured that the old woman won't harm anyone, so let's continue our errand, Excellency.'
I hesitated for a moment, then remounted, as did Salmawi. He was the one who was giving the orders now, and I was following them. No matter. I would heed Ibraheem's advice and trust him until I had put him to the test. We set off in the direction of Aghurmi. After crossing the patch of open desert in front of the town, we proceeded along the road that goes through the walled gardens. At the sound of the horses' hoofs, the singing inside would stop, and a few zaggala would appear at the entrances to the gardens. I made up my mind not to pay them any attention after the looks of hate and murmurs whose meaning was not hard to grasp from the first garden we passed. Some of them greeted Salmawi warmly, repeating his name so I would understand that their greetings did not include me.