The house was dark and low. There was only the single room. If Mustapha had been just that little bit wealthier he would have had a water buffalo, which would probably have shared the house with them. In the yard outside there were one or two hens and a pile of the basket maker’s raw materials.
The omda had entered the house with him, followed by a small crowd of people.
‘Do you wish the elders to stay?’ asked Owen. If they did, they could act as witnesses.
Mustapha made a gesture of indifference.
‘Right, then, stay,’ said Owen, ‘that you may see that what is done is justice.’
Mustapha, prompted by his wife, ran through what he had told Owen already. In the case of Leila there was little to add. He had heard that there were slavers in the district and one evening, when he had been drinking — and had, he said, been provoked by his daughters — had decided to put an end to it and at the same time to turn them to profit.
‘And you urged me!’ he said, turning to his wife.
‘I did. It had become impossible to live with them. Particularly Soraya.’
The sale of Leila had gone through without difficulty. He had gone to see the chief slaver and the deal had been struck at once.
‘One moment,’ said Owen, ‘the chief slaver. Was that the white man?’
‘No. He stood mostly to one side. There was an Egyptian in charge at the caravan.’
And that, as far as Leila was concerned, was about it. Money had changed hands, Leila had been passed over and, as far as Mustapha knew, had joined the other children in the caravan.
‘And Soraya?’
This had been less straightforward. Yes, the slaver had wanted her. But not for himself. He already seemed to have known about her because it was he who had raised the question of her sale to Mustapha. He seemed to be acting on behalf of someone else, someone who had seen Soraya and taken a fancy to her. He had asked the slaver to act as intermediary and would pass her back to the slaver when he had finished, so that the slaver would be doubly in wealth.
For the buyer was prepared to pay quite a lot for Soraya. Mustapha had by chance overheard the sum the slaver was expecting and it was considerable. It had quite taken Mustapha’s breath away. The size of the sum was what had made Mustapha think that the buyer must have more in mind than the purchase of a mere slave. He had asked the slaver if she should bring her bride box. The slaver had laughed and said: ‘Why not?’
So when he had told Soraya to come with him, he had told her to bring her bride box. And Soraya had said: ‘Why should I bring my bride box when I am not to be wed?’ And he had said: ‘Don’t be so sure of that!’ And Soraya had said she did not want to marry a man she knew nothing of. And Mustapha had lost patience with her, thinking that this was yet more of her difficult behaviour. And he had said all that she needed to know was that he was rich. ‘What if he were a Pasha?’ he had said. And Soraya had been intrigued and had agreed to at least meet him.
‘But I shall not wed him if I don’t think him worthy!’ she had said. And Mustapha had lost his temper and said that if she went on like this, no one would want her. And she had said she knew someone who would. And that had made Mustapha even angrier, for he knew who she was thinking of.
‘It was Selim, Effendi, a poor boy from the village, worth nothing, and who never will be worth anything. Worthless entirely. So I told her to put him out of her mind and at least see what else was on offer. Which she agreed to do. And I was confident, Effendi, that when she saw that he was a rich man she would have some sense. And so I sent her bride box with her.’
‘Tell me about the slaver.’
‘He was not from these parts.’
‘What part was he from?’
Mustapha hesitated. ‘I do not know. The Sudan, I think.’
‘What was he called? Come, you must have known what he was called.’
‘Abdulla,’ Mustapha said reluctantly.
‘The rest of his name?’
‘Sardawi.’
‘Abdulla Sardawi. That is how he is known, yes?’
‘Yes,’ said Mustapha.
‘And you think he comes from the Sudan. Why do you think he comes from the Sudan?’
‘My wife was a Sudani,’ said Mustapha. ‘My first wife.’
‘Ah!’ said Owen. ‘That explains it.’
‘Explains …?’
‘Your first wife, was she a dark Sudani? Is that how Leila comes to be so dark?’
‘She took after her mother.’
‘And Soraya?’
‘She was less dark. She took after her mother, too, but more after me.’
‘She was lighter in colour?’
‘The mother was light but there was darkness in her. Her blood was mixed.’
‘She was the beautiful one,’ said his second wife, from the hall.
‘And therefore most likely to make a good marriage?’ asked Owen.
‘That was what I thought. And hoped.’
‘But looks are not all,’ said his current wife. ‘She had the devil in her.’
‘She was older,’ said Owen, ‘and there was always going to be trouble between you two.’
‘That is so,’ the woman agreed. ‘Nevertheless, I would not have dealt with her harshly if she had not been so difficult.’
‘We were afraid that Leila would grow up like her,’ said Mustapha. ‘So we thought it best to get rid of them both. The others are more amenable.’
‘Being younger,’ his wife explained. ‘I would not have you think that I am always a bad mother. I would have brought them up to be dutiful.’
‘A man must have a peaceful home,’ said Mustapha. ‘He cannot do with discord in the family.’
‘Always trouble,’ said his wife. ‘Always. There was always trouble with that girl.’
‘Soraya?’ said Owen.
‘Soraya, yes. So it was a blessing when she was noticed.’
‘By the slave trader?’
‘No, no, not by the slaver. She was noticed first, and then Abdulla was asked to see what he could do.’
‘Who was this person who first noticed her?’
‘I do not know.’
‘You do not know?’
‘I know only that Abdulla came on his behalf.’
‘Without telling you the man’s name?’ said Owen incredulously.
‘He said it didn’t matter.’
‘So you knew it was not a question of marriage?’
‘Be careful, Mustapha!’ counselled the wife, from beside the wall.
‘I hoped it would become a question of marriage,’ said Mustapha, turning to her. ‘She is a beautiful girl. Was it not likely that someone should ask after her?’
‘Asking after her is one thing,’ said Owen. ‘This is another.’
‘It could have led to a proposal. That is what I hoped.’
‘You hoped, even though you knew it was a slaver who asked?’ said Owen sceptically.
‘I hoped, yes!’ said Mustapha defensively. ‘There is nothing wrong with hoping, is there, and was it not likely that when the asker had seen her more closely, he would wish it to be? That is what I reasoned. And so I bade her take her bride box with her.’
FOUR
They set off early, when the sun was poking up above the horizon, huge and blood-red, like an enormous orange. It shot up with what seemed to Mahmoud, who was not one for sunrises, incredible speed. The redness on the sand disappeared and was replaced by a soothing grey, which soon become less soothing — indeed, so bright and glaring that it hurt the eyes. The morning, which had been pleasantly cool, warmed up. The heat began to press down on his shoulders. Soon after, the first drops of sweat started to fall on the patient neck of the donkey, and at about the same time he began to discover new muscles in his thighs and new sources of pain.