‘Ali looks after them. He oils them and that sort of thing. You have to look after them because the sand gets in them and then it is dangerous.’
They were sporting guns, the sort of guns you would find in an English gun room. There were even some fowling pieces. Mahmoud was not an expert on guns but was impressed.
When they left, Ali locked the door.
‘You can’t be too careful,’ said Karim. ‘Not with guns.’
They went back to the mandar’ah, the reception room.
‘Where have you been?’ asked the Pasha’s lady.
‘I have been showing Mr el Zaki my guns, Mother.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, shrugging.
‘Your son has a fine collection, my lady,’ said Mahmoud.
‘There is not a lot else in his life,’ the Pasha’s lady said.
She sat down on the dais and indicated that Mahmoud was to sit there too.
‘So,’ she said, ‘tell me about this bride box. And this young girl.’
‘She had worked here, I understand. Her name was Soraya.’
‘Soraya!’ said Karim.
‘She did indeed work here. For a short while. Then I found her unsatisfactory and dismissed her.’
‘But then you took her back?’
‘Well, I was sorry for her. Perhaps I had been too hasty. And there were connections, you see, between my family and hers. Her mother came from my part of the world. Not Egypt. The Sudan. And when her mother died, I thought she would be lonely. Well, I was lonely, too. I wanted to hear my own people’s speech again. Somebody told me about her and I thought, why should she not come to me and we can talk together? Her father — that awful old man — was willing. Indeed, eager. He thought he might make something out of it. And she … I think she was glad to get away from him. But it didn’t work out. She was uncouth. I know I said there were connections between my family and hers but they were very remote connections. My family was rich, hers was poor. And her manners were … unsuitable. Her mother, her proper mother that is, had tried, but with that awful old man around I don’t suppose she had much of a chance. Anyway, she proved unsuitable, so I sent her home.’
‘But then brought her back?’
‘A mistake. I shouldn’t have done.’
‘And then you sent her away again?’
‘Yes. And I don’t know what happened to her after that.’
‘Did she not bring her bride box with her the second time?’
The Pasha’s lady hesitated. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘she did. I don’t know what she thought she was doing. I made her put it in one of the barns. And I suppose she took it with her when she left. And goodness knows how she happened to finish up inside.’
Karim plucked her arm. ‘I don’t understand, Mother. Soraya’s box? And she was put inside?’
‘I will explain it to you later.’
‘But ought she not to be let out of the box?’
‘She is no longer there. I will explain it to you.’
‘But, Mother …’
‘Go now. Go to your room.’
‘But …’
‘Now!’
Karim left the room obediently.
‘He is simple,’ said Karim’s mother, after he had left. ‘You will have seen that.’
‘Yes. It is sad. I feel for you. He is a nice boy.’
‘Yes,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘He is.’
‘And he speaks well. He speaks English well.’
‘The words are there but not the sense. We did not realize at first. We sent him to a good school. A good English school. His father had hopes. “The English are masters now,” he said. “Let him be brought up as an Englishman. Then he, too, will be one of the masters.” But it was not to be. It soon became apparent that he was not … as the other boys were. At first we thought it was because he had difficulty with the different language. But then we saw that it was not. He had the words. The words came easily. But not the sense. After a while we saw that the sense was not there.
‘We brought him home, here. His father did not wish anyone to see him. He was ashamed. He blamed me. “What have you brought into the family?” he said. “There are two sides to a family,” I said. “Perhaps the fault is on your side.” “There has never been a monster on my side,” he said. “The boy is not a monster,” I said. “He is a good boy.”
‘“But he will never be a good man,” he said. And it was true. As he grew up it became apparent that something was missing. We kept him here. His father did not want anyone to know that his son was not as other boys were. He turned his face from him, and from me also. “Take him away,” he said. “Take him into another house.” “If I take him, I will go with him,” I said. “Go, then,” he said. “For I do not wish to set eyes on him. Nor on you, either, who have brought this thing into the family.” “God has brought him,” I said. “And he has brought him as a punishment for your misdeeds.” For I knew that my husband had not led a good life before he married me.
‘Then my husband was very angry. “Did you not share in those misdeeds?” he asked. “When we sported, I did not sport alone.” And it was true that we were wild when we were young. “You have brought shame into my family.” “Yours is the shame,” I said, “for you were a Pasha’s son and I was a simple girl and I was dazzled by your magnitude. You took advantage of my innocence.” “Innocence?” he scoffed. “You knew what you were doing. You had set your eyes on me and lured me into disgrace.” “There was no disgrace when a son was born,” I said. “When a son was born you walked proudly. It was only afterwards that you spoke of disgrace.” “And disgrace it was!” he said. “To bring forth a monster!” “No,” I said, “it was the hand of God, punishing us for our wrongdoing.”
‘He would not have it, and put me aside. But I notice that he has not married again. He fears another monster may come; and if it comes to him and not to me, then the world will know where the fault lies.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘So,’ she said. ‘You have heard the story. My husband wanted to hide him from the world. So I said, “You must hide me, too.” And so here we both are!’
She shrugged again. Then she looked at Mahmoud. ‘But you have seen something in him?’ she said. ‘Something of what he might have been?’
‘Yes,’ said Mahmoud.
‘You are misled by the ease of the words.’
‘It is not just the words,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Behind the words there is something.’
She looked at him curiously.‘You think so?’
‘Yes. There is kindness, there is courtesy. There is sympathy.’
‘Too much of that,’ said the Pasha’s lady.
‘These things are not just words.’
‘But words are important. Give him the words and the rest will follow, my husband said, but at the end he was left only with the words.’
‘What was the school?’ asked Mahmoud.
‘The Khedivial. It was a good school. One of the best in Cairo. There was nothing wrong with the school. But it wasn’t right for him.’
‘I know the school. It is a little too military in style for me.’
‘That was the attraction for my husband,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘He thought it would strengthen Karim. He thought that was what he needed. Discipline. He thought he just wasn’t trying. Of course, it wasn’t that. No amount of discipline, drilling, saluting and that sort of thing could help poor Karim. When I saw that I took him away. My husband was angry. But why should I let the poor boy be shouted at when it was obviously not his fault?’
‘You did the right thing,’ said Mahmoud.
She looked at him, surprised, then amazed. ‘You think so, do you?’
‘If he was struggling.’
‘Well, he was struggling. He needed help, not shouting.’
‘Did you try to give him help?’
‘I gave him lessons myself.’ She shrugged. ‘But that was not much good. I am not learned, as his father is. I did not know what was required. So I brought in a tutor. A well-meaning fool, who couldn’t seem to grasp that Karim was … different. I told him to go, and after that Karim was left to himself. He was happier like that. Sometimes though, I can see he is bored.’