And then there was the question of size. He knew roughly what size Leila was but not in the way a woman would. Better steer clear of clothes.
Slippers, say. There were some nice little embroidered ones in the shops here. She would like those. But again there was the question of size. He had an uneasy feeling that the ones here would be too small for Leila. He rather thought her feet were quite big in relation to her general size. Maybe feet grew first? Again he was venturing into areas new to him. If the slippers wouldn’t fit, they would be useless. Better steer clear of footwear.
But what then? Material? One or two of the shops had what seemed to him quite attractive lengths of material. But he could hear Zeinab dismissing them scathingly over his shoulder. They might do for Musa’s wife, he thought, but for Leila?
He was going to buy a carved wooden bracelet for Zeinab, something made locally and with a curiosity value. Would that do for Leila as well?
He was passing a carpenter’s shop. It was just an empty space with a few planks leaning against the walls. There was no counter. In the other shops, as in the less sophisticated parts of Cairo, there would have been a counter, with a shopkeeper sitting on it. There was one like that nearby, the one where they sold materials. But the carpenter’s shop was not like that.
He could see the carpenter working away in the back of the shop. He looked up and came across to Owen. ‘Does the Effendi desire anything?’
‘Advice,’ said Owen. He explained the situation.
‘What I would give my grandchildren,’ said the carpenter, ‘is something I had made. A spoon, perhaps? Like this.’
He produced some long, finely carved spoons.
‘That looks pretty good!’ said Owen, relieved.
‘Or this. To keep things in. Children always like something like this.’ He produced a little box.
Why not? It was small, about six inches long, made of nice wood. Sandalwood? It was smooth, pleasant to touch and agreeably smelling.
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Wait! Wait! Some paper, Selim. Go to Ali’s and ask him for some nice paper to wrap a present in, a present for a little girl.’
A boy at the back of the shop rushed out. There seemed something familiar about him. Selim?
‘Is that the Selim who came with me to the old temple? And found the things from Soraya’s bride box?’
‘Yes, it is. I don’t like to think of that, Effendi. Soraya was a sweet girl. I made her bride box for her. To think of the use it was put to! Oh, Effendi, there are wicked men in the world!’
He shook his head.
‘But you’re right, Effendi, it was Selim who found the things.’ He looked around furtively, but Selim was not yet back. ‘Between you and me, Effendi, there was something between Selim and Soraya. He has not been the same boy since. I try to keep him busy but you can tell his heart’s not in it.’
The boy returned and began to wrap up the box.
‘This is for Leila,’ said Owen quietly. ‘I will tell her that you wrapped the box.’
Mahmoud was getting ready to leave. By the time he and the clerk got back to Denderah it would have long been dark, but there was no point in staying here. He had done what he could. He had hoped that, with the clerk’s aid, he would have been able to wrap the whole thing up. They would have identified the men who had put Soraya in the bride box. They would probably be the men who had killed her but even if they weren’t, it could have opened the whole thing up. The end would have been in sight and so would have been his return to Cairo. Cairo, and his family. Mahmoud was missing his children. He had never been away from them for so long before.
But it hadn’t worked out like that. There had been no identifications. He was no further on than when he had started. Although perhaps he was. Not as far on as he had hoped, but at least he had been given a lead.
He called the clerk to him and told him to let it be known that Mahmoud would like to know when Suleiman returned. And there would be money in it. The clerk was to drop this in casually. Mahmoud had not been able to speak to Suleiman while he was here. As they knew, Suleiman had gone off on an errand for the lady, so Mahmoud had missed him. But he still wanted to talk to everyone, to make sure that he had spoken to all the lady’s servants. All, without exception. He wanted to be sure that he hadn’t missed anything. And so he would be grateful if he could be told when Suleiman had got back. And, as the clerk had said, there would be money in it.
More than that he could not do. At least for the moment. It wasn’t much but it was something. He might still be able to extract something from his visit to the Pasha’s estate. To both the houses. That at least he had learned.
At the last moment, as he was setting out for Denderah, the lady appeared. Give it another hour, she said. It would be cooler then. The sun’s heat would have gone from the ground, and it would be much nicer for travelling. True, it would be dark, but she would send someone with him to show him the way. Mahmoud accepted the offer gratefully. He could still feel the day’s heat in the air, and both he and certainly the clerk had just about had enough of it.
A servant brought him lemonade in the mandar’ah. Karim looked in once or twice, friendly but at a loss for conversation. He offered to show Mahmoud his guns, having apparently forgotten that he had already done so. Mahmoud politely declined.
The lady herself did not appear.
A servant came and said that Salah was now waiting. Mahmoud went out into the yard, where the donkeys were standing docilely. Salah was a short, stocky man who presumably worked in the lady’s fields. At the last moment Karim came out to say farewell. He said he would walk with them a little of the way.
As they went past the barns Mahmoud saw that activity of some sort was going on. The doors, which he had previously seen locked, were now open and men were bringing out heavy boxes. In the torch light something glistened.
‘It’s the guns,’ said Karim.
‘From your collection?’
‘No, no; these are the ones we’ve been storing for Hafiz.’
Mahmoud could count six boxes. There might be more inside the barn. ‘That’s a lot of guns,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Karim casually.
They moved on past.
‘Yakub will be sending someone to collect them tomorrow,’ said Karim. ‘Sometimes he brings a gun for me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, a present. Mother says it’s a way of saying thank you. I hope he gives me one of these. They’re a new model. It’s the sights, mostly — they’ve improved them. And certainly that would be a help with the small birds.’
They came to the edge of the out buildings.
‘Well, I must turn back,’ said Karim. He held out his hand. ‘Nice to have met you, Mr el Zaki.’
‘A pleasure to meet both you and your mother,’ returned Mahmoud. ‘Give her my thanks for her hospitality, will you?’
‘I will,’ promised Karim.
The night was soft and warm. Once they had got away from the house it seemed pitch dark but gradually their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and the track ahead was easily visible. It threaded its way through the thorn bushes. The donkeys padded softly along.
Mahmoud drew alongside Salah. ‘What is all this about the guns?’ he asked.
‘The Pasha’s lady keeps them in her barn until the great caravan comes,’ he said. ‘Then they send someone over to pick them up.’
‘And take them on to Denderah?’
‘That is right, yes.’
‘They don’t come with the caravan?’
‘They came with a smaller caravan earlier,’ said Salah. ‘Then they are left here.’
‘Who brings them?’
‘Yakub.’
‘In another caravan?’
‘In another caravan, yes. Yakub has camels of his own, which he hires out.’
‘Someone hires him to bring the guns?’
‘That’s right, yes.’
He didn’t seem disposed to say more. Perhaps he didn’t know more.