‘We shall see what he says.’
‘He is far away,’ said the lady, ‘and will not be coming back.’
‘The Khedive’s reach is long,’ said Mahmoud.
‘But does not extend to the Sudan,’ said the lady.
‘But the British are there as here,’ said Mahmoud, ‘and they will send him back for me to talk to him.’
The lady did not reply. In fact, she continued to sit there in silence, thinking. ‘And all this,’ she said after a while, ‘for a silly girl!’
‘For a girl, yes,’ said Mahmoud, thinking that the lady was merely reflecting the general designation of women in the eyes of Arab society.
‘And no one thinks of Karim,’ said the lady.
‘His mother thinks of him,’ said Mahmoud. ‘And that is right. But the girl had a mother, too, who, if she had been alive, would have been thinking of her.’
The Pasha’s lady sat silent again for, it seemed, a long time. Mahmoud, however, was prepared to wait. ‘Her mother is dead,’ said the lady suddenly, ‘so I had to do the thinking for her.’
‘For the mother?’
‘For her, yes. Since she is not alive and I am the senior kinswoman.’
‘Was that why you took Soraya into your service?’
‘Yes. Especially since I knew her mother, and her father is a sot. It is as if she were parentless. I had responsibilities.’
‘So you took her in?’
‘Yes, but it did not work out. She was stubborn, obstinate. She would not listen to me. It would have been better if she had.’
‘You cannot control a person’s feelings.’
‘No, but you can guide them. And that is what a parent should do. And I would have done — I did do — since I was in place of her mother. But she would not listen to me.’
‘Her eyes were looking in a direction where you felt they should not.’
‘Could not! I had to think of my family. Or, at least, my husband’s family. As well as hers. Even then I might have managed it if she had not been so obstinate. So proud! I had found her another man. That was right, that was what I should do! But she would not have it.’
‘Well, there is heart in this …’
‘Not if you’re a penniless girl, there isn’t! It would have been a good match. Better than she would ever have hoped for on her own. She should have been pleased. Delighted! But still she clung to her first thought and would not let it go.’
‘Karim, you mean?’
‘Yes! And he was out of the question. And it would not have been right. Karim is … well, you know how Karim is. He could not be a good husband to her! Nor to anyone! Oh, she felt tender towards him, and sorry for him. But that is not the same thing. From her point of view, as well as from his, it had to be stopped. So I tried to turn her eyes in a different direction.’
‘You tried to arrange a marriage for her?’
‘Yes! In the ordinary way. It is what her mother would have done. And her father should have done. So I spoke to someone, and he agreed. He was willing to take her. And … and she would not even have had to leave the house. She could have gone on living there — yes. Yes, she could have gone on being kind to Karim. Of course, she couldn’t have … But, then, poor boy, I don’t think it could have happened anyway. Not on his side. There was no question of that. And her husband would not have minded. Not her being kind to Karim. Since there could be no question of more. He was willing for it to be like that; he knew Karim. I spoke to him about it and he was willing for it to be like that. It would have solved all the problems. She would have been happy, he would have been happy. Karim would have been happy. But she could not let it be so! She wanted more. More than we could give.’
‘Who was this man?’
‘Suleiman.’
There was a shift in the pattern of activity in the midan. Men were carrying the sacks of trocchee shells to the railway line and laying them alongside the track, and camels were coming in steady succession to the station to pick up the bales of gum arabic. When they were loaded, they were led to the far side of the midan, where camels and men were assembling. The camels were made to lie down but the loads were not removed. Owen realized that they were getting ready to leave.
He went to the station office, where he found Babikr standing in again. He said that his brother had still not recovered from his long ride to the Pasha’s estate and back.
‘But all is in order, Effendi,’ he assured Owen.
‘The loads are being readied for departure,’ said Owen.
‘Yes, Effendi,’ said Babikr. ‘There is a goods train coming in and the trocchee shells will be put on it. And some of the gum arabic. The rest will go by camel to the coast.’
‘And the boxes?’
Babikr hesitated. ‘Not here yet,’ he said.
At the last moment, a train of donkeys appeared with the boxes. The donkeys were lined up beside the tracks and their drivers stood by them. Other men joined them.
And then Owen saw him — the white man he had caught watching him earlier. He came up and stood by the boxes and appeared to be counting them. Apparently he was satisfied, for he nodded and stood back.
In the distance a train blew its whistle and, shortly afterwards, came into sight. It drew into the station and stopped. Immediately, there was a frenzy of activity. The doors of the wagons were thrown open and the sacks and bales put inside.
The boxes were loaded separately in a special wagon. The white man stood over the loading until it was complete and the door slammed closed again. Then he stepped away. He watched until the train drew out of the station.
‘Clarke Effendi likes to see that all is done as he had decreed,’ said Babikr.
‘And was Suleiman content?’ asked Mahmoud.
‘He was content,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘His other wife is growing old. And, besides, he knew he would be well rewarded.’
‘But Soraya was not content?’
‘No.’
‘Did Suleiman know this?’
‘He knew it and was angered. Who was Soraya, a poor basket maker’s daughter, to set herself up against a Pasha’s lady and a man of worth? Again, you see, it was presumption. “She will need to have it knocked out of her,” he said, “and that I will do. I promise you, after we are married.”’
‘Did her father know about this?’ asked Mahmoud.
‘Mustapha?’ The lady hesitated. ‘He knew I had marriage in mind for her. But I had not mentioned Suleiman’s name. It was not settled.’
‘He still hoped, perhaps with her, that …’
‘He was as foolish as his daughter. But the thing about a man like Mustapha is that, for the price of a drink, he will do whatever you ask. He was of no account.’
‘But Suleiman was of account?’
‘A worthy man,’ said the Pasha’s lady. ‘Too worthy for a girl like her.’
‘He knew what you were thinking of?’
‘Of course.’
‘And when he learned that she had refused him, was he angered?’
‘Of course. What man would not be? A chit of a girl! Who thought herself too good to be a servant with the other servants!’
‘And, of course, Suleiman was one of those servants.’
‘The thought that she might look down on him was intolerable to him. As anyone would expect!’
‘He was angered?’
‘Who would not be?’
‘And when he learned that she had refused him …?’
‘Angered again. But, perhaps, knowing who she was, and what she was like, not discontent.’
‘Yet angered,’ said Mahmoud. ‘And he was the one who was giving the slaver’s men their instructions?’
The Pasha’s lady said nothing.
‘Again I ask,’ said Mahmoud, ‘what were those instructions?’
‘And again I reply,’ said the Pasha’s lady, ‘that I do not know.’
‘But you must know. For you first gave Suleiman the instructions.’
‘I instructed him to tell them that they were to take her home, and her accursed bride box with her.’
‘And that was all?’
The lady was silent again. Then she gave a little shiver. ‘I know what you are thinking. But that was all.’