The Greek sipped. ‘I can’t taste any difference,’ he admitted. ‘It was just that, coming down the street this morning, it struck me as different.’
‘You’re tasting the newness. The oil is just the same but it’s fresh from the can.’
‘That must be it.’
The Greek squatted down beside the pan.
‘Of course, it’s a bit early for lunch …’
‘Oh, come on — try a bit!’
‘Well, just one. A little kebab.’
The restaurant owner watched him.
‘Delicious!’ the Greek said appreciatively.
The owner, relaxing, went back to his chopping of vegetables.
‘Hello!’ the Greek said, catching sight of his neighbour. ‘It’s Abdul, isn’t it? Nothing on this morning?’
‘Just carried a wardrobe.’
‘Then you’ll need something to restore you!’
He signalled to the owner, who dipped some beans into the bowl before Abdul.
‘I haven’t forgotten you,’ said the Greek. ‘I’ve got something coming along. It’ll be a rush job.’
‘How rush?’
‘The next couple of days. It’s on its way. A handy load.’
‘If it’s too big, I can’t do it. I’ve got something on.’
‘I expect you could fit this one in. It comes in bits. You could do part of it tomorrow, part the next day, and then fit it in. The thing about it is that my friend pays well — over the odds. But it’s got to be fitted in, like I said.’
‘When would I know?’
‘Soon. It’s worth putting yourself out for. As I say, he pays over the odds. It’s delicate, you see.’
‘Perishable?’
‘Fragile, rather. You’d have to be very careful with it. That’s why he doesn’t want just anybody. He’s got to be strong, but careful with it.’
‘Experienced!’ said the porter.
‘As my wife says, a bit of experience goes a long way!’
‘She says that, does she?’ said the porter, grinning.
‘Tells in my favour,’ said the Greek. ‘And at my age you need something that tells in your favour!’
‘You need size, too. And energy!’
‘I had the size. But now I’ve lost the energy.’
‘Pity!’
‘It matters. You see, my wife is younger than I am.’
‘That has its advantages.’
‘True. But sometimes I worry … The thing is, she’s a bit of a beauty. Was a dancing girl.’
‘A dancing girl?’
‘Yes. Very supple. You’d be surprised!’
‘She can get up to things, can she?’
‘Oh, yes. She’s a bit older now than when we first married, but she’s still … well, you know!’
‘Oh, yes, I know!’
‘She’s still got her figure. A regular Scheherazade!’
‘But misses the energy?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Well, that’s not all bad, is it?’
‘No, but it’s demanding.’
‘You can’t keep up?’
‘Not any more. You’d need to be, well, like the Khedive himself. If half of what I’ve heard is true.’
‘It’s having so many wives that does it. Keeps you in trim.’
‘One’s enough for me!’
‘Especially if she’s the way you say she is!’
‘The trouble is, I’m out so much.’
‘That must be a real worry. In the circumstances.’
‘Oh, it is. You see, I can’t keep my eye on her all the time. I’ve got a job to do, after all.’
‘Well, yes. Look, I’m around quite a bit of the time. I’ll keep a lookout and tip you the word if I see anything going on.’
‘Would you?’
‘No problem at all!’ said Abdul, grinning.
Abdul was still sitting at the pavement restaurant the next time the Greek went past. He dropped down beside him.
‘The work’s not come through yet, then?’
‘No. The stuff is coming in by train and it’s not here yet. But Nassir likes me to be right at hand when it does. His boss likes it to be just so. And if it’s not, he kicks Nassir’s backside! When it’s coming up, Nassir gets all edgy.’
‘It’s for Nassir, is it? He was telling me about it. He’s got to be here himself, he was saying, and right on the dot!’
‘That’s right. And he wants me to stay close while it’s on the boil. That’s why I’m sitting around here. The moment the train gets in I’ve got to get everyone together so that we can go over the moment he gives us the say-so. We’ve not to be on the platform; his boss doesn’t like that. He says it draws attention to the consignment. So we’ve got to be just round the corner and then get round there in a flash. And then it’s pick the boxes up — and they’re bloody heavy, too — and take them round to the warehouse immediately, with Nassir leading the way and his boss right behind us breathing down our necks!’
‘Gets you a bit edgy, too, I would think!’ said the Greek sympathetically.
‘Oh, I don’t mind it,’ said Abdul. ‘The money’s good, and it doesn’t last long. And then we’re off round to the beerhouse the moment after.’
‘That’s all right, then,’ said the Greek, laughing.
‘I’m not saying that it’s not. Mind you, as I say to Nassir, it’s not the smartest way of doing things. Because we’ve got to move them on again afterwards, and if we did it at the same time and just moved them on straightaway to where they’ve got to go, it would save time and money. But I’m not really complaining. That way he does it makes two jobs out of one, so that’s better for us.’
‘Is the second move a big one? Much of a carry?’
‘No. It’s just around the corner, to the madrassa. It doesn’t take a moment and it would be easy for us to do the first time.’
‘You don’t want to tell him that,’ said the Greek.
‘I don’t reckon Nassir wants to tell him that,’ said Abdul. ‘Otherwise it would all have been done in the one job years ago. But I reckon that this way Nassir makes something out of it.’
‘That’s the way of the world!’ said the Greek.
Although he gave no outward sign of it, the moment the porter mentioned the madrassa, Georgiades become alert. Madrassas were schools. Not the new state schools the government was building, but the old, traditional, religious schools. They came in various shapes and sizes. Usually they took the form of pupils gathered around a teacher who would instruct them in the Koran. Instruction meant learning by heart. The leader would read or recite a passage from the Koran and the pupils would repeat it until they were word perfect. There was some explanation of the passage but the main thing was to commit it to heart.
Often the teaching would take place not in the classroom but beneath pillars of a mosque. The teacher would sit with his back against one of the pillars and the pupils would gather round him. Sometimes the pupils were very young, barely more than toddlers, not even carrying slates. But sometimes they were burly adolescents who used their slates not for writing on but as missiles. You would find them setting the pace in almost any riot.
Usually the rioting was spontaneous, a bit of adolescent fun, on the whole harmless, as Owen had to frequently point out to his superiors, both Khedivial and British. But sometimes it was not and then, often, it was not fun. The madrassas frequently served as centres for radical movements drawing on the young. Cairo abounded in political societies and many of these were based on or grew out of madrassas.
Madrassas were the bane of Nikos’s life. They were always causing trouble. He monitored them as best he could; he had a list of them as long as your arm. But they kept coming and going; they were essentially fluid and difficult to keep track of. Some were religious in orientation and some were exclusively political; some were reformist and many revolutionary. Some were violent.
If trouble was coming, it was usually coming from the madrassas.
So when Georgiades reported back to Nikos what the porter had said, Nikos immediately switched on. He knew from long experience that this was the moment when you could nip potential violence in the bud. It wasn’t a long moment; it could burst into open rioting very quickly, and then it was very difficult to deal with. But, just for a moment, if you could intervene early and decisively, you could stop it in its tracks.