“You mean they paid?”
“Have been paying. Are paying. They couldn’t do it in one go. They haven’t the money. It’s tied up in the business and the old woman keeps a tight hold on that. So they had to do it a bit at a time. Sell off some of the wife’s jewels each week. They’re down to the clothes now.”
“Christ! What do they do when the money runs out?”
“You don’t ask that kind of question. In the end they’ll have to go to the old mother. That’s what the girl wants to do. The wife can’t bring herself to just yet. There’s such a lot riding on the outcome that she wants to put off bringing it to a head. She’d rather live in uncertainty than be certain the wrong way. The girl says there’s no question about it going the wrong way. She’ll kill the old lady herself-yes, Christ, and she means it, too! You don’t know these Greek families. What with damping her down and being terrified of the old lady and yet being determined to do what she can for her husband, the wife’s falling to bits.”
“Bloody hell!”
“I thought you might like to meet them.”
“Well, yes, I would.”
“OK. I’ll set it up.”
They met in a public gardens by the river where the Greek girls were practicing their dancing. They were rehearsing for Easter Monday when they would be joined in the traditional national dances by the young men, at present rehearsing elsewhere, and the older young women, who didn’t need to practice because they knew the dances so well already.
Georgiades pointed out Rosa to Owen. She was one of the oldest and tallest of the girls, imperious with the littler girls, demanding equality with the adult young women assisting the teacher. There was a slight gawkiness about her which showed up in the dance they were presently performing, which involved them ebbing and flowing in a long line and required a girlish gracefulness. The teacher pulled her out and made her dance the part of the boy, which suited her better, demanding assertion and retreat against the withdrawal and advance of the line of girls.
The pattern of the dance suddenly changed and now the initiative came from the boys. The music became staccato, fiery. Rosa responded at once. Gracefulness was clearly a strain; of fire she had plenty.
When the dance ended she rejoined her mother, who was clapping her hands rhythmically in the shade of a bougainvillaea bright with flowers. Owen could tell at once that she was the girl’s mother. Both were tall and thin and had the special fairness of the Greeks. As he came up to them he saw that both had gray eyes. The mother was beautiful, the girl showed promise of it.
Georgiades introduced them. There was a general break for picnic. Mothers and daughters sat down on the grass and opened baskets with lemonade and sweet cakes. The littlest children ran off and played games among the bamboos. The dance had been accompanied by a bass viol and two fiddles played by men in national costume, who sat down under a cabbage tree and thankfully pulled off their boots.
The mother could hardly bring herself to look at Owen. She stared down into the basket and played nervously with the contents. She had long, thin, pale fingers which were never still.
“It is a long time now,” said Owen gently.
“Yes.”
“During that time, have they ever shown you your husband?”
“No.” She knew what he was thinking. “But I know he lives,” she said defiantly.
“I wondered if by chance they held him in the place to which you take the money.”
“I do not think so,” she said softly.
“Could you ask to see him? It is just that if they agreed to bring him, he might be freed.”
“No!” she caught her breath. “It’s too risky! He might be killed!”
“It is a long time and growing longer.”
“They would not bring him,” said the daughter definitely.
“You are sure? Have you tried?”
The mother could not manage to speak. Her fingers tightened round one of the bottles and she shook her head determinedly.
“You see,” said Owen, as gently as he could, “they go on asking for money until they are stopped.”
“What have you done to stop them?” asked the girl.
“Too little. That is why I am trying now.”
“It is too risky,” said the mother.
“I shall not press you.”
Two small boys ran up and plunged into the basket. The mother tried ineffectively to stop them. The girl leaned across swiftly, grabbed both of them and hauled them back.
“One biscuit each!” she said warningly. “Then you must go away!”
The boys, clearly used to sisterly firmness, stood obediently, received their sticky biscuit and ran off shouting happily into the bamboo thicket.
“They are good boys,” said Georgiades.
“Yes,” said the mother, with automatic pride. “They are growing up so quickly.”
“We have not told them,” said Rosa. “They think our father is away on business.”
“Sometimes they ask,” said the mother. “Sometimes they ask when he is coming back.”
Rosa laid her hand on her mother’s. Although it was smaller, not so long, it was recognizably the same hand. “Do you take the money yourself?” asked Owen.
“I did at first.” The mother’s voice was barely audible. “And now?”
The woman did not reply.
“We have made other arrangements,” said Rosa.
“Can you tell me what they are?”
“No.” Rosa looked him fiercely in the face.
“I wondered if you had seen them,” Owen said to the mother. “I thought perhaps you could tell me what they looked like.”
“It was dark,” said the mother faintly.
“It is always dark,” said the girl.
“And always the same place?”
“It has changed,” said the mother, “twice.”
“You must have talked with them a little. Is there nothing you can tell me? I ask only to stop them taking others.”
“You are not to speak like that,” said Rosa. “It is hard enough for her already.”
The mother gently waved her daughter down.
“I would tell you if I could. I haven’t been there for some time. The first time there was a man. I could not see his face. It was dark and he held a galabeah over it.”
“What did he say?”
“Only that if I wished to see my husband again I must pay. I told him,” her voice faltered, “I told him all. About our mother. The business. I said, ‘I will bring you what I have.’ He pressed me but I could say no more. Then he told me to go away and come again the next day. And so I did. When I came again there was another man. He questioned me fiercely but seemed satisfied. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘bring us money every three weeks. Do not miss a payment or it will go hard with your husband.’ I said: ‘If I pay you, will you give me back my husband?’ ‘Yes,’ said the man. ‘We have no quarrel with your husband, nor with you. Except that when you have finally paid and get back your husband, then you must go. You must leave Cairo and go. Egypt is Arab and is not for you.’ ”
The woman lifted her head and looked Owen in the eyes for the first time.
“He would not have said that if he had not meant to return my husband. That is why I know he is still alive.”
The men had put on their boots and were tuning their instruments. The line of girls in their fine lawn chemisettes was starting to form.
“Go away,” said Rosa, “and do not come back!”
There came a squeal from inside the bamboo thicket. The mother hesitated, muttered a goodbye, and then as another squeal came dived after it.
Owen and Georgiades turned to go.
“We don’t know he’s still alive,” said Owen, as they set off along the path. “They may just be conning her.”
There was a noise behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Rosa was about three yards behind.
“Don’t ever say that again!” she said. “Don’t ever say that! Don’t you dare even whisper it! She still believes.”