“If he has, this is the senior one. She has gray hair and a straight back.”
“I have not seen her.”
“She does not come out on the terrace.”
“What does she do, then?”
“Sits inside, I suppose. Perhaps she stays in the harem.”
“Has he any sons?” someone asked from the outer circle. “If he has, I have not seen them.”
“There is that young one with the bulging eyes.”
“Ah yes, but he is not a son.”
“He is very like a son.”
“I don’t think the old man has any sons.”
“No sons! Then there will be no one to mourn for him after he is gone.”
“Or inherit.”
“It is very sad if a man has no sons.”
“The one with the bulging eyes,” said Mahmoud, coming in quickly to cut off a potential diversion, “was he there that day, the day the old man disappeared?”
“Yes, he was there,” said the flower-seller. “He came out on the terrace.”
“Ah yes, but that was later. After the old man had disappeared.”
“He didn’t come out before?” asked Mahmoud.
“No.” They were quite sure on the point. “He always comes later. The old man sits there first by himself.”
“All alone.”
“Yes, all alone.”
“He has no sons, you see,” offered one of the outer-ring. Mahmoud, foreseeing another diversion, carried on hastily. “He might not have been lonely. He would have spoken to people.”
“Not many,” said the strawberry-seller doubtfully.
“He spoke to the dragoman,” said Mahmoud.
“Yes, but that was only that day.”
“Perhaps he spoke to him at other times, not on the terrace?”
“Perhaps.”
“If the dragoman was a friend of his, he will grieve for him.”
“That is true,” they assented.
“I must speak words of comfort to the dragoman,” said Mahmoud. “Which dragoman is it?”
“Abdul Hafiz,” said the strawberry-seller.
“No, no,” said the flower-seller. “Osman.”
“It was definitely Abdul Hafiz. I remember, because I was surprised that he should come and talk to Farkas.”
“Why should that be surprising?” asked Mahmoud.
“Because Abdul Hafiz thinks that Farkas is ungodly.”
There was a general chorus of assent.
“That’s why I think it was Osman,” persisted the flower-seller. “He talks to Farkas.”
“I know. If it had been him I would not have been surprised. But I was surprised. That was because it was Abdul Hafiz.”
“Are you sure that wasn’t another day?”
“What wasn’t another day?”
“That-”
“Where is Farkas?” asked Owen.
They looked around.
“He is not here,” they said.
“I know that.”
“He hasn’t been here for some time.”
“Perhaps he’s getting some more stock,” someone suggested. They all laughed.
“How long has he not been here?” asked Owen. It sounded a flower-sellerish sort of question. Perhaps the disease was catching. They understood, however, without difficulty. “He hasn’t been here for several days.”
“Can you remember when he was last here?”
“Was it by any chance,” said Mahmoud, “the day that we last spoke with you? Was that the last day he was here?” They thought before replying, understanding the point of the question. Then they looked at each other.
“Yes,” they said together.
A flock of turkeys had been infiltrating its way through the crowd. One of them came to the strawberry-seller’s basket and sampled his wares. The strawberry-seller leaped up with a shout and belabored the turkey, which turned and scuttled off into the crowd. A series of indignant shouts marked its passage. There was a sudden fierce blare of hautboys as it came up against the wedding. Panicking, it turned and rushed back the way it had just come, pecking everything and everyone in its path.
The crowd broke apart. Somebody fell on to the strawberries. The strawberry-seller started beating him. Another turkey appeared, closely followed by another. Owen jumped for the steps, narrowly missing the snake charmer. Mahmoud leaped up beside him.
Two frightened turkeys ran past the bottom of the steps. Bedlam broke out as they reached the donkeys.
There was a sudden fanfare as the wedding minstrels, profiting by the gap the turkeys had made, reached the steps. Behind them, wavering uncertainly between two giant camels, came the bridal palanquin. There was a loud jingle of bells as the first camel went past.
“By God!” said the blind snake charmer, alarmed. “There it is again!”
Mahmoud turned in a flash and ran down the steps.
“You said that before when I was making them play again the disappearance of the old man with the stick. What do you mean, father? There is what again?”
Chapter 11
"The bells,” said the snake charmer.
“Yes,” said Mahmoud. “I hear them too. Was it like that on the day the old man was taken?”
“Yes,” said the snake charmer. “Yes. I think so.”
“He came down the steps. With difficulty-one was assisting him.”
“Yes.”
“And then you heard the bells?”
“Yes. I cried out to the old man to warn him. I thought he might be knocked down. But one told me to be quiet.”
“Was it the one who was assisting him, the one from above?”
“I do not know. I cannot remember.”
“And then the wedding camel moved on and the old man was no longer there. Is that right?”
“That is right.”
From further along the street came a confirming tinkle. “Another man was taken later,” said Mahmoud. “An Englishman.”
“I know him,” said the snake charmer. “He speaks strangely and is the girl’s father.”
“That is right.”
“She gives me a piastre. Every time she goes in, every time she comes out. She did not give me a piastre that day. I did not mind because I knew she was troubled.”
“She grieves because she has lost her father.”
“These are evil days,” said the snake charmer, shaking his head.
“They are indeed,” Mahmoud agreed. “And we must stand out against the evil.”
The snake charmer did not reply.
“I remember that day the Englishman was taken,” Mahmoud declared. “He too was sitting at the top of the steps. And then he came down them, I think. Do you remember?”
“I think he came down.”
“Was one assisting him?”
“No. But he was talking to one.”
“They came down the steps together?”
“Yes.”
“And then you heard the bells again?”
“Yes.”
“And after that, as before, the man was gone?”
“Yes.”
“Old man,” said Mahmoud gently, “the bells ring many times. The wedding camels go up and down the street, and that is good, for weddings are enjoined in the Book, that Allah might bless with children. Do you not hear the bells many times?”
“I do.”
“Then why do you remark on them now?”
“I heard the bells,” said the old man after a moment.
“I am sure you heard them.”
“They came when I was troubled.”
Mahmoud deliberated. “Is it,” he added, “that usually when you hear them your heart is happy?”
“That is true. My heart is happy.”
“But not when the old man with the stick was taken. Then your heart was not happy.”
“I was confused. I did not know what had happened. I could not understand.”
“I remember you were confused when I spoke with you.”
“I was troubled. I knew that bad things were going on. And then the bells! I was confused.”
Mahmoud looked at Owen.
“Imagine an old man,” he said softly, in English, “blind. He creates his world and it is orderly. It has to be. And this one day, suddenly, it is not orderly. And he remembers. He remembers especially the discrepant things.”
“Are the bells discrepant?”
“They were discrepant with the bad things he knew were happening. And,” said Mahmoud, “they are discrepant to me, too, for if Moulin had come down the steps and was standing right by the wedding procession, the kidnappers would hardly have chosen that moment to kidnap him. Not with all those potential witnesses. Not unless the wedding was part of it.”