‘What’s the commonest disease in the country?’
‘Malaria.’
‘Ophthalmia,’ said Owen.
‘Bilharzia,’ said Cairns-Grant. ‘If you add in ankylostoma, which you should, eighty-five per cent of the male population have it. Why? Because they work in the fields-and because of the irrigation system.’
‘I don’t see-’
‘There’s a wee snail. It’s a water snail and it’s host to the bilharzia parasite. Bilharzia is a water-borne disease. So, for that matter, in this country, are ophthalmia and malaria.’
‘But you can’t blame it all on the Irrigation Department!’ cried Macrae. ‘They must always have been here!’
Aye, but until recently it was confined to the northern parts of the Delta. Now you find it everywhere, all through Middle and Upper Egypt. And why? Because of the irrigation system.’ ’Now, come, Alec-‘ began Macrae.
‘It’s the change of system, from basin irrigation to perennial, which you get with the barrages. In the old days they would draw the water off into basins and let it lie there until it soaked away, leaving the silt. After that they left the land alone, which gave the sun a chance to cauterize it-I’m talking medically, ye understand-killing off the shell fish left behind by the flood.’
‘But the basin system was very inefficient, Alec. You could only get one watering and therefore one crop a year, now you can have watering all the time and therefore two or sometimes even three crops. You’ve got to think of the cotton, Alec. It’s increased production no end.’
Aye, but it’s also increased bilharzia, that’s what I’m saying. Eighty-five per cent of the population, man! It leaves them anaemic and debilitated. There’s been an actual decline in the health of the population over the past forty years. And it’s getting worse. So,’ said Cairns-Grant, ‘if I was one of the young Nationalists, instead of throwing a bomb at the Khedive or the Consul-General, or maybe, more sensibly, the Mamur Zapt, I would throw one at the barrage!’
‘Well,’ said Macrae, taking his arm, ‘I hope no one’s listening to you.’
Across the lawn a middle-aged lady, Egyptian, was advancing on them.
‘My favourite lassie!’ cried Cairns-Grant, delightedly. ‘Have ye met?’ he said to Owen. ‘Her husband was Dean of the Medical School here. Labiba Latifa!’
‘We were speaking only this morning,’ said Labiba, shaking hands.
‘You were? Well, you don’t need me to tell you then, Owen, that she’s a formidable lady. You see that?’ He pointed to a long, low building beside the hospital. ‘It’s the Midwifery Extension. And it wouldn’t have been there if it hadn’t been for her!’
‘Oh, come, Alec!’ she said.
Owen guessed that she seldom addressed people, even at parties, without purpose; guessed, too, that he was her purpose.
‘I have to thank you,’ he said.
‘You have spoken to him?’
‘This morning.’
‘And what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Sometimes it is right to hesitate,’ said Labiba, as if she was talking of a novel experience.
‘In my position you always have to think of wider consequences,’ said Owen.
‘Is that a reason for action or for inaction?’ asked Labiba. Owen smiled.
‘In your case, for action, I am sure. My interest, though, is often in prevention.’
‘Perhaps our interests are not always dissimilar,’ said Labiba. ‘I have come to ask you for a favour, Captain Owen.’
‘I will do what I can,’ said Owen, ‘although-’
Labiba smiled.
‘I shall come back to you later on-well, on the more general issue. My favour, this time, is a particular one. It concerns Suleiman Hannam.’
‘That young boy? The one with-?’
‘Yes, the one you met at Um Fattouha’s. I would like you to speak with him. I am afraid he may do something foolish.’
‘What in particular?’
‘He is very confused. I think it is because it is the first time he has met death. He cannot accept it. He knows, of course, in his heart of hearts, that nothing can bring Leila back. But he believes-half of him believes-that if in some way good could come from her death, that would probably redeem it, give it and her life a meaning which at the moment it seems to lack. That is why he came to me.’
‘Because of your work on circumcision?’
‘Yes.’
‘I am afraid I still don’t see-Do you wish me to dissuade him?’
‘Hardly! The reverse, if anything. The activity would do him good!’ Labiba brightened. ‘Yes,’ she said gleefully, ‘that would be good. To have the Mamur Zapt proselytizing on my behalf! They would really think I was formidable then! But, no, Captain Owen, that was not what I wanted you to talk to him about. It is the other half of him. The other half of him is angry. It is looking for someone to blame.’
‘To take revenge on?’
‘Well,’ said Labiba, ‘is that not our Egyptian way?’
Macrae caught him as he passed.
‘We’re having a wee celebration,’ he said. ‘Tuesday, the Sporting Club, at eight. Burns Night. Would you like to come?’
‘Nothing I’d like more!’ Then a thought struck him. ‘But surely Burns Night isn’t for some time yet?’
‘Aye. But it goes down better if you have a few rehearsals.’
Zeinab, stretched out beside Owen, had been hearing about his encounter with the girl’s father.
‘It is a good job my father is rich,’ she said sombrely. And enlightened. Relatively.’
Zeinab always liked to hear about the women in his cases. She tended to identify with them strongly. It was as if, uncertain of her own position in society, she needed to try on other positions. It always made him feel guilty. He was aware that what would give her position was marriage. But the British Administration did not look kindly on its officers marrying Egyptians. And what about her father’s attitude? Nuri, he knew, would have preferred her to marry someone rich. That was the way, he thought, with fathers; perhaps not just in this society.
What made the difference, though, between Zeinab and Leila was that Zeinab did not have to do just what her father said. Perhaps, however, that was an illusion. Perhaps in the end she did have to do what he said, perhaps there were limits to her freedom. Meanwhile, though, there was the space created by wealth, which allowed indulgence. And, to be fair, by enlightenment. Relative, that was.
‘I gather you’re going to talk to the boy.’
‘Yes.’
Wait a minute: ‘gather’?
‘You’ve been talking to Labiba!’
‘Certainly. She is a remarkable woman.’
That, no doubt, was another role that Zeinab had been trying on. Widow. Widow! Surely there were better solutions than that!
Nikos looked up from his desk.
A call for you. Urgent. From the Parquet.’
‘Mahmoud?’
‘Someone in his office. Would you meet him at the Mortuary?’ Again the slow journey by arabeah.
‘One has to think of the horse, Effendi. And of the people in the way. And of the flowers in the gardens and the doves in the trees.’
‘I’ll think about them. You think about getting me to the Mortuary.’
In fact, they made speedy progress. At this hour in the afternoon, when the world was taking its siesta, the streets were empty. Search as the arabeah driver might for reason for delay, he could find none. Even the horse, made brisker by a little breeze from the river, and finding motion cooler than standing stunned in the sun outside the Bab-el-Khalk, quickened its usual step.
Mahmoud was waiting for Owen at the door of the Mortuary, standing in its cool shadow. He was holding a piece of paper. ‘It’s an early warning,’ he said.
‘Warning?’
‘That they’re going to change the autopsy findings.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Cause of death.’
‘Not-?’
‘-what we thought. They’ve found a ligature around her neck. A thin cord very deeply embedded. They missed it the first time because of the condition of the body.’
‘So-’
‘She was garotted,’ said Mahmoud.