‘What was it, then?’
The woman put her mouth close to her companion’s ear. ‘They say it was the Jews.’
‘The Jews? What would they want with her?’
‘What would any man want with a woman? Besides-’ Owen did not quite catch what she said but he saw the other woman stare.
‘The Cut? Oh, that’s awful-!’
They moved finally away.
Owen found a cafe in the Bab-el-Foutouh. Save for one thing, you could have gone past it without knowing it was one, since all it amounted to was an open door going down into darkness.
Along the front, though, was an old stone bench, at one end of which some men were sitting.
He sat down at the other end and mopped his face. At this season in Cairo the slightest movement made you pour with sweat.
A water-carrier was passing on the other side of the street. One of the men hailed him.
‘It’ll be a bit easier next week, Abdul, when there’s water in the canal!’
‘It’ll be a bit easier for everyone else too,’ said the water-carrier. ‘They’ll be able to get it for themselves.’
He came across to them.
‘From your point of view, then, I suppose it’s a good thing they’re going to fill it in?’
‘Until the pipes get here,’ said the water-carrier.
‘Pipes? What pipes?’
‘They have these pipes which send water all over the city.’
‘Well, I’m damned.’
‘Or will do. They’re doing it quarter by quarter. This one, thank God, is going to be one of the last.’
‘But it won’t be like the canal, though, will it? I mean, with the canal, all you’ve got to do is dip your pot in. You can’t dip into a pipe, now, can you?’
‘They’ll have spouts.’
‘But then it will all pour away, won’t it?’
‘No, there’ll be taps. You’ll be able to turn it on and off.’
‘Yes, but still-I just don’t see pipes getting anywhere. It’ll cost them money to put pipes in. Who’s going to pay?’
‘You are. They’ll charge you for the water.’
‘Charge for the water!’
‘Yes. And a bit more than I do!’
‘God preserve us!’
Owen beckoned the water-carrier over. He gave Owen a little brass cup, undid the top of his skin, bent suddenly forward and shot the water over his shoulder in a glittering jet, straight into the cup.
Owen thanked him and gave him a couple of milliemes.
‘No hurry,’ said the water-carrier, and stood patiently by while Owen drank.
‘Straight from the river?’ He took a sip. ‘Ah, it won’t taste like this when it comes from the canal!’
‘It never tastes the same,’ agreed the water-carrier.
‘It will this time,’ said one of the men. ‘The Jews are going to freshen it up!’
‘With a Muslim girl,’ said the water-carrier.
The Muslim cemetery was not walled, although occasional piles of stones indicated its limits, but part of the open desert. The wind blew sand among the tombs, to such an extent that some of the older ones were nearly covered. Only the tops of the tarkeebahs, the stone or brick blocks above the vaults, were visible.
The rich were buried in brick tombs with arched vaults, high enough for the persons inside to sit up comfortably when visited by the two examining angels, Nakir and Neheer. The entrance was at the foot, below ground, so that after the body had been put inside, the earth could be filled in and the entrance concealed. It was not just the Pharaohs who had to bother about robbers.
The gravediggers had just finished constructing the small porch in front of the door of a new tomb, roofed to prevent the earth falling in. Owen joined them in admiring their handiwork.
‘It’s not bad, you see,’ they said, inviting him to inspect. ‘The stones fit quite well, considering.’
‘Except there,’ said one of the men, pointing to a corner.
‘That stone was a pig!’
‘It doesn’t lie flat enough.’
‘Why don’t you go and get another, then, Hamid, if you’re not happy?’
‘Because that would make me even less happy.’ He looked round. ‘It’s hard work today. I could do with a drink. Where’s that idle sod of a water-carrier?’
‘He’ll be along.’
‘Why don’t we go and wait for him, then?’
The men went over to lie in the shade. Owen went with them.
‘You need a drink on a day like this,’ he said.
‘Too true; and out here in the desert there’s not much chance of getting one.’
‘You’d do better by the river.’
‘We don’t get much chance of working there. The graveyards are all this side of the city.’
‘You’re probably glad when it’s your turn to do the Cut, then.’
‘We certainly are!’
‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t do it every year,’ said one of the men. ‘Why do we have to share it with the Jews? What have they got to do with it?’
‘It’s always been like this,’ said another of the men. ‘One year it’s us, the next year it’s them.’
‘Yes. But why does it have to be like that, I’m asking? Why shouldn’t we do it every time?’
‘Because they’ve got their fingers in the pie and they’re not going to take them out.’
‘They’ll have to take them out after this. Because after that there’s going to be no pie!’
‘I don’t hold with that, either. Why do they have to fill the canal in? It’s doing all right as it is.’
‘Ah, yes. But that’s progress. That’s the modern world for you, Mohammed.’
‘Well, I could do without it. They’re taking everything away from us. Last year it was the Hoseini celebrations, this year it’s the canal. Next year we won’t even have the Cut!’
‘Yes, and it would have been our turn!’
‘I like the Cut,’ said one of the men.
‘Well, yes, so do I. There’s something good about seeing a rush of water. Especially when you’re used to working out here.’
‘Do you think that girl would have made any difference?’ asked someone speculatively.
‘The one the Jews put under the mound?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I reckon it might.’
‘Because I don’t see it. I mean, you’ve got all these bodies up here, haven’t you? Why don’t they make it all fertile? I mean, if a girl could do it, why can’t they?’
‘Because there isn’t any water. That’s just the point. Up here, see, it’s all dry and when the bodies get put away, they don’t rot. They just sort of mummify. Whereas down in the Canal, when that water comes in, it makes the body rot. Then it’s all fertile. I mean, that’s the point.’
‘So it’s a good thing?’
‘Well, it’s perhaps a good thing to put a girl there. But I don’t hold with it being a Muslim girl. Why can’t it be a Jewish girl? Or a Copt?’
‘The Jews picked her, didn’t they? And they wouldn’t have picked one of their own.’
‘Well, I don’t like it. They seem to be having everything their way. First, they get to do the cutting. Then they get paid extra for it! And then they pick a girl who’s not even theirs!’
‘It’s a sort of sacrifice, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, well, if it’s a sacrifice, that means you ought to be giving something up, doesn’t it? I mean, if we did it, we’d be giving up one of our girls, wouldn’t we? And we wouldn’t be too happy about that, because we’re advanced, like. But those Jews, they’re really crafty. They offer up the girl and say, “here’s the sacrifice, let’s have something back on account,” and all the time they’re not offering up one of their own but one of ours!’
‘Yes, but God will see through that, won’t he?’
‘I reckon he already has. The body was found, wasn’t it? Well, I reckon that’s his way of saying: “No thanks, you crafty buggers, that won’t do for me!”’
‘Well, I do think he ought not to let them get away with it.’
‘Yes, but he needs a bit of help, doesn’t he?’
‘What do you mean, Abdul?’
‘Well, they’re going to turn up to do the Cut, aren’t they? In spite of everything they’ve done. And I think somebody ought to teach them a lesson!’
Owen heard the clinking as he turned down a street away from the graveyard and, sure enough, there, coming down the road towards him was a water-carrier. The clinking came from two brass saucers which he was striking together like cymbals to give notice of his presence. Not all the water-carriers had saucers which were brass. Some had mere earthenware ones. Those a step or two up had cups.