It was, clearly, going to be an unequal one. The grasshopper could do nothing to the chameleon but the chameleon could do plenty to the grasshopper. The issue was simply how long the grasshopper would survive.
Its chances, however, were not negligible. The chameleon would shoot out its four to five inches of tongue to lasso its prey; but if the grasshopper turned its jumps adroitly enough, it could make the chameleon miss; and if it could go on doing this long enough the chameleon’s tongue muscles would tire, it would stop shooting and the grasshopper would be declared the winner.
The contest was just beginning as Owen walked past and already, apparently, the grasshopper had done enough to attract some sizeable bets. Owen could see the coins set out in a dirty handkerchief.
One of the workmen touched his arm as he went past.
‘He’s been here before,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of Mas’udi and AJ-Sayyid Hannam.
‘Which one?’
‘The effendi.’
Mas’udi. Owen nodded.
‘How long ago?’
‘Before the regulator went.’
Owen nodded again and slipped his hand in his pocket. ‘Did he talk to anyone?’
‘He had someone with him.’
‘Who?’
A boy. An effendi.’
Owen jingled the coins in his pocket.
‘Did they talk to anyone else?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Babikr?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Owen brought his hand out.
‘What did they do, then?’
‘They just looked.’
‘At the regulator?’
‘At the regulator.’
Owen dropped some coins into the man’s hand; which went on the chameleon.
IjMsW
He took a felucca back to the city. At this time of day there were not many passengers, only a small group of fellahin who squatted on the deck with a hamper of chickens and chatted animatedly, and a donkey loaded up with berseem, clover for the cab horses of the city. Owen sat at the back on the raised steering platform, where the master sprawled with his hand on the tiller.
On the Nile the prevailing wind is from the north while the current is from the south, a happy state of affairs which means that, with a little bit of luck, in either direction the crew has very little to do. Today the wind was just strong enough to offset the current and the felucca moved slowly upstream.
Out on the river there was no protection from the sun and the glare from the water was hard on the eyes. Owen usually didn’t bother about sunglasses but today he wished that he had brought them.
The steersman reached over the side and splashed water over his head. He asked Owen if he would like a drink. When Owen said he would, he dipped an empty beer bottle into the river, pulled it up and gave it to him.
‘Try this,’ he said. ‘You won’t get water like this in Cairo!’
One of the fellahin looked up.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘You know what they always say? The best water comes from the middle of the river!’
He stretched out his hand for the bottle after Owen.
‘And the thing is,’ said the steersman, ‘it’s free.’
‘It’s free out here,’ said the fellah, ‘but it soon won’t be in the city.’
‘What’s that?’
‘They say the only way you’ll be able to get water in future will be through pipes. And it stands to reason you’re not going to get that for nothing.’
The steersman shrugged.
‘The river will still be there, won’t it? And there will still be water-carriers.’
‘Ah, but will there?’ said the fellah.
On an impulse Owen decided not to get off the boat at Bulak but to go on to the stop opposite Roda Island, where he would be able to see how preparations for the Cut were proceeding.
Already the entrance to the Canal was jammed with boats. There was hardly enough room for the Kadi’s barge to get through. Owen could see it across the river, moored off Roda Island. Workmen were busy putting the finishing touches to its finery. Lanterns hung from the rigging, the ornamental chairs were already in position, and there, on a raised platform in the bows, were the cannon.
Both banks of the Canal were now a mass of stalls. There seemed hardly room for the spectators. Already, though, some forward souls were camping out, reserving their positions.
Down in the canal bed little boys milled about, making a game of trying to break through the police cordon around the cone and climb to the top. Occasionally one or two nearly succeeded, only to be retrieved by chiding constables. Everything seemed very good-humoured.
He caught sight of Selim on the other side of the cone, chatting to some heavily hennaed peanut sellers who were cackling loudly at his jokes. He abandoned them when he saw Owen and came across to him.
‘Effendi,’ he said, ‘they have been here.’
‘Who?’
‘The gravediggers. They said they wanted to look the dam over. It was in case the Jews dropped out.’
‘Did you let them?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t let them get too close. I said-you’ll like this, Effendi, it’s a good one-I said, “my boss will bite your ass”. And they said: “Oh, yes; and who’s your boss, then?” And I said-this is it, Effendi-I said: “It’s the Lizard Man!” And they said: “What the hell’s he got to do with it?” And I said: “He’s been doing what you’ve just been doing: looking the job over.” Well, they didn’t like the sound of that. And then they asked, how did I know? And I said: “He was sniffing around the other night and left his mark.” And they didn’t like the sound of that, either. “So, my little petals,” I said, “you’d better watch your butts if he’s taking an interest in proceedings this time!” And they spoke big, and said he wasn’t the only one who was taking an interest in proceedings this time, and they weren’t the ones who needed to watch out. But, Effendi, I could see that they were worried. And, besides, Effendi, the biggest of them is but a flea compared with me.’
‘Suppose,’ said Zeinab, ‘she had died as a consequence of the circumcision: what would you have done then?’
Mahmoud shifted in his chair uneasily.
‘The issue doesn’t arise,’ he said.
‘But it must arise all the time,’ objected Zeinab. ‘Circumcision of women is common in the poor quarters; and in those conditions it must often go wrong.’
‘The practice is not against the law,’ said Mahmoud.
‘So you would do nothing?’
‘I would look at the circumstances,’ said Mahmoud, ‘to see if a legal issue arose.’
‘Ah, so it could arise?’
Owen could see that Mahmoud was in for a hard time of it. He had arranged the meeting at Zeinab’s request. Women did not ask for meetings with men and Mahmoud would have been paralysed if she had. He found talking to Zeinab difficult enough as it was. Not only was she a woman, she was the daughter of a Pasha; and not only was she the daughter of a Pasha, she was the daughter of a particularly free-thinking one, brought up to converse with a freedom that Mahmoud found shocking.
This business of circumcision, for instance, was something a woman should never discuss with a man, not unless he was her husband. True, Owen was here, but then he wasn’t, strictly speaking, Zeinab’s husband. Tormented, he cast a despairing look at Owen.
‘Presumably, there could be issues of negligence,’ said Owen.
Mahmoud seized on this with relief. On female circumcision he could think of nothing he could with propriety say; on legal issues he could talk forever. He launched into a highly technical, safely logical explanation.
‘You surely don’t expect a woman in the Gamaliya to understand all this?’ said Zeinab.
‘Well, no. She would have to consult a lawyer.’
‘You, for instance.’
‘Well-’
The thought filled him with panic. On other occasions Zeinab would have enjoyed tormenting him. Today, however, she was concentrating on the law, not the lawyer.
‘I think trying to find a remedy that way is no good,’ she said. ‘It’s too complicated. It’s the practice itself that’s got to be attacked.’