He was staring at me and his voice trembled slightly with the effort of trying to make me understand. ‘When you have no country — nothing … to be the owner of a piece of land becomes desperately important. It’s a refuge, something to dream about. I remembered my promise then and I wrote to Caid Hassan.’
‘And he confirmed your title?’
‘No. He didn’t reply to my letter. And then, a few months later, just after I’d decided to get out of England and had answered your advertisement — Wade arrived. I knew then that my letter had never reached the Caid, but had been sent on to his son, Ali.’
‘Wade told you that?’
‘No, no, of course not. But I knew, because of what Marcel had told me. Marcel loved the Berber people. He gave his whole life, and his health, to them.’ He shifted his position, leaning towards me. ‘Listen, Philip. There’s an ancient, ruined city at Kasbah Foum. That was why Marcel was interested in the place. And it was whilst he was doing excavation work there that he came upon the entrance of some old mine workings. It was blocked and he never had a chance to open it up because, shortly after he discovered it, there was a landslide and it was buried, just as your Mission is buried here. But there is a local legend that silver was once mined at Kasbah Foum. That was what worried him when he was dying.’
‘Why should it?’ I asked.
‘The terms of those deeds are rather peculiar. Whoever inherited from Marcel had to get his title confirmed by the Caid and ownership registered with the Sultan’s government. If no new ownership were confirmed, then when Caid Hassan died, Kasbah Foum would belong to his son, Ali. Marcel wanted to prevent that. In his view Ali was a fanatic — not interested in the welfare of his people, only in fighting the French. He was afraid that if Ali discovered the mine and developed it, or sold it, he would use those funds to buy arms. At all costs he wanted to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.’
‘And he made you promise to get your title to the place confirmed by the old Caid before he died?’
‘Yes.’ He stared down at the deeds lying on the blankets in front of him. ‘I thought it was just a whim — you know how people build things up in their minds when they’re feverish. And back there at Skoda after the war it all seemed so remote and unreal.’ He looked up at me suddenly and said, ‘But it’s real enough now — now that I know Ali is trying to get those deeds. When Wade came to me in England, he said he had seen the lawyers in Rouen and they’d told him a man named White had been making enquiries — ‘ He stopped, his head on one side. ‘What was that?’ His voice shook a little.
‘It’s only in the wind,’ I said.
But he got up quietly and went to the door and pulled it open. There was nothing there. He stood listening for a moment and then shut it. ‘That man,’ he said. ‘That Frenchman. He’s a member of the security police. I know he is.’ He started pacing up and down. ‘Karen and Kasbah Foum — they’re all I’ve got in the world.. And they’re both here in North Africa. I’ve got to stay in North Africa.’ He was talking to himself, gesturing urgently. He looked suddenly quite wild with his black hair standing on end.
He swung round abruptly and came back to the bed, leaning down and catching hold of my arm. ‘Don’t tell them the truth tomorrow. Give me a week. A week is all I need. And you’ve got to come with me. You know the people. You speak the language. We’ll see the old Caid. Maybe there is silver there. If so, you’ll get your Mission. I promise you. You’ll have all the money you need. It’s what Marcel wanted; exactly what he wanted. I was to take what I needed and the rest was to go to the Berber people — hospitals and schools.’ He stopped abruptly, staring at me, panting slightly with the effort of his sudden outburst. Then he picked up the deeds and thrust them into their envelope. ‘Think it over.’ His voice had steadied. ‘A few days is all I ask. Afterwards — ‘ He shrugged his shoulders. He stared at me a moment as though trying to will me to agree, and then, when I still didn’t say anything, he crossed to the door. ‘Good night,’ he said and switched out the light.
‘Good night.’
The door closed and I was alone again. I lay in the darkness, thinking about it all, trying to make up my mind what to do. But my brain wouldn’t concentrate and gradually I fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.
The Berber boy didn’t wake me until after nine and when I went into the bar room, Bilvidic was already there, sitting at the same table, writing. He looked up as I entered, murmured ‘Bonjour’ and went back to his notes. Jan came in a few minutes later and we breakfasted in silence. Only once did he say anything and then he leaned close to me and whispered, ‘What have you decided?’
‘I don’t know,’ I answered. I hadn’t decided anything.
At ten minutes to ten Bilvidic put his notebook away and came over to me. ‘I believe you have an appointment with Monsieur le Controlleur at ten,’ he said. ‘Since I am also going to see him, perhaps you would care to come in my car.’
I thanked him and got up, conscious of Jan watching me nervously. He went out to his Citroen and as he drove me down through Enfida he talked of nothing more alarming than mountain plants. He was a keen horticulturist.
The administration block of Civil Control was a low, brick building and the offices opened off a single long passage. The Tribunal was sitting that morning and the whole length of the passage was crowded with indigenes from the country round. As I walked down to the Controller’s office I was conscious of a sudden hush.
The men stopped talking and stared at me curiously. Many of them I knew, but they looked away as I approached.
And then suddenly an old man stood in front of me. It was the chef de village from Tala. He touched me and kissed my hand, bowing formally, and then in a clear voice he welcomed me back to Enfida and expressed his deep distress at what had happened. I caught his hand and gripped it, and his old eyes smiled at me behind the glasses. ‘We understand each other,’ he said quietly. ‘You will have help from the villages of the Ravine if you build your house again.’
‘There are few, like you, who understand,’ I said. And I thanked him and we parted. But somehow the morning had changed completely now. I felt suddenly warm inside and full of vigour.
I was shown into an empty office and though Frehel kept me waiting almost twenty minutes, I didn’t mind. I was thinking that if I had the villages of the Ravine with me — the very ravine where the disaster had happened — then it was worth fighting to start again. And then I began thinking about Kasbah Foum. Julie had said something would turn up. Maybe this was it….
The door opened and Frehel came in. He was a tall, rather stooped man with lined, leathery features. He looked more like a professor than an administrator and, as always, his Civil Control uniform looked oddly out of place on his long, loose-jointed figure. He shook my hand and apologised for keeping me waiting. And then he began talking about the disaster and about the Mission. ‘A terrible tragedy, Latham.’ He shook his head and clicked his tongue. ‘Will you tell Mademoiselle Corrigan how sad I am about the death of her brother. Terrible! And he was a fine painter.’ And then he wanted to know what my plans were and I began to think that that was the only reason he had asked me to come to his office. ‘And this Dr Kavan?’ he asked. ‘You went to Tangier to meet him, I believe?’
I nodded, conscious that there was suddenly more interest in his voice, a look of curiosity in his eyes. He hesitated, his hands in his pockets, rattling his keys. Then he said, ‘I am sorry to trouble you at a time like this, but I have a member of the Surete here who has come to ask you some questions. It is about something that happened in Tangier.’ He opened the door for me. ‘If you will come through to my office — ‘