Courts of Idleness

by Dornford Yates

  But I digress.

  After considerable hesitation we have decided that you and Jonah should proceed to join us by the first available boat. Before the hot weather begins I hope to have brought this campaign to a close, so that we can all return together.

  If you have any trouble at the Passport Office refer them to Scotland Yard, when they will immediately arrange for your deportation.

  To avoid attracting attention, I suggest that you should travel ‘steerage.’ I enclose a cheque for five thousand pounds towards your passage. I don’t suppose it will be honoured, but you can try.

  The anxiety, which you have consistently omitted to express, for my well-being is, alas, but too well founded. Privation has left its mark. The soda-water at the Turf Club is not what it was in England, and you will find me greatly changed. Indeed, I am so emaciated that, were your instincts less depraved, I should allow two or three pints of your blood to be transfused into my veins. But I dare not imperil that sweet spirit of innocence which is at once my shepherd and my crown.

  For your information and necessary action.

  BP

  PS – You might bring a ‘shaker’ with you. I can’t get one here for love or money.

  Upon inquiry I found that a “shaker” is a contrivance in which you mix cocktails, and Jonah and I started for Egypt ten days later.

  “My dear,” said Daphne, “you’ve grown a moustache.”

  “Neither have you,” said I. “I mean – Is it too hot to kiss you, or ought we to pass right to right? When I’m in Rome, I like to do as Rome does.”

  Before she could reply, Jill left her brother and flung her arms round my neck.

  “I don’t know what they do in Rome,” she said, “but in Cairo—”

  “And now,” said Jonah, “about the luggage.”

  It was certainly high time to do something.

  We were surrounded by a rapidly increasing crowd of yelling natives of all sizes and shapes. Some sought to bear our baggage away piecemeal, others to dispossess us of the coats and rugs we held; a third school endeavoured to connect several pieces of luggage by means of a long strap. One of the latter had actually succeeded in completing his festoon, and had commenced to stagger away before he became the victim of an organized assault.

  “This, I presume, is your Spartacus group,” said I. “You didn’t tell me that you’d got Bolshevism here, or I wouldn’t have come.”

  “Choose one or two quickly, for goodness’ sake,” said my sister. “It’s the only way.”

  I’ll have the cove with one eye,” I said. “Now, Jonah, your pick.”

  Jonah instantly chose a fellow with a physiognomy suggestive of a familiarity with the more brutal forms of assassination.

  “Crippen for ever,” he said.

  I had quite expected that we should have to maintain our selection by violence, but, to my surprise, the moment we had chosen our porters, the rest of the natives turned nonchalantly away, jabbering excitedly to one another, and laughing and jesting like a rabble of children.

  “They don’t seem much disappointed,” said I “A moment ago it might have been a matter of life and death.”

  “‘For East is East,’” said Daphne shortly. “And now we’ll have a couple of arabiyas.”

  “To tell you the truth,” said I, “we had one on the train. Still – All the same, I always thought you were supposed to wait till the sun went down.”

  “Idiot!” said my sister. “An arabiya is a victoria.”

  By this time Crippen and Cyclops had succeeded in concealing themselves beneath our baggage, and we moved off in the direction of the exit. Our appearance upon the steps was the signal for twelve drivers, all of whose animals were feeding, to take immediate action. What followed reminded me irresistibly of a freak event at a gymkhana. Twenty-four nose-bags were torn off, twenty-four ponies were bitted up, the drivers flung themselves upon their seats, twelve whips cracked, and, amid a hurricane of frenzied bellowing, twelve equipages were launched simultaneously towards us. The distance to be covered was only about forty yards, and at least nine of the vehicles arrived together. Collision was averted a score of times as by a miracle. Our two porters regarded the baying avalanche unmoved, merely glancing inquiringly at us, much as stewards might look towards the judge for his decision.

  “For Heaven’s sake put the numbers up,” said Jonah. “My nerves aren’t what they used to be.”

  I boldly selected two of the nine, when the unsuccessful competitors quietly withdrew with every appearance of satisfaction. There were no appeals – there was no discontent. The judge’s decision was not only accepted – it was apparently approved.

  As we drove through the streets, Daphne gave me my bearings.

  “There’s Shepheard’s, Boy, on the right – this is the Sharia Kamel, you know – and those are the gardens.”

  “Yes,” I said, “I thought they must be. I was going by the grass, you know.”

  “Be quiet. And this is the Continental we’re coming to. And over there’s the Opera House, where they’re going to have the masked ball. That’s the way you go to the Muski.”

  “I didn’t catch the last word,” said I. “Just as you were speaking a horse coughed.”

  “The Muski, dear.”

  I looked at her in some alarm.

  “What you want,” said I, “is a sea voyage.”

  “I’m just living for one,” she smiled. “And now put your hat straight; we’re going to pass GHQ. This is the Sharia Kasr-el-Nil.”

  “I never heard such language in all my life,” said I. “How you remember the beastly words, I don’t know.”

  “Hush,” said Daphne, laughing and laying a hand on my arm. “There,” she said reverently, nodding to the right, “that’s GHQ – where Berry works.”

  “GHQ, perhaps,” said I. “‘Where Berry works, never. That edifice has yet to be erected.”

  A few minutes before luncheon Berry strolled on to the verandah, where Jonah and I were lounging in a couple of basket-chairs. His brass hat – he was now a major – was slightly on one side, and in addition to the ordinary staff badges he wore the GHQ armlet. Beneath an excellent pair of breeches his highly polished field-boots and spurs gleamed in the hot sunshine.

  With one accord we scrambled to our feet and stood stiffly to attention.

  Berry nodded carelessly.

  “Sit down, please,” he said easily, “sit down. Let’s have an understanding right away. You need never get up when I come into the room.” And with that he sank into the chair I had vacated.

  Hurriedly Jonah resumed his seat. There were only two chairs.

  Berry looked at me.

  “Where would you like to sit?” he said tenderly.

  Jonah turned to me.

  “I think he’s fatter,” he said.

  “Not a doubt of it,” said I. “And there’s a coarser look about him.”

  Jonah nodded.

  “See where the camel bit him?” he said.

  “Don’t be silly,” said I. “That’s his mouth. What he drinks with.”

  My brother-in-law regarded us affectionately.

  “It’s like a breath from the slums to see you two again,” he said. “Several of my cockles are already warm to the touch. The muscles of my throat—”

  Daphne and Jill floated on to the verandah.

  “Well, you three,” said the former, “have you made friends?”

  “We have,” said her husband. “I’ve just been forgiving them. Didn’t you hear Jonah crying?”

  I slid my arm round Daphne’s waist and drew her close to me.

  “You’re older, darling, though no one would know it, and I think you’re more beautiful than ever. Little Jill is actually twenty-two. We’re all older. One of us is older in sin.” Here Berry groaned. “But we’re all alive and well, thank God, and—”

  I stooped to kiss her, for her eyes were shining.

  “We’re all to-together again,” said Jill shakily. The
n she gave an odd little laugh and burst into tears.

  “My sweet,” said Daphne, and flew to her.

  Berry followed Jonah and me into the house. In the cool hall he seized one arm of each of us in a grip of iron.

  “Bless your two ugly hearts,” he said uncertainly. “Did you remember the shaker?”

  Six days later we were sitting at tea on the verandah of Shepheard’s Hotel. The Sharia Kamel was flooded with brilliant sunshine, and, though we sat in the shade, the atmosphere was agreeably warm. The famous street below us was full of movement, and the ragged babel of sounds that rose and fell without ceasing made up a din that was not unpleasant.

  There is no loitering in the roadways of Cairo. Scurry is in the air. Cars slip through the crowded streets mostly at top speed; its Arab ponies rattle the arabiya along at a hand-gallop; even a porter’s barrow is thrust on its way at five miles an hour. But opposite Shepheard’s the way is none too wide, and the traffic is heavy, so that the most impatient driver must needs go gingerly till he is clear of the throng.

  It was a remarkable scene.

  Arabiyas, motor-cars, donkey-carts hustled one another for the right of way, and here and there a camel, almost completely hidden under its tremendous load, swayed indifferently along the gutter. There was a mounted orderly of the AIF side by side with a well-horsed brougham from the Sultan’s stables. The sullen chamberlain upon the box-seat and a flutter of black and white at the closed window declared its occupants to be two of the royal harem. A funeral was passing – first the rude coffin, hoist on the shoulders of irreverent bearers, alternately chanting and jesting, as the mood took them; then the relatives, also afoot; afterwards a poor pony dragging a trolley crowded with professional wailers, whose thin song dominated for a moment all other clamour. Wearing the blue-and-white armlet of the Signal Service, a dispatch-rider straddled his motor-cycle in hobby-horse fashion as he sought to thread his way through the press. On the opposite side of the street a native policeman surveyed the stream of traffic with a bored air.

  The pavements were swarming.

  Here a British officer brushed by two Bedouin that might have stepped out of the pages of Holy Writ; there was a huckster of sticks pressing one or other of his varied collection upon the passers-by; here a man crying cakes, and there again a vendor of silks and stuffs displaying his wares to any that would throw them a glance. Little brown boys darted along selling papers. British soldiers on pass strolled by in pairs, looking about them curiously. White abbas, green abbas, abbas of all hues, glowed in the bright light. Some of the poorer natives wore theirs looped up and kilted about their thin brown knees. All but the latter were girt with gay-coloured sashes, and wore the inevitable tarbusch upon the back of their heads. Only the women gave no colour to the picture; for all that, there seemed to be as many abroad as there were men. Some of them bore loads upon their heads, others perambulated, plainly but taking the air; but all were sombrely dressed in black, wrapped every one in the voluminous haik and shrouded close with her heavy yashmak. A few went barefoot, with anklets clinking, but for the most part they were wearing stockings, that slipped into rucks and wrinkles as they walked, and shoes that were down at heel.

  On the hotel steps a juggler was appealing against the decision of an under-porter who had been high with him and ruled against his admission. Three or four guides, soberly clad, regarded him with a sneaking sympathy which they were too wise to express. Every now and then a grave-faced urchin would thrust a bare arm under the balustrade and plead shrilly for baksheesh with the visitors of the hotel. His failure in no way discouraged his fellows – all well aware of the value of importunity.

  “My brother – Miss Revel,” said Daphne, by way of introduction.

  I put out my hand.

  “But we’re old friends,” said I. “Berry introduced us at the Club the day before yesterday.”

  Miss Revel shook hands with a quick smile.

  “Did he?” she said innocently.

  “I regret,” I said coldly, “that I should have made so light an impression that—”

  “Oh, I kn – remember. Of course, you’re the camel man.”

  I sat down beside her wearily.

  “I thought I’d exploded that theory.”

  “But Major Pleydell—”

  “Told you I was one of the greatest living authorities on camels,” I said. “So you said on Tuesday. If you remember, I told you that my brother-in-law is not exactly famous for his veracity. I added that I knew rather less about camels than I do about Ahasuerus’ private life. Since I saw you I’ve been approached by three different people in the Turf Club, all of them anxious to consult me about camels, They won’t believe me when I say I know nothing about the beastly animals, and I’m getting so unpopular that I’m almost afraid to go inside the place. And now you start in again, just as if—”

  I stopped. Miss Revel was shaking with laughter.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ve got such a dreadful memory.”

  “Memory!” I said. “You wicked child, you did it on purpose. I can see it in your left eye – the brown one.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” said Miss Revel in a startled voice, turning two large soft eyes in my direction.

  “Why, they’re both brown,” said I. “How silly – I mean, how beautiful!”

  For a moment dignity disputed with laughter the mastery of her lips. Then, before I could see which had won, she turned resolutely away, chin in air. I watched her amusedly. Hers was that exquisite colouring that will be found only with auburn hair – that delicate dainty bloom which the sun will always freckle, lest you should think it unnatural and not of this world. Masses of coppery hair she had, lit with a random lustre that leapt from tress to tress with her every movement; well-arched eyebrows rose to a smooth forehead and met above a small straight nose, and below, a short upper lip gave a proud touch to a face of more than ordinary beauty. She had very long eyelashes.

  “I didn’t see you at the Continental last night,” she said suddenly. “There was a dance, you know.”

  “That was because I didn’t know you were going,” said I. “Besides, you wouldn’t have known me, if you had, would you?”

  “I expect I shall know you next time.”

  “I don’t know,” said I. “I’m a very ordinary type.”

  “Perhaps you won’t know me.”

  “Nonsense,” said I. “Even if you wore a yashmak and hid your hair, your lashes would give you away. Placed end to end, they would reach from Grafton Street to the Carlton Grill. I’ve just been working it out.”

  “Can you be serious?”

  “Of course I can. Do you believe in zoology, or are you Church of England?”

  After some hesitation Miss Revel decided not to reply.

  “If I were a man,” she said irrelevantly, “do you know what I should do?”

  “You’d probably save a lot of money,” said I. “For one thing, you’d wear socks instead of those beautiful stockings. But it would be a great pity. I hate to think of you in half-hose.”

  She eyed me severely. Then:

  “I should go in for afforestation,” she said.

  I put up my right hand.

  “I know, teacher,” I said eagerly. “I know. Growing oaks and things.”

  “I should have nurseries for the little ones, and—”

  “Bound to do that,” said I. “You can’t have them running all over the house. Besides—”

  “I shan’t talk to you any more,” said Miss Revel indignantly.

  I sighed.

  “I’m very anxious to see your arms,” I said.

  “My what?”

  “Arms, my dear. You know, sort of legs, only higher up.”

  Miss Revel choked. Then:

  “What on earth for?” she said.

  “Vaccination marks,” said I simply. “I collect them. Stamps never appealed to me, and brasses are too big. But vaccination marks… I shall see yours at the masked bal
l. And now what about dances? I should like numbers three to seven and eight to twelve, please, inclusive. And supper.”

  “You can have four and five and nine and ten.”

  I groaned.

  “Well, well, half the sofa’s better than no bed,” I said resignedly. “And supper.”

  “I don’t know about supper,” said Miss Revel. “And now I must be getting back.” She rose and looked at me. “I should laugh if you didn’t recognize me,” she added.

  “Now is it likely?”

  She flung me a dazzling smile.

  “I think,” she said, “that it is more than probable.”

  “That animal,” said Berry, serving himself with a second helping of buttered eggs, “makes my gorge rise.”

  Moloch (alias Baal) was perched upon the mantelpiece and engaged in a searching examination of the sole of his left foot. Every now and then he gibbered, as with excitement.

  Jill made haste to swallow the coffee she was drinking. Then:

  “He’s a dear,” she said indignantly. “You know he is. He’s only bitten you once,” she added reproachfully, “and then you asked for it.”

  “If trying to intimate to the brute that I was quite capable of conveying the quarters of a mandarin from my plate to my mouth without his assistance is asking for it, I must plead guilty.”

  “Perhaps he didn’t like the way you eat,” said I.

  “Possibly,” said Berry. “He has queer tastes. I trust, brother, that your peculiar method of imbibing has found favour in his eyes. If not–” He shook his head mournfully.

  “Do you mean that he’s likely to try to help me to drink?” said I, glancing apprehensively, cup in hand, over my shoulder.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Berry, “that he has engaged in a work of supererogation. Only a week ago he scoured Daphne for fleas for about ten minutes, and he must have known quite well that she’d had a bath that morning.”

  A roll sang past his ear. Berry reached for the marmalade.

  “For devotion to duty,” he said, “during a meal. This very gallant officer continued to attack his food with entire disregard for his own safety. He set a very high standard to those under him.”