“Shall I tell you?” said I.
“Yes.”
“The one I had tea with,” I said.
4: The Desert Air
“How d’you spell ‘pyramids’?” said Daphne, looking up from the table at which she was writing.
“Which sort?” said Berry. “The game or the wonder of the world?”
“The ones at Mena,” said his wife.
“With an ‘h,’” said her husband glibly, turning over a page.
“Helpful ass,” said Daphne. “Spell it, Jonah.”
“What d’you want to spell them for?” said Berry, yawning. “I should leave them alone. Silly rotten things.”
This irreverent allusion provoked a storm of abuse which beat about the culprit’s head for several moments. As it subsided:
“Anyway,” said my brother-in-law, “the fools who say they were meant for tombs are simply talking through their hats.”
“What were they, then?” said I.
“Air-raid shelters, obviously,” said Berry. “Look at the bursting-course. I expect I shall be knighted for this. Can everyone spell ‘noology’?”
“Be quiet,” said Daphne. “I want to finish this note.”
It was after dinner, and while my sister was writing, the rest of us were gathered about the fire, of which we were all glad, for winter nights in Cairo are cold indeed.
“You really think you’ll get away in April,” said Jonah, looking at Berry.
“No one,” replied my brother-in-law, “is indispensable. My departure from GHQ will, of course, cause a certain amount of consternation. Consols will fall a point or two, and Turkey will probably consider the resumption of hostilities. But things will gradually right themselves. Yes,” he concluded, “I’m inclined to think that the first week in April should see us at Port Said.”
“Hurray,” said Jill. “I dreamed about White Ladies last night.”
“Comes of having your head washed on an empty stomach,” said Berry. “I well remember—”
“Thank you,” said Daphne. “That’ll do. Would you like to hear what I’ve said to Adèle?”
“Not in the least,” said her husband. “To be frank, such a recital would bore me to tears. I mean, I want you to know.”
“Who’s Adèle?” said I.
“She’s an American girl,” said Jill. “You’ll love her. She’s got the sweetest accent.”
“She’s no accent at all,” said Berry. “You know it’s an American speaking, and – and there you get off. It’s very peculiar – has to be heard to be believed. And now shall we play halma? Or would you rather watch me recite?”
Thus encouraged, my sister began to read:
DEAR ADÈLE,
Friday’s Berry’s birthday. They’ve given him a whole holiday at GHQ, and we’re going to make a day of it. Come to Sakkara with us. I know you’ve never been there, and I want my brother to see it. Send a pony to Mena the night before, and we’ll drive you down in the morning. We push off from the Pyramids at ten. Drill order. – Love, dear,
Daphne.
PS – He cried all last night because he thought you were angry with him. So you must come.”
“Vulgar and offensive,” said Berry. “I wonder where she gets it from. Did any of your family marry beneath them?” he added, turning to me.
I shook my head.
“Daphne’s the only one,” said I.
“Give the gentleman a bag of nuts,” said Jonah.
Berry sighed.
“By the way,” he said, “did I tell you that the bath won’t run away?”
“Nonsense,” said Daphne.
“Well, it wouldn’t when I tried to make it just before dinner.”
Jonah turned to me.
“How do you make a bath bolt?” he said.
“Feel the ‘waste,’ close both legs, and fetch it one with the loofah, I should think,” I replied.
“Well, how am I to have my bath tonight?” demanded my sister.
“I suppose it’s a question of baling it out or using the same water,” said her husband. “I should toss up.”
“If the servants have gone to bed, you’ll jolly well bale it out,” replied his wife. “You filled it.”
“You might have told us before,” said Jill reproachfully.
“I came downstairs simply bursting with it,” said Berry, “but the shock of finding the soup hot put it right out of my head.”
“Are you sure you pulled the ‘waste’ up?” said Daphne.
“More. I even showed it a sausage by way of terrorism. I’ve never known that fail before. It gets wind up very easily – our bath does,” he added by way of explanation.
With an indignant glance my sister stepped to the fireplace and rang the bell. A moment later a native servant stood in the doorway.
“What’s the matter with the bath, Abdul?”
The fellow grinned helplessly and spread out his hands.
“Water stay still,” he said.
“Have you pulled up the ‘waste’?”
“Yes, yes. No goo-ood. Finish bath. Yes.”
“Nice, helpful crowd, aren’t they?” said Berry.
With the exception of the latter, we all proceeded to the bathroom to see for ourselves what was the matter. The mechanism was in order, but a very cursory investigation sufficed to show us that the pipe was faithfully obstructed by some foreign substance, which had apparently fallen down the shaft in which the “waste” operated. With the aid of an electric torch and a screw-driver, Jonah and I proceeded with the thankless task of removing the “waste.” After a hectic twenty minutes, in the course of which Jonah swore twice, Jill dropped the torch into the bath, and I broke the glass of my wrist-watch against one of the taps, our efforts were successful. I don’t think any one of us was surprised when, after a violent struggle, I extricated Berry’s rubber sponge from the outlet pipe. Daphne, Jonah, and I regarded one another in awful silence, while Jill leaned against the wall, shaking with ill-suppressed merriment. The released water gurgled contentedly away. As I raised my eyes to heaven, the strains of “Helen of Troy,” rendered by the gramophone, floated up from the drawing-room, and a peal of feminine laughter fell upon our ears. For a moment we stared at one another. Then, bursting with curiosity and indignation, we all flung out of the bathroom and down the stairs. We tiptoed across the dimly-lighted hall, to see my brother-in-law jazzing rather creditably, and with every circumstance of hilarity, with a slim dark girl in periwinkle blue. Her hair was short, and her gay brown eyes full of laughter.
“They’re all right, as a rule,” Berry was saying, “but every now and then they go off the deep end. I only just happened to mention that the bath wasn’t quite in order, and off they all go to try their hand at plumbing. Some people can’t leave well alone. They’ll end by breaking something, and I shall have to pay for the repairs.”
“I can’t see Daphne plumbing,” said his partner. The moment she opened her lips I knew who it was.
“Nor can anyone else,” said Berry, “but so long as she’s pleased… I live for that woman, you know. The things I deny myself to make her happy… Lunch with me at Shepheard’s Grill tomorrow, and then come and help me buy her a little present. I was thinking of a new string-bag. It’s her birthday on Friday, you know. I forget whether she’s fifty or fifty-one.”
This was too much, and with a cry my sister snatched the sponge from my hand and launched herself at her husband. Jonah and I seized and held him while she squeezed such cold water as the sponge was containing down his neck. Jill and the fair American clung to one another, helpless with laughter.
Our victim protested neither by words nor deeds, although a series of involuntary shudders ran through his frame as the water coursed down his spinal column. He merely improved the occasion by introducing us.
“Adèle,” he said, “allow me to introduce my brother-in-law” – here he nodded in my direction – “Miss Feste. Captain Mansel” – solemnly he nodded at Jonah – “Mi
ss Feste. When they have finished with me, I expect they will bow. My wife, the vixen with the sponge that is, I think you know. She, too, will greet you in a moment. Frolicsome little things, aren’t they?”
Daphne gave a final squeeze before throwing the sponge into the fender. As Jonah and I released our victim, she turned to Miss Feste.
“The punishment of wickedness and vice,” she explained. “We have to do this about once a month. Adèle, dear, I’ve just written to you. What a sweet frock!”
Berry addressed his wife.
“I ought to go and change,” he said meekly. “May I have one of your vests, dear heart? You know, the thick flannel ones you’re so fond of. Or would you rather stand your trial for manslaughter?”
“No jury would ever convict,” said Daphne.
Berry turned to Miss Feste and indicated Jonah and me with a wave of his hand.
“You must excuse their shirt-sleeves,” he said. “They’ve just been running through a few conjuring tricks. The one on the left is quite good. Give him five piastres, and he’ll take it to the Turf Club and turn it into a dry Martini at once. And now I’m going to bed. Adèle, my dear, I’m desolated to leave you, but I must get out of this shirt, and it’s too late to dress again. Don’t be late for lunch tomorrow.”
He bowed over her hand, blew a kiss to his wife, and left the room singing a stave from ‘The Gondoliers.’
Jonah and I retired to get into our dinner jackets and make ourselves more presentable. We had hardly returned to the drawing-room, and I was just suggesting that Miss Feste should return with us to Europe, when Berry, clad in gaily-striped pyjamas and an orange-hued silk dressing-gown, sauntered into the room.
“Hush,” he said in response to the scandalized shriek which greeted him. “Don’t wake me. I’m walking in my sleep. Has anybody seen anything of an expensive sponge? I should be sorry to lose it. It’s been in our family for years. They say it’s the very one Doctor Johnson never used. Besides, I want to clean my teeth.”
It was about half-past three on the following afternoon, and I had just crossed the Sharia el Maghrabi to look into the window of the saddler’s shop, when Miss Feste came to the doorway with a wither-pad in her hand.
I raised my hat.
“What a funny sort of string-bag!” said I. “Can’t you get one with handles?”
Miss Feste smiled.
“This,” she said, “is a present for Pharaoh – I’m going to ride him on Friday. Shall I get two?”
“I should,” said I. “You can always use them for sleeping socks, if he doesn’t like them.”
Miss Feste retired to complete her purchase, and I followed her into the shop. When she had given the assistant her address:
“I’m just going to pick up a car,” said I. “I’m going to Abbasiya. But I’ve plenty of time. Can I drive you anywhere first?”
Miss Feste shook her head.
“No use, I’m afraid. I’m going further. Heliopolis. There’s a girl at an hotel there who wants to sell a saddle, and I’m thinking of having a look at it. What are you going to Abbasiya for?”
“I’m hoping to get a joy-ride in a Handley-Page,” said I. “A fellow I know in the Air Force—”
“You are lucky,” said my companion. “I’ve never been up.”
I looked at her.
“Would you like to go?”
“I should be thrilled to the core.”
“I don’t know whether they’ll let you,” said I. “I expect there are stacks of rules against it; but Geoffrey Ross is a sportsman, and I’m sure he’ll take you if he can. Will you come along?”
“What about the saddle?”
I looked at my watch.
“We can do that first, if we’re quick,” said I.
Five minutes later we were scudding along the road to Heliopolis.
“Have you thought any more about coming home with us?” I asked, as we slid by the station.
Miss Feste nodded.
“I have,” she said. “D’you think it would be a wise move?”
“It would be mutually profitable. You’re very sweet to look at, so we shall be able to feast our eyes, while you – Well, I don’t suppose you’ve ever travelled with a circus, have you? At any rate, you won’t be dull. Besides, it would be a pretty compliment to the entente at present existing between the two countries.”
“You know, I’d never have said you were English,” rejoined Miss Feste irrelevantly.
“Let me know the worst,” said I. “What do I look like? Siamese, or an advertisement for rolled oats?”
Miss Feste surveyed me critically.
“I think you’ve got rather a southern look,” she mused. “Italy, perhaps. I don’t know.”
I sighed.
“Italians,” I said, “fall into two classes. Either they purvey ice-cream or dance the tarantella. Would it be indiscreet to inquire into which of these categories—”
“It would,” said Miss Feste. “Would you have known I was an American?”
“Every time,” said I.
“Why?”
“By the grace which you lend the English language,” I said.
Miss Feste gave a ripple of laughter.
“And you say you’re an Englishman,” she said, with raised eyebrows. “Well, well—”
“Believe me, I have that great honour.”
“If you talk like that, I shall think you’re German.”
“Our hero took a deep breath,” said I. “Seriously, I do wish you’d settle to come back with us. Then you can come down to White Ladies and see the family tree,” I added thoughtfully. “We got it cheap during the sale at the College of Arms. I remember Rouge Dragon cracked the glass as he was doing it up, and Daphne made him take off another two shillings.”
“For Heaven’s sake–” said Miss Feste, laughing. “By the way,” she added, nodding at the driver, “does he know where to go?”
“I don’t know,” said I. “I just said ‘Heliopolis.’ Just like that. ‘Heliopolis.’ I was quite frank about it. That, I take it, is the general idea. What’s the special?”
“The girl with the saddle is at Heliopolis House. I expect he’s guessed. We’ll be there in a moment.”
We were certainly travelling, but the way was fine and broad, and, if there was plenty of traffic, there was room to spare. We flashed by a string of camels, fastened the one to the saddle of the other in front, then past three lumbering GS wagons full of stores. Natives trundling barrows of vegetables swerved to one side as we came. Here was a seedy arabiya crowded with native women staring about them. The busy clack of their tongues fell on our ears for a second as we swept by. There was a tender of the Royal Air Force leaving two MT lorries to rave and lurch on their way, as if they were standing still. As we sped past the barracks of native troops – gaudily clad sentinels at the gates – we met a squad of the Egyptian Labour Corps returning from work. Queer, rough-looking specimens, they wandered rather than marched, two by two, crocodile-fashion, most of them hand in hand and all of them chanting an idle stave more or less in unison, and with an air of such utter contentment and freedom from care as set you thinking.
A moment or two later the car came to rest at the foot of the steps leading to the terrace of the Heliopolis House Hotel. When I had handed her out, I addressed my companion.
“Don’t be long,” I said. “I want you to have that joy-ride.”
“Not half as much as I do,” she flung over her shoulder.
I re-entered the car and lighted a cigarette. On the opposite side of the road two white saddle-donkeys were discussing a little heap of green food, while their boys, dressed in white abbas, were squatting on the pavement, keeping a careful eye on the hotel on the look-out for custom. I watched them lazily.
It was, as ever in Egypt, a beautiful day. The sky was cloudless and the sun blazing. And this was but the end of February. I felt glad that we were going to leave before the summer. My watch showed me that it was just four o’clock
. It seemed strange that in an hour or two it would be bitterly cold. Still, sundown was not yet.
My reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a porter bearing a good-looking hunting-saddle which he deposited by the side of the driver. Miss Feste followed him down the steps, and I got out of the car.
“I’m going to try it,” she said. “If I like it, d’you think it’s worth ten pounds?”
I had a look at it and found the name of the maker.
“My opinion is valueless,” I said, “but I should say it was dirt cheap. More. If you don’t buy it, I will. And now for the aerodrome, or, at any rate, Abbasiya.”
My apprehension was well founded. There were, it appeared, most stringent orders in force regarding the carrying of passengers on board His Majesty’s planes.
“They’ll wink at you,” said Geoffrey pensively, “but a lady! Gosh! I should be dismembered if they got to know.”
“Oh, then I mustn’t,” said Miss Feste. “I couldn’t think of—”
“I’ll tell you what,” said he slowly. “D’you mind standing up and letting me see the length of your skirt.”
Miss Feste stood obediently to attention. Solemnly Geoffrey nodded his head. I regarded them wonderingly.
“Look here, Miss Feste,” he said, “you’ll have to wear a cap and a coat and goggles, and that’ll cover you up pretty well. The only trouble is your ankles. I’ve got a new pair of slacks I’ve never put on. If you like to wear them just anyhow – the top part doesn’t matter, so long as they stick out under the coat.”
He stopped, blushing furiously.
Miss Feste was shaking with laughter.
“Geoffrey,” I said, “you surprise even me. When you are older, you will writhe with shame to remember – Stop, I’ve got it. Never mind your new slacks. Have you got an old pair you don’t want? ”
“Stacks,” said Geoffrey.
“And scissors and garters?”
“Garters? Will leather ones do?”
I nodded, and he ran out of the ante-room. Fortunately we had the place to ourselves. When he returned, I spread the slacks upon a table and proceeded to turn them into a pair of shorts by hacking off the legs above the knee.
Courts of Idleness Page 17
