Fortunes of War

by Olivia Manning

  Making his way back between the advancing tanks, Simon came on a trench and threw himself into it. The men in possession gave him space and they all sat together, speechless beneath the uproar of battle. Too tired now to care what was going on, Simon sank into drowsiness, imaging himself back in Garden City with Edwina, in her long, white dress, smiling her conciliatory smile. Now he did not feel resentment but a confused pity for her and for all womankind. In a world where men died young, what was a girl to do? Facing life alone, she had to fend for herself. He murmured, ‘Poor little thing! Poor little thing!’ then sleep came down on him.

  He woke at daybreak to find he was alone in the trench. The noises of the night had come to a stop and, climbing out, he found the tanks had advanced out of sight. He had the field to himself — but not quite to himself. Burnt out tanks stood about him like disabled crows and the smell of burning was heavy on the air. There were dead men and men not yet dead, and the Brens were returning to pick them up.

  As the sun topped the horizon, the first, subtle light of day swept like a wave over the desert and about him, and passed on, lighting desert and more desert, miles of desert that had once been no-man’s-land. He was not sure now whether the division’s objective had been Kidney Ridge or the Miteiriya but it was in no-man’s-land that Hugo had died. He had bled to death like the dead left behind by the battle and perhaps he had lain here, on this barren ground that was now the field of victory.

  Walking back among tanks as useless as the sand they stood on, stepping over the bodies of lost young men, Simon asked, ‘Is this what Hugo died for? And am I to die for this?’ There was no one to answer him and as he realized how hungry he was, he forgot his own questions and started to run.

  Seven

  Castlebar who, once a week, went to tutor a Greek boy in Alexandria, came back with the news that there was heavy combat in the desert. It vibrated through roads and pavements and at times, when the air was very still, people could hear the boom of guns. No news had been released. No one knew what was happening but Castlebar was sure that this was a major battle.

  Jackman, not too pleased that Castlebar should be the bringer of such tidings, said, ‘Of course it is. Didn’t I tell you something was on? What do you think the preparations have been for? This is it.’

  Still, there was no certainty. Alex, like Cairo, was a city of rumours. The gunfire might mean a German offensive or merely a minor skirmish, or the Afrika Korps sending a parthian shot before packing and leaving their long-held position. Ten days passed, then the civilians were allowed to know that there had been a second battle of Alamein, the greatest battle of the desert war. The allied forces were pushing Rommel back to the frontier and perhaps even further than that.

  Meanwhile, an extraordinary thing happened. The sun, the great god of Egypt, disappeared and the noonday sky, so constant in its brilliance, was hidden behind cloud. A biblical darkness overhung the city and people, hastening in the streets, feared a cataclysm — the day of judgement or, at the least, an earthquake — and sought what cover they could find.

  Angela and Harriet were out at the time. Harriet, finding that Angela hardly knew where the Muski was, insisted they must go there. She said, ‘You should learn how the other half live,’ and she led her through the narrow, dusty lanes to her favourite shop: a twilit place, like a vast tent, where old glass and china ornaments were heaped together on shelves and floor. In the centre of this disordered treasure store, there was a glass case lit by acetylene lamps and full of gleaming jewels. Harriet called Angela to it: ‘Come and see the rose-diamonds.’

  The rose-diamonds, set in pinkish gold, were formed into brooches, earrings, bracelets and necklaces, and Harriet, who could not afford to buy them, was attracted by their elaborate opulence. Angela, lifting the pieces and examining them, asked, ‘What are rose-diamonds? They look like sugar crystals.’

  Harriet repeated the question to a man in a dirty galabiah who stood guard over the case. He replied in an aloof manner, having superior knowledge: ‘Rosy di’mints? — they is di’mints.’

  Angela laughed, ‘So now we know. Shall I buy one for Bill?’ She picked among the designs, rejecting the flowers, and came upon a brooch in the shape of a heart: ‘What about this? I’ll give it to him for a giggle.’ She did not haggle over the price but, paying what the shop-keeper asked, she laughed excitedly at the thought of giving the large, diamond-studded heart to Castlebar.

  Coming out of the shop, they found the outdoors nearly as dark as the indoors. Made nervous by the unusual gloom, they hurried through the lanes, instinctively making for the European quarter as though there they might escape the ominous sky. But in the Esbekiyah the sky grew more ominous. The office workers were coming out for the siesta and the businessmen who could afford taxis were squabbling over them. As the first rain fell, one man covered his fez with his pocket-handkerchief and before the pavements were wet, every fez was protected by a covering of some sort. Drops, heavy and immense, splashed down and merged into each other, and the Egyptians began to panic at the sight. The two women, having reached the western end of the Esbekiyah, ran to Shepherd’s Hotel and there, standing under the canopy, they watched the gutters flow and overflow, then cover the streets. Cairo had no main drainage and the water, speeding like a river past the hotel, could only flow down the Kasr el Nil until it lost itself in the Nile.

  The shop owners, opposite the hotel, were wading up to their knees, putting up shutters as though against a riot. Cars, forced to a stop, stood in the stream with passengers waving and begging for rescue, though there was no one to rescue them.

  One of the men gathered under the canopy said,’ They will be drowned’ and this possibility was discussed around Harriet and Angela with sombre satisfaction. Angela said, ‘It’s too heavy to last,’ but it did last and, becoming bored with it, she suggested they go inside and have a drink.

  Staff officers, who regarded the place as their own, filled every chair in the main rooms and possessed every table. When they showed no sign of moving, Angela said loudly, with a gleeful contempt, ‘When I was a little girl, during the First War, I heard the term “temporary gentleman”. I couldn’t think what it meant then, but now I know.’ At this, two of the officers rose and Angela, saying, ‘Oh, too kind!’, smiled upon them and sat down.

  Delighted by her success, she laughed and winked at Harriet, but this mood did not last. The latest communiqué from the front stated ‘Axis forces in full retreat’. This news, that had rejoiced the British in Cairo, had merely perturbed Angela.

  She said to Harriet: ‘I don’t like it. If the army leaves here, that bitch will stand a much better chance of getting back.’

  ‘What do you think would happen if she got back?’

  ‘Bill says he intends telling her he’s finished with her.’

  Pondering on the fact that both her friends were enamoured of men whom they might never have for their own, Harriet could see that uncertainty was a strong potion and said: ‘Angela, would you want Castlebar so much if he didn’t belong to someone else?’

  Angela put the question aside with a gesture: ‘Don’t let’s think any more about it.’ Looking into her bag, she brought out the rose-diamond brooch to distract them: ‘ “Rosy di’mints? They is di’mints.” Wasn’t that wonderful? Come on, let’s go to the restaurant and eat.’

  The noise of the rain stopped while they were at luncheon but when they returned to the terrace, they found they were trapped by the stream that still filled the street and held captive the occupants of the cars. Another hour passed before the last of it, a long, low ripple of water, slid down Kasr el Nil and away. The sun broke through the clouds, the roads began to steam, dry circular patches appeared on the paving stones, drivers struggled to restart their engines, and Harriet and Angela were released.

  But that was not all. The rain had watered not only the city but the surrounding desert with remarkable consequences. The papers reported a marvel: seed that had lain for years dormant
in the sand, sprang up and blossomed but the great age of the seeds prevented normal growth. The flowers were miniatures of their kind. Dobson, reading this at breakfast, said he had heard that the Saccara sands were covered with flowers.

  ‘A garden,’ he said, ‘a veritable garden!’ and Harriet, turning eagerly to Guy, put her hand on his arm: ‘It’s your free day. Do let us go and see it.’

  ‘How would we get there?’ The tram-line ended at Mena House.

  ‘But why can’t we take a taxi?’

  Guy laughed at the idea of taking a taxi into the desert: ‘I’ve better things to do,’ he said and Harriet knew he had meant to refuse from the start.

  ‘But it’s your free day.’

  ‘That’s when I really work. I’m preparing my troops’ entertainment. I’ve a hundred and one things to do.’

  Guy had begun to plan the entertainment some time before and Harriet had hoped that by now it was forgotten. But it was not forgotten. ‘Haven’t the troops enough entertainments?’

  ‘This will be no ordinary show.’ To prevent further argument, he jumped up, his breakfast unfinished, as Hassan was putting down a bowl of fruit steeped in permanganate. He took a couple of guavas, splashing the cloth with purple fluid, and called out as he went: ‘Sorry about that.’

  Dobson looked after him: ‘What energy! What a man! He never stops, does he?’

  ‘No, never. How would you like to be married to him?’

  ‘Oh, come now, Harriet. You wouldn’t have him any different?’

  ‘Wouldn’t I? These entertainments worry me to death. Suppose this one fails?’

  ‘Not likely. He’s got ENSA backing.’

  Harriet said, ‘How do you know?’: then, too late, realized she was admitting her own ignorance and put in a second question to erase the first: ‘Why should ENSA back Guy’s show?’

  ‘You know what he’s like! He could charm the monkeys down from the trees.’

  ‘Yes.’ Harriet sat silent for a few minutes then said, ‘I wish I were a man fighting in the desert.’

  ‘You’d find it a very great bore.’

  ‘It couldn’t be worse than our life here.’

  ‘Here? Most Englishwomen think they’re damned lucky to be here.’

  ‘Well, I’m not most Englishwomen.’

  Edwina was supposed to be on duty at the Embassy but, coming slowly to the table, her hand on her brow, her hair dishevelled, She said in a small voice: ‘Oh, Dobbie, I’ve got such a head. I don’t think I can go in this morning.’

  Dobson, in a tone of bantering commiseration, said, ‘Poor thing! Then I suppose we’ll have to manage without you. What about the evening stint?’

  ‘I’ll try, Dobbie dear.’

  Dobson left for the Embassy and Edwina drooped over the table, sighing, until the telephone rang. Coming to instant life, she reached it before Hassan had found his way into the hall. Harriet, hearing one side of an animated conversation, gathered that Peter Lisdoonvarna had the morning off and was taking Edwina out. She came back to say, ‘Oh, Harriet, to think I might have been at the office. What luck I was here!’ She danced away crying, ‘What luck! What luck! What luck!’

  Harriet, hearing her singing as she splashed under the shower, envied her excitement. That, Harriet thought, was what women most wanted, and what risks they took to attain it. She, herself, had married and travelled to the other side of Europe with someone she barely knew. She might have been abandoned there. She might have been murdered. In fact, she had suffered no more than disappointment, finding that her husband’s devotion to all comers left little room for her.

  She was still sitting over her coffee when Peter Lisdoonvarna arrived, giving off vigour like a magnetic force. The shutters had been closed but the semi-darkness seemed to disperse itself as he gave Harriet a hearty kiss on the lips. All good-looking girls were Peter’s girls and he approached them with such boisterous confidence, few could resist him. Edwina shouted to him from her room but he was quite happy to stay with Harriet, telling her he had just bought King Farouk’s second-best Bentley.

  ‘Magnificent job! Been angling for it for weeks. Park Ward body. Eight-litre chassis. Bonnet as long as the gun on a Panzer Mark III. I know some chaps don’t think it’s worth owning a car out here, but I’m the car-owning type. Like to know it’s there. Get in and push off, no hanging around for taxis. You’ve got to have some relaxation after the stultifying, bloody chores at HQ. Care for a spin? Like to try her out?’

  Harriet felt there was nothing she would like better, but what of Edwina? Hesitating, she asked, ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it. Anywhere you like.’

  ‘Would you go to Saccara?’

  ‘Why not? Saccara it is!’ As Edwina came into the room, he shouted: ‘Come on, then, girls.’

  Edwina hesitated only a moment before she smiled and said, ‘Is Harriet coming with us? How lovely!’

  The car, standing outside the house, was indeed magnificent. Harriet was put into the spacious back seat and, when they were under way, was soon forgotten. Edwina, having spent her enthusiasm about the car, put an arm round Peter’s shoulder and her head against his head, but Peter still gave his attention to the Bentley’s splendour. ‘All leather upholstery,’ he said.

  ‘Leather, really?’ Edwina spoke as though leather were an unheard of luxury.

  Peter demonstrated the automatic opening and closing of the windows, and the button that sent the canvas roof folding back behind the seats. Harriet attempted to murmur her appreciation but anything she said was lost behind Edwina’s gasps and squeals of wonder.

  Unable to compete, Harriet looked out of her side window to see what could be seen. And she saw a peasant, head bound up in a scarf, mooning along the pavement. The scarf indicated that he had toothache or a cold, but she knew he was not thinking of his ailments. Instead he was telling himself one of the fantasies that compensated the poor for their poverty. A shop-keeper had once told her that a rich American lady had fallen in love with a guide at the pyramids and gone to live with him in his one-roomed village hut. Harriet had laughed at the story but the shop-keeper believed it because belief made life tolerable. She knew the peasant in the scarf, grinning, head wagging, was imagining just such a romance for himself.

  Out on the Saccara road, Peter said, ‘Like to travel at m’own speed,’ and pressing on the accelerator, the car sped through villages, scattering children and chickens and causing the villagers to shout after him in rage. Someone must have telephoned the sugar factory at El-Hawandiyen for the factory workers had gathered outside the building with stones in their hands. The hood was down and seeing women in the car, most of them let the stones fall harmlessly but two let fly and hit the side of the car. Edwina screamed, hiding her face in Peter’s shoulder, and he replaced the hood and latched it. He did this without losing speed while he grumbled: ‘Damned fool country, this is! Can’t take a gallop without chaps chucking stones. Wish I was back in the blue. Do what you like there.’

  Edwina, folded against Peter, murmured: ‘Oh, Peter, you know you don’t want to leave me!’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I’m a soldier, not a ruddy pen-pusher.’

  They reached the hummocked site that had once been the great city of Memphis. Colossal statues lay among the palm groves but these held no interest for Peter who drove on rapidly, seeing no cause to stop until the track ended at Mariette’s house.

  It was mid-day when, even in winter, the temperature was high. Rubbing the sweat from his broad nose, Peter said, ‘Let’s get under cover,’ and pulling Edwina with him, he made for the Serapeum, the enclosure of the sacred bulls.

  Harriet, walking round, looked for the miniature flowers but they had scarcely had time to open before the sun sucked up their moisture and now nothing remained but dry stalks, like matchsticks stuck in the sand. But there were other tokens of the rain. Fragments of fallen temples had been washed to the surface and she came on a stone lotus, hal
f of which had been buried until now. The exposed half was pitted by time but the other, newly revealed, was as smooth as flesh. The wet wind had set the sand into long, sculpted folds, washed to a salty whiteness, and Harriet felt well rewarded for her journey in the back seat.

  When she first went into the Serapeum, she could see no sign of Peter and Edwina, but then she came on them, obscure in the shadows, their bodies pressed together as though each sought to merge into the other. Hearing her, they parted for an instant then at once rejoined and she moved away, feeling the solitude of those who are outside the circle of ecstasy. She wandered to the other end of the gallery and waited till the others tired of their dalliance. Edwina, giving a scream, broke away from Peter and he pursued her round the huge sarcophagi then, seizing her, he pushed her down onto a slab of black granite and threw himself on top of her. She cried out, almost smothered, by his weight: ‘Peter, oh Peter, you’re killing me.’ He let her go and she sprang up, laughing provocatively, and the pursuit began again.

  Harriet, turning her back on them as they embraced, reflected that this burial place of bulls that had become lords of the western world, might well inspire Peter who was a bull himself and a lord, though of a different kind. She did not know whether the frenzy had a climax but she heard Peter say, finality in his voice: ‘All right, let’s go. We’ll trundle back to Mena for lunch.’

  They had not seen much but it did not occur to Peter that there was anything to see. As for luncheon, he took it for granted that Mena would please the women and he was right. Edwina smiled on Harriet as though she were bestowing a gift on her and Harriet smiled back, acknowledging the benefaction.