by Francis King
Then a man appeared with one of the poles that supported the chair in which Nanny Rose or Harriet often took it in turns to travel. He pushed between the gaping onlookers and held the pole out into the water. The man snatched at it, went under, re-emerged, and snatched at it again. He clung to it, gasping for breath, as the other man pulled him in.
On the jetty the man shook himself like a dog, scattering water over Harriet and the others. ‘ To think that I washed and ironed that dress for you only yesterday,’ Nanny Rose protested. ‘Now it’s got all that filthy river water over it.’
The man threw back his head and laughed. When he did so, all the others began to join in. The man said something, they answered. In a group, all of them trudged back to the camp. Someone produced a flat loaf of bread and the man began to tear at it with his white, even teeth. Someone else produced some water. He gulped at it.
The hex – if it had been a hex – had clearly been lifted.
‘How can she be taking so long?’
‘Oh, don’t worry, dear. Nothing can have happened to her.’
‘But it’s only sixty miles or so. And she’s been gone for eleven days.’
‘You know what the countryside is like. Remember how long it took us when we made that trek on the journey from Cairo. It’d have been quicker to stay on the boat until the water rose again.’
That night, Harriet could not sleep. She rarely worried about anything, but now her worry was intense. Perhaps the little party had lost its way; perhaps it had run out of food; perhaps it had been attacked by wild animals or hostile natives; perhaps Alexine, always so tough, had now fallen ill?
Two days later a delegation of porters came to see her. The long, enforced idleness away from their womenfolk had made them mutinous. The ringleaders crowded into her tent; the rest waited, silent and tense, outside it. The vakeel was with them and it was he who now spoke for them. He explained to her in his barely adequate French that he did not support the men’s demands; but he thought it only proper to bring them to her attention, since otherwise they might desert en masse. What was the problem? Harriet asked. Laying down the pen with which she had been writing yet more letters full of the delights of the journey, she got to her feet, since she felt that by doing so she would gain more authority.
The vakeel, a native of Alexandria, explained: the men had no corn to eat, and the ration of meat was small. They had never been told the destination for which they were making or for how long they would be absent from their homes. Why were there no maps? He went on to list a number of other minor grievances – some had had to carry heavier loads than others, the Muslims among them resented having to look after the dogs, the mosquitoes from the river tormented them and prevented them from sleeping.
For the first time since they had started out from Cairo, Harriet felt afraid, as she looked round the sullen, threatening faces. Once again she thought: If only Alexine were here.
What did the vakeel propose?
He shrugged. What he proposed would cost money.
Oh, never mind that! She had always in the past urged Alexine not to be extravagant, but now fear put her in a mood to be extravagant herself.
The vakeel explained that there was a nearby zariba, some ten miles or so away, from which a small expedition could bring back corn. But at this time of year it would be dear. It might also be possible to buy sheep or goats there, which they could slaughter and distribute.
How much would all this cost?
He could not be certain. He named an approximate figure.
Nanny Rose, who was present, exclaimed: ‘It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous!’
But Harriet nodded. ‘Very well. Come back in an hour. I’ll have the money ready for you.’
Gradually, singly or in groups, the men dispersed, with one exception. This was the man whom the others thought to have been under a spell. He was now his usual smiling, always helpful self.
Slowly he approached Harriet, knelt down before and reached up and took her hand. He placed her hand on his bare chest, on the right side. The skin was smooth. She thought that she could feel, through her palm, the steady beat of his heart.
He looked up at her and stared.
Then he released her hand and got to his feet. He walked backwards out of the tent, a hand now raised to his forehead as though in salute or valediction.
She did not know what it all meant. She felt alternately elated and troubled by the incident.
‘What do you think it means?’
Nanny Rose shrugged. ‘One never knows what they’re up to, does one?’
It was not until another eleven days had passed that Alexine returned.
‘What happened to you, what happened to you?’ The long period of anxiety made Harriet ask the question in a tone of anger. ‘ I was so worried.’
‘Well, we found a perfect place for our next stop. But it looks as if all that rain was only a false alarm. If the rainy season hasn’t, in fact, started yet, then we could push on, without a halt there.’
‘But why did it all take you so long?’ Harriet persisted.
‘Oh, I wanted to collect some botanical specimens. And there was another slave market that I wanted to see for myself. And … well, there was so much else that was interesting. We’ve brought back vegetables and fruit – and pigeons, partridges, guinea-fowl and even an antelope. Some of them shot by me but most by Osman. So we’re going to have a number of feasts.’
‘I expect you want a bath,’ Nanny Rose said.
‘Yes, I’ve been longing and longing for one. There was a pond, but the water was filthy. And there was a stream on the journey back.’
‘I’ll tell the girls to get everything ready.’
‘And how have things been here?’
‘All right. Some complaints, some rows. The problem has been that the men have had nothing to do. They can’t spend their time writing letters like me, or knitting like Nanny Rose. And if any of them have been carving wood like Daan, I haven’t seen them at it.’
That night Alexine slept deeply and contentedly. It was wonderful to be in the privacy of her own tent, on her own folding bed, with her own mattress beneath her. It was no less wonderful to hear Sunny’s regular breathing from his pallet on the floor and to know that, within call, her mother, Nanny Rose and Daan were at hand.
One night, maddened by flea bites in that tukul that the Sheik had had peremptorily emptied of its inhabitants so that she could inhabit it by herself, she had had a terrible dream about Harriet. It had been so vivid that she had feared that it might be prophetic. Harriet was standing on the rickety jetty, looking out over the river, as though waiting for a ship. Alexine and Sunny were at the summit of the little hill below which they were all encamped. All at once, the jetty moved away from the land and began to float down the river. Harriet still stood motionless on it, with no sign that she realized what was happening. A huge wave appeared, a moving wall of yellow-green water, so smooth and shiny that the mangroves were reflected in it. It approached the gently gliding jetty and thrust it ahead of it. In a moment, wave, jetty and Harriet had all vanished round a bend.
On the last leg of the journey, Alexine had been so superstitiously worried by this dream – what did it mean, what did it mean? – that she had half expected to hear Nanny Rose or Daan tell her that her mother had mysteriously disappeared. But there Harriet had been, looking well, as she always looked, her pen still in her hand, since, at the moment when Sunny had excitedly called to her to tell her that he had sighted the party appearing over the hill, she had been making a list of all the animals recently bought for eventual slaughter at the nearby zariba.
Alexine was awoken out of her deep, contented sleep by the sound of voices outside the tent. Sunny had already jumped to his feet. The voices sounded angry. Sunny behind her, she went out to see what was happening.
To her amazement she was confronted by some dozen of the soldiers. All of them were carrying their muskets. In nothing but her nightdres
s, her feet bare and her hair hanging loose, she felt extraordinarily vulnerable. But in a loud, clear voice, she demanded in Arabic: ‘What is all this? What do you want?’
At first no one seemed disposed to answer the question. There was a lot of muttering, but she could make nothing of it.
‘Well? Who’s prepared to speak? Come on. Either tell me what you want or let me go back to sleep.’
Sunny had moved in front of her, as though to protect her. She put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Well?’
One of them, a man with black hair but a grey beard, stepped forward. He was an Egyptian and spoke Arabic. In a nasal, sing-song voice, he began to complain of the scarcity and sameness of the food. Alexine listened attentively. Then he spoke of their pay. It was not enough, he said. When they had agreed to the sum offered by the vakeel on her behalf, they had had no idea that they were to come to a place as distant as this, for such a long period. As with the porters and Harriet, there were other trivial complaints.
Osman now appeared. He was standing to one side of the men. She hoped that he would intervene, but he did not do so. His arms were crossed and he looked in turn at Alexine and the men, a vaguely contemptuous smile on his lips.
‘Is that all?’ The man had at last fallen silent.
There was no reply. One man shouted out something, but it was not in Arabic, and so she did not know what it was. It sounded like a threat.
‘Is that all?’
Again there was silence.
‘Now listen to me. But before I speak, you must put down those guns.’ She pointed at the musket in the hands of the man closest to her. She glared at him. ‘Put it down! Down!’
The musket fell from his hand. She waited. Another man rested his musket against a pile of crates beside the tent. She went on waiting. Gradually, reluctantly, in twos and threes, the soldiers laid down their arms. She had never doubted that they would do so. After she had given that decisive command, she had, miraculously, experienced not a moment of fear.
‘Good. Now listen to me! The first thing that I want to say to you – I say it first because it is the most important thing – is that you were given those guns not to threaten me but to protect me. Do I make myself clear?’ They shifted uneasily. ‘If you do not protect me – if you harm me or even threaten me – how do you think that the Mudir will treat you when you return to Khartoum? You want to return to Khartoum, don’t you? Or do you want to stay on here – in this place that you tell me that you so much dislike? You talk of the money that I agreed to pay you. You know that it is a far larger sum than anyone has ever paid you in the past. We agreed that I should give you some of the money when we set out, some every week that we were away, and the rest on our return. If you harm me, you will not get that money, and you may even be too frightened ever to return. Think about that.’
The men had begun once more to mutter among themselves. Some had turned away from her, as though frightened of her defiant, compelling gaze.
‘Think about it.’
She waited.
With a change of tone from anger to emollience, she said: ‘ I know that this long wait has been hard for you. I will therefore give the vakeel enough money to prepare a feast. And I will give orders for an increase in your rations. All right?’
Some of them nodded. Once more they turned to each other. First one sullen face and then another broke into a grin. Then she could hear their voices raised in noisy jubilation. They thought that they had won a victory.
Harriet had been watching Alexine aghast, from the opening of her own tent. Now she rushed forward.
‘Darling! You were magnificent. You might have been your father. That’s how he would have dealt with them.’
Alexine gave a small smile. ‘I must have some more sleep after that long journey yesterday. Why couldn’t they have waited until I’d had my breakfast?’
Chapter Fourteen
ADDY SAT IN A SHADY CORNER OF THE GARDEN, reading the three letters from Harriet that the runner had brought that morning. She was not surprised that there was no letter from Alexine. She was rarely pleased to receive a letter and was reluctant to write any. Out of sight, she could hear the gardener watering the plants that Lucy so much cherished. The water was raised from a well by a constantly circling, blinkered, mangy donkey, and the gardener then carried it in two pails, supported on a yoke over his muscular shoulders. Today, she had noticed, with surprise, that there were no bats in the trees above her, but she had seen an emerald tree-frog, squatting motionless where the lowest branch of the nearest tree joined its trunk. She and the frog had stared at each other for several seconds before, with a flip, it had vanished into the undergrowth. At its disappearance, Addy had laughed in delight. She was laughing far more now, usually at the absurdities or surprises of her daily life, than for many years.
Eventually Lucy joined her. ‘It’s too hot to write.’ She sank into a cane arm-chair. ‘Sweat kept dripping off me on to the paper.’ She noticed the letter held in Addy’s hand. ‘So what’s the news?’
‘Oh, they seem to be having all sorts of adventures. Nothing is going according to plan but that doesn’t seem to cause them any worry. My sister’s quite extraordinary. She’s clearly enjoying every minute of it. She says the countryside and the people are both ravishing.’
‘That’s not Roderick’s view. But then Harriet always strikes me as someone who makes the best of things. Whereas Roderick is always determined to make the worst of them. Are you now regretting not having gone with them?’
‘Oh, good heavens no! I’m far happier here with you. Do you know, next Monday they’ll have been gone for five months.’
For more than three weeks now the women had been alone in the house. Warburton, again solvent thanks to Alexine, was away on one of his mysterious expeditions. If there was any consular business, which was rare, Lucy handled it in his absence, far more efficiently than he would have done. From time to time, lying in bed or working alone in the garden, she would have the exhilarating, guilty thought that life might be not merely preferable but even possible without him. She would travel with Harriet, Alexine and Addy to The Hague, when they had decided, as she had herself decided long ago, that they had finished with this continent. Perhaps, now that the two of them were so close, Addy would employ her, as she was in effect already doing, albeit without any spoken agreement and without any pay, as her companion. If not, then no doubt Addy would be able to find her work as a governess with one of the many rich families related or known to her.
Addy was now showing Lucy the sort of generosity that Alexine showed to everyone. They often strolled out together, arm in arm, a single parasol raised above them and Mister at their heels; if Lucy saw something that she needed or wanted, she had only to indicate that she did so, in however indirect a manner, for Addy to insist at once on buying it. Even in so short a space of time, they had ceased to have any secrets. Addy had talked at length, to Lucy’s amazement, about her affair with the Tsar and its terrible aftermath; Lucy about the runaway marriage which had seemed a glorious liberation and had ended in her being the prisoner of a man whom she no longer loved, in a country which had come to fill her with alternating boredom and horror.
When Lucy was not at her work on her book – that was the one subject about which she was evasive with Addy, since she nursed a superstitious dread that, if she revealed too much about it, it would die on her – the two women would spend much of their time either reading in silence together or else eagerly discussing what they had read. Lucy had never read Balzac and she had always previously doubted if her French were good enough for her to do so with any ease or pleasure; but now, encouraged by Addy, who would provide her with translations of any difficult words and so save her having to consult a dictionary, she was almost half-way through La Cousine Bette.
Mister suddenly began to yap. Lola, holding aloft the parasol that Harriet had given her after their last lesson together, now appeared at the far end the garden. She would
often pay such unannounced visits, using the pretext of wanting to practise on the piano since, she said, the one in the drawing-room at home was so dreadfully out of tune. Why didn’t she suggest to her father that he should employ the Greek youth to tune it? Addy had asked. ‘Oh, what a good idea! Yes, I never thought of that. I’ll speak about it today.’ But she continued to come over, each time asking, as though for the first time, if she might use the piano for a while, and then, when that all-too-brief while was over, would join them, often literally sitting at their feet.
Addy, who had previously commented on the vulgarity with which Lola and her sisters dressed and who had found the girl’s exuberant behaviour ‘gauche’ or ‘ common’, had now taken to her. She and Lucy agreed that she was generous-hearted, intelligent and kind. Both sighed that it was a pity that, like her sisters, she had failed to receive a proper education.
On this occasion Lola had brought with her, as she often did, two bunches of huge, garish flowers with an overpowering scent from her father’s garden. Addy used to say that she could not bear to have such flowers in her room, and so her gift was usually placed, in a vase, on a chest in the hall. Lola now stooped and rested one bunch in Addy’s lap and another in Lucy’s.
‘How kind of you, my dear! I have a little present for you. Something I rarely wear, which will look far better on you than it has ever done on me.’ Addy got up from the wicker chaise-longue on which she had been reclining. ‘ I’ll fetch it for you.’
‘A present! Oh, how lovely! I love getting presents!’ Lola was always demonstrative, in a way that Addy never was. That had at first irritated Addy but now it touched and pleased her. ‘What is it?’
‘Wait and see.’
Addy walked back to the house, from time to time pausing to sniff at a flower or to brush it with her fingertips.
Lucy was far more perceptive than Addy. When Addy was out of earshot, she said: ‘Something’s on your mind. Isn’t it?’
‘On my mind? Oh, no! Nothing.’
