The Women of the Souk

by Michael Pearce

  There was a woman there, who came out into the street and lingered there and then went back into the house with the man. She was a pretty girl – in the Geziret they didn’t go in much for veils and he noticed the fact almost automatically – and Selim had no difficulty in keeping his eye on her.

  The sun went down and the shadows began to lengthen. The house was a single storey and made of mud brick. There were no windows and the door, as elsewhere in the Geziret, was left open to give not just air but light. Selim wondered whether to go back and report to Owen but decided to stay a little while in case there were any developments.

  The only development was that the woman came out with a large jar on her head and an infant on her hip. She went along the street to where a tap was set in the wall and began to fill her pot. When the pot was full she put it back on to her head and went back along the street and into her house.

  There were no further developments and it grew dark. Through the door he could see a small flame. From inside the house came a strong smell of garlic and onions. Selim guessed that they were settling down to supper and began to think about his own.

  Now it was quite dark. The man came out and went along the street to a restaurant, where people were sitting outside in the street playing dominoes. The man sat down at one of the tables and summoned a pipe.

  Selim judged it was time to go back to the Bab-el-Khalk and report to Owen.

  Owen knocked on the open door.

  ‘Is anyone within?’ he asked.

  ‘The master of the house is out,’ said the woman.

  She came out into the doorway, then stopped in surprise at the sight of Owen.

  ‘The master is out,’ she repeated.

  ‘I know,’ said Owen. ‘It is you I seek. Do not be alarmed,’ he added quickly. ‘I come as a friend seeking help for another.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked, seeing now that he was an Englishman.

  ‘A friend,’ he repeated, ‘seeking help for another. A woman,’ he added significantly.

  ‘Why does she not come herself?’

  ‘She cannot. She is held behind locked doors.’

  The woman stepped back.

  ‘This is no business of mine.’

  ‘Ah, but it is! She is a woman in need. Bad men have seized her.’

  ‘If she is a bad woman—’

  ‘She is not. She is a good one. Only very young.’

  ‘Has she no father? No brother?’

  ‘No brother, no. A father, yes. But he is sick, and so I act for him.’

  ‘You are an Englishman. Is she English?’

  ‘No, she is, like yourself, Egyptian.’

  ‘How comes it that you are acting for her?’

  ‘Because no other will do it.’

  She hesitated.

  ‘This is a man’s business, not mine.’

  ‘It is, if no man will undertake it.’

  She half stepped away to go.

  ‘Do not turn from her,’ pleaded Owen. ‘She is a young girl on her own.’

  ‘Did you say that she is being held?’

  ‘Yes, against her wishes.’

  ‘Why is that? Has some man spoken for her and will she not have him?’

  ‘No one has spoken for her.’

  ‘Not even asked?’

  ‘No. She was seized against her will.’

  ‘That is wrong!’

  ‘It is. And must be stopped. And therefore I have come to you.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you have been spoken of as a good woman.’

  ‘If a man has taken her by force …’

  ‘Not a man: men.’

  ‘Then that is doubly wrong!’

  ‘It is. And we must stop it!’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Thou and I.’

  ‘I will seek my man’s advice!’

  ‘Do not. For he will go with the men who have taken her.’

  ‘My husband is a good man,’ she protested vigorously.

  ‘Yes, I think he is: but a frightened one.’

  ‘If he is frightened, why should not I be?’

  ‘I think you will not be. Because you are, like her, a woman. And feel for her as a woman.’

  ‘I do not know her.’

  ‘You probably do. She is the Kewfik girl.’

  The woman recoiled.

  ‘Then it is dangerous to have anything to do with her!’

  ‘Even a Kewfik woman is a woman!’

  ‘Why do you act for her?’

  ‘Because she is on her own. And a woman.’

  ‘It is easy for you to talk thus.’

  ‘I know. Easier for me than it is for you.’

  ‘Easier to act, too!’

  ‘I know. But I cannot act without your help.’

  ‘Some other woman—’

  ‘She is in love. With a nay player.’

  ‘A nay player?’

  ‘Yes. A man of music. As you were, and are, in love with a man of music. So I thought you would understand her.’

  ‘I do. But I cannot do this.’

  ‘All I ask for is information.’

  ‘What information?’

  ‘I need to know where she is.’

  ‘I do not know where she is.’

  ‘I think your husband does, or, at least, he has a pretty good idea of where she might be.’

  ‘He does not tell me such things.’

  ‘I think you could find out.’

  ‘It would cost me – it would cost me my life, and perhaps his!’

  ‘Who would know? My tongue will not tell.’

  ‘You say that …’

  ‘I am a man used to holding his tongue. I will not tell. No one will ever know. Not even your husband, unless you tell him.’

  ‘You are asking too much!’

  ‘I ask a great, great deal, I know. But I do not ask for myself. I ask for a young girl on her own without anyone to aid her if you will not.’

  ‘I would like to help her, but …’

  ‘I know I ask a great deal. But without help I can do nothing. And I fear that time is running out.’

  ‘Running out?’

  ‘How long will they wish to keep her?’

  ‘Cannot someone pay? Someone can always pay.’

  ‘If someone pays, the men will not release her. They will ask for more.’

  ‘Let them give more, then!’

  ‘And more. Until there is no more left to give. And then, I ask again, how long will they want to keep her?’

  ‘Perhaps they will let her go.’

  ‘If they let her go, do they not increase the danger for themselves? They will fear that she will reveal who they are.’

  ‘I cannot do this. It is too much to ask. My husband – my child – do you know what it is to have a child?’

  ‘Yes, I know what I ask.’

  ‘I cannot do it!’

  ‘Not even for a girl who loves a man of music?’

  ‘Do not ask me more! I – I will think about it.’

  As he was walking back to the Bab-el-Khalk he saw a figure on a donkey coming towards him. It was a woman, and seemed familiar. When she came up to him she saw him looking at her and laughed. Then she pulled back her veil.

  It was the Old Woman of the souk.

  ‘Greetings, mother! What are you doing in these unfamiliar parts?’

  ‘Making peace. What are you doing?’

  ‘I make peace too.’

  ‘It is hard work, making peace!’

  ‘It is, indeed!’

  ‘But if the man cannot make it, the task must pass to the women.’

  ‘May God prosper your efforts, mother!’

  ‘And yours, too, Mamur Zapt.’

  As she rode on past, a small voice beside him said: ‘So you know her, too?’

  It was Minya, on her way home from school. Not far away was the burly figure of Selim.

  ‘Why, do you know her?’

  ‘Yes. Quite well. Marie often used to
take me in to see her on our way home.’

  ‘Into the souk?’

  ‘Yes. We always used to go through the souk. In the morning, going in, Marie liked to try the perfumes at the Scentmaker. Then in the afternoon, going home, she liked to drop in on the Old Woman and they used to have a chat.’

  ‘And what did they talk about?’

  ‘Life,’ said Minya largely. ‘Marie was always asking her questions, like “what sort of man should I marry?”’

  ‘And what did the Old Woman say?’

  ‘“Rich”,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think she really meant it, because she used to laugh when she said it. And Marie used to say: “That’s no use, I’m rich already.” And the Old Woman used to say: “Why, then, you’ll have to learn how to use it!” And then they both used to laugh. And sometimes the Old Woman would ask me how I would use it. I would buy lots and lots of sherbet, I said. “And then you’d fizz and pop!” Marie used to say.’

  ‘What else did you talk about?’

  ‘What we would be when we grew up – Marie used to talk about that all the time. If she was rich, said the Old Woman, perhaps she should take a lowly job. Then she would learn wisdom, to go with her riches. “Couldn’t I do that without having a lowly job?” asked Marie. “Probably not,” said the Old Woman. That was the kind of thing they talked about for hours. It got a bit dull after a time, and the Old Woman used to say, “The beginning of wisdom is not to go on too long about it. You’d better take this little one home now, or else she’ll fall asleep.” “I won’t,” I used to say, because I’m very good at staying awake! But sometimes I felt quite like it, and I would hear Marie say: “She has.” And then there was another woman, who was sometimes there, the awalim, and she would pick me up and sit me on her lap. But in the end we would go home.’

  TEN

  Georgiades had been hanging around the Kewfik stables for so long that he seemed a part of the furniture. Or perhaps an implement; someone suggested a shovel for piling the dung. At any rate, on whatever terms, they accepted him and no one questioned when he came in, in the morning. He seemed to spend the day sitting in the stables, chatting to everybody. They all accepted him, except perhaps the elder Shawquat, who, like him, talked to everybody, but in a sharper way.

  One of the people Georgiades talked to was the widow of the man recently killed. She was getting over her loss – she had never cared greatly for her husband – but said that she had difficulty sleeping at night. Georgiades said that he knew a man in the souk who could give her something for that, and promised to look him up, and that afternoon he went to see his friend in the Scentmakers’ Bazaar.

  ‘Certainly!’ said the scentmaker. ‘I’ll make you up something. Strong or weak?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know.’

  ‘Strong, if you want her to be asleep and not to know; weak if you just want to soothe her.’

  ‘A bit in-between, I think,’ said Georgiades, ‘to start with.’

  ‘That’s what they all say: to start with.’

  ‘They surely don’t want it to be too strong.’

  ‘No, no, and they don’t want it to be little. In case she wakes up.’

  ‘But wouldn’t he perhaps want her to be a bit awake?’

  ‘There are all sorts of tastes and it depends on whether she’s your wife or not.’

  ‘Why does it depend?’

  ‘Well, if she’s not your wife, you might prefer her not to know.’

  ‘I think I’ll go half way, if you don’t mind. In fact, it’s not for my wife.’

  ‘Lucky man!’

  ‘No, no, it’s not like that. Her husband, you see, was stabbed last week.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘She’s not too bothered. She just can’t sleep.’

  ‘Stabbed, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. He worked at the Kewfik stables.’

  ‘Oh, I know the man. Some trouble with the Kauri boys.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘There’s always trouble between the Kewfik and the Kauris. Although they do say there’s talk of a truce.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that. It would be a good thing.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Bad for business.’

  ‘Bad for— Oh, I see! They come to you to be patched up, do they?’

  ‘It’s cheaper than going to the hakim.’

  The Greek chuckled.

  ‘You are a one,’ he said. ‘Seeing it like that!’

  ‘It’s the most sensible way to see it. But don’t side with either, and then you’ll get the business of both.’

  ‘You deserve to make a fortune!’

  ‘Well, I do. But it’s not happened yet.’

  ‘Not only that: they throw stones at you!’

  ‘Bastards!’

  ‘Heard anything more about that?’

  ‘No, and not expecting to. Things have gone quiet since they’ve had this truce.’

  ‘Profits have dropped, have they?’

  ‘They have. Of course, there’s always other things. Like love philtres.’

  ‘Or sleeping draughts,’ said the Greek, greatly daring.

  ‘Same thing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘From my point of view. Same materials. Just a different bottle.’

  ‘You are a one!’

  ‘One way or another, I reckon the Kewfiks and the Kauris keep you in business.’

  ‘Long may it be before they find out!’

  Georgiades picked up the package from the counter.

  ‘I’m going over there now. I’ll take it for her.’

  ‘Who’s paying?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll pay. It’s not much.’

  ‘I hope you get something in return for your labours!’ said the shopkeeper winking.

  ‘The idea of it!’ said Georgiades, laughing too.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ said the scentmaker, as he was going out, ‘are you going near the stables?’

  ‘Right next door. That’s where she lives, and so far they’ve not put her out.’

  ‘Can you drop something in for me at the stables?’

  ‘A pleasure.’

  The scentmaker bent down behind the counter and came up with a package.

  ‘It’s for Shawquat.’

  ‘Shawquat? The boy?’

  ‘No. It’s the old man. He has lumbago badly. You’d be doing him a favour if you could get this to him.’

  ‘Gladly.’

  When they opened the package at the Bab-el-Khalk it was not a surprise.

  Georgiades smelt it, then licked his fingers and tasted it.

  ‘Fine quality,’ he said appreciatively.

  Owen did the same.

  ‘Very fine,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised there’s anyone around here who could afford it.’

  ‘The Kewfiks?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. The father is a strict Muslim and very strait-laced.’

  ‘Marie?’

  ‘I doubt it. She kicks over the traces and seems willing to have a go at most things. But among all the Khedivial girls, I think it would have come out. She may have sampled it at some point, but this isn’t a sample. It’s a whacking great load, fit for a palace.’

  ‘Where the Kewfiks live is a palace.’

  ‘The package was addressed to Shawquat.’

  ‘He won’t have wanted it for himself. He’ll be feeding it on to others, spreading it around.’

  ‘Could we check? You ask around in the stables.’

  ‘I haven’t seen any signs of it.’

  ‘And it’s very fine quality. Not the sort of stuff you’d be taking if you were a hand at the stables.’

  ‘The Court? Fed out through the mother?’

  ‘Unlikely. But possible. She would have the contacts but my impression is that she doesn’t go in for that sort of thing.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Well, the Kewfiks are not badly off.’

  ‘They may be now. With that nephew running the family finances.’
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  ‘He won’t really be running them. The bank will be doing it or keeping a tight hold. Besides, his father is a very strict Muslim and also a disciplinarian. He’ll be watching Ali Osman like a hawk. He lets him spread money around but dribbles it out to him.’

  ‘All the more reason for him wanting to deal.’

  ‘Somehow I don’t see it. He’d be terrified of his father. Still, you could check.’

  ‘We keep coming back to Shawquat.’

  ‘Who is also a very strict Muslim.’

  ‘Strict enough to worry about who he feeds it out to?’

  ‘It’s a big quantity. This would not be little users.’

  ‘A big user, then?’

  ‘Or a big purpose.’

  Nikos reported that things had suddenly gone quiet. The kidnappers had made no attempt to contact him. Nor had the bank been approached. Nor had Ali Osman.

  ‘If only I had been,’ Ali Osman said. ‘All this talk of money and I can’t get my hands on any of it. Besides, in a strange way I’m worried about this girl. Does it mean that—? Surely not! They wouldn’t have killed her, not at this stage in the negotiations. And while they’re talking, there’s hope. Goodness me, that’s nearly a witticism isn’t it? Most unusual for me! Actually I think it’s something that you were saying. Keep talking, that’s what you said, while you’re doing whatever you are doing, which, judging by results so far, doesn’t seem to be much.’

  Although he didn’t say it, Owen was worried too about the silence. There was always the risk in this kind of negotiation that the talks would collapse, that the kidnappers would panic and walk away. And if they did walk away, it probably wouldn’t be with clean hands.

  And then, suddenly, contact was resumed and the talks started again.

  This was not uncommon in negotiations like these. The kidnappers’ side would waver, there would be arguments about how to proceed, some would want to drop out, some to press on.

  Nikos decided to refresh their minds about the possible rewards of a successful outcome and signalled that he might be prepared to release the cash now. Of course, he wouldn’t. He would just release some of it. He offered a sum as guarantee of good faith. Naturally, they said it was too small, and wanted more. Nikos refused. There was a bit of blustering and threatening, but Nikos was adamant. Not unless, he threw in as an afterthought, he could be sure that Marie was still all right. And for that he would need to see her.