“Well?” she said.
Owen discarded the smooth introduction he had prepared.
“Did you know the Bimbashi was going to be there?” he asked.
“No,” said the Aalima firmly.
“Then how was it you had the drug ready?”
The Aalima started to speak then stopped, as if changing her mind.
“We always have drugs,” she said. “They are part of the ceremony. We use different ones at different times. This was one we normally use late on: if someone is over-excited.”
“Why, then, was it given to the Bimbashi?”
The Aalima’s eyes flashed.
“It was none of his business!” she said angrily. “It was not right that he should be there. I could not have done everything if he had been watching, I would not have been able to complete the ceremony.”
“So you sent him to sleep?”
“What is wrong with that?”
“You gave him too much. You could have killed him.”
The Aalima hesitated.
“We had no wish to kill him. If we gave him too much it was because we wished to make sure. We were not used to giving such doses.”
Owen nodded.
“The girl,” he said, “Jalila; she put it in?”
“Jalila? No. She merely carries the bowl.”
“Did you put it in yourself?”
“It was part of the ceremony,” she said evasively.
“No matter; you are the one who will be held responsible.”
“He should not have come,” she said.
“I know; and therefore I am prepared to be lenient with you. Give me the information I want and you need hear no more of this.”
“What information do you want?”
“Let me ask my first question again. Did you know the Bimbashi would be there?”
“No,” she said. “I knew only that he might be.”
“Who gave you that information?”
“I cannot say. Truthfully,” she added quickly. “These things come to one, some words muttered in the suk, and one does not always see who has spoken. One only knows afterwards that they are important by the gift.”
“There was a gift?”
The Aalima inclined her head.
“What were the words?”
“A man might come.”
“There must have been more words than that.”
“No. Only that a man would come, a foolish Effendi, and I would know him when I saw him.”
“What were you to do?”
The Aalima hesitated.
“I was to let him stay,” she said reluctantly. “I was to let him see.”
“No more?” said Owen, puzzled.
“Isn’t that enough?”
“There was nothing else?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
“You have sworn,” said Owen, “and I accept your word. If it turns out that you have forsworn, I must warn you that it will go heavy with you.”
“I have not forsworn. That was all that was said. And,” said the Aalima, “I did not do what I was bid.”
“You did not let him see?”
“Not all. Some, yes, but not all. I could not bring myself to do it. The present they gave me was good, yes, but all the gold in the world-”
“I understand.”
“When I saw him there, and saw that he was looking, after he had said that he would not, I was angry and told-”
“Them to put in the drug?” Owen finished.
“Yes,” said the Aalima, looking at him defiantly.
Owen took his time about replying. He sipped his coffee carefully and then put the cup down on the little copper tray beside him.
“That, I could understand,” he said softly, “although it was wrong; but why put him in the snake pit?”
“That was nothing to do with me.”
“Did you not give instructions?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I do not know.”
“Come,” said Owen, “the Bimbashi was in the inner courtyard, where there were only those who follow you. Would they have done this without your command?”
“It was done,” said the Aalima, “and I did not know it was done. I looked and saw that he was asleep and that was enough. I had my duties to think of.”
“Who commands in the courtyard?”
“No one commands,” said the Aalima. “We are women and at the Zzarr we are free people. Only at the Zzarr.”
“I cannot believe that it was done without your knowledge.”
The Aalima shrugged.
“I have told you truly,” she said.
“Very well. Again I shall believe you. But tell me now,” said Owen, “if you do not know, who would?”
The Aalima seemed genuinely to be thinking.
“Jalila?”
The Aalima gestured impatiently. “She merely carries the bowl.”
“She was out in the courtyard.”
“True, but… it would have had to have been someone else. She does not command enough respect.”
“She may have seen.”
“Others must have seen,” said the Aalima. “The chair was in the courtyard. But-”
“Yes?”
“They may have seen,” said the Aalima, “but I do not think they would have done it. He is a heavy man for women to carry. Especially that far into the Gamaliya. And who would have been willing to leave the ceremony?”
“Men?” suggested Owen.
“There were no men in the courtyard,” said the Aalima definitely, “apart from the Bimbashi. I will tell you what I will do,” she said. “I will ask my women. And then I will tell you.”
“Thank you,” said Owen, rising. “That is all I ask.”
As she was showing him out, he said to her: “Why the snake pit? Are snakes something to do with the Zzarr?”
“The only snakes at the Zzarr,” said the Aalima, “are men.”
Chapter 8
It was only half past ten and the city was already like an oven. Inside the offices it was even worse and Owen, eager as always to keep things in perspective, headed for the cafe. Just as he was about to sit down, he saw Mahmoud and waved to him to join him. Mahmoud, however, did not notice and went hurrying on past. Owen waved again and then went across to intercept him. Reluctantly, Mahmoud came to a stop.
His face had none of its usual alertness and vigour. It was pinched and withdrawn.
“Hello!” said Owen, recognizing the signs. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” said Mahmoud. “Nothing.”
He tried to smile and failed, then began to edge away.
“Got something on,” he muttered.
“No you haven’t,” said Owen, putting his arm around him. Arabs were always putting their arms round each other. If you didn’t, you struck them as cold and unfriendly.
“Coffee,” said Owen. “Come on!”
He shepherded Mahmoud back to his table. Mahmoud allowed himself to be persuaded but looked at Owen without any light in his eyes. Indeed, he seemed almost hostile.
“What’s the trouble?” said Owen.
“Nothing,” said Mahmoud coldly.
“I know you too well to believe that,” said Owen.
The waiter, unusually, came quickly with the coffee. Mahmoud took a sip which was almost like a spit.
“Do you?” he said. “Do you?”
Owen laid his hand on Mahmoud’s arm.
“Come on,” he said, “what’s the matter?”
Mahmoud sat huddled and silent. When he was like this he was peculiarly exasperating. Normally he was so full of bounce that a chair could hardly contain him. On occasion, though, he swung to the other extreme, crumpling into apathy and lifelessness. You might have thought he suffered from some polarizing or cyclical illness; but the Arabs were all like this. They either burned with exhilaration or collapsed into the dumps; not like the stable British, who remained puddingy throughout.
They had been talking in French. Now Owen switched to the more intimate Arabic.
“If my brother is troubled,” he said, “then I am troubled. And if he does not tell me his trouble, so that I can share it, then I am doubly troubled.”