The Mamur Zapt and the Girl in Nile. Michael Pearce

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СКАЧАТЬ of belonging to one of Egypt’s leading families. While, admittedly, these were not normally conspicuous in the case of women, for Zeinab they were substantial.

      Like most of the Egyptian upper classes, Nuri was a Francophile. He spoke French by preference, read French books and newspapers and followed French intellectual and cultural fashions rather than Egyptian ones. The culture of educated Egyptians was, anyway, in many respects as much French as it was Egyptian. Mahmoud, for instance, had been educated as a lawyer in the French tradition. The Parquet was French through and through.

      Zeinab had been brought up in this culture. Her father, finding in her many of the qualities he had admired in her mother, had given her far greater freedom from the harem than was normal and from childhood she had sat in on the political and intellectual discussions her father had with his cronies. She came to share many of his interests and tastes and as she grew up she became something of a companion to him.

      All this made Zeinab an interesting woman but a rather unusual one. Men found her formidable and she advanced into her twenties, long past the usual marrying age, without Nuri having received a suitable offer. He began to think of this as a problem.

      It was a problem, however, which Zeinab herself solved. She moved out and set up her own establishment. Nuri, though advanced in his thinking, was rather shocked by this. Shocked but intrigued: was Zeinab taking after her mother?

      Zeinab, however, was merely following up some of the ideas she had met in her father’s own circle. Among his friends were some writers and artists who formed a somewhat Bohemian set. Zeinab, who had strong musical interests, found their company congenial and enjoyed their artistic debates. This talk, too, was very much influenced by French fashions and preoccupations; and from it Zeinab acquired the notion that it was possible for a single woman to set up house on her own.

      She did this and enjoyed it and gradually her father and his friends came to accept it; indeed, not even, any longer, to notice it. And she was living like this when she met Owen.

      The intensity of their relationship surprised them both. Zeinab, alarmed at herself, backed off a little and insisted on maintaining an independent life while she was working out how to handle all this. Owen, equally alarmed, was content to let it rest like that while he tried to see a way through the likely complications. Neither of them was getting very far.

      Meanwhile they carried on as they were and that went very well. They met every day, usually in Zeinab’s appartement and Zeinab kept a proprietorial eye on what Owen was doing when he was away from her.

      ‘Of course she has a name,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we haven’t found it yet.’

      ‘It was the way you were talking,’ said Zeinab.

      ‘Well, it all sounds pretty anonymous, I know—’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Until we find out more about her, it’s bound to be.’

      ‘I just ask myself,’ said Zeinab, ‘what kind of woman is likely to be found on Narouz’s dahabeeyah.’

      ‘And what answer do you get?’

      ‘Someone like me.’

      ‘What nonsense! What absolute nonsense!’

      It disturbed him.

      ‘Nonsense!’ he repeated vehemently.

      ‘It’s got to be someone like me, hasn’t it? It can’t be an ordinary girl from an ordinary family because in Egypt ordinary girls are never allowed to be seen. Not even by their husbands, until after they are married.’

      ‘An “ordinary” girl, as you put it, wouldn’t get anywhere near a son of the Khedive.’

      ‘No, it would have to be someone from a family of rank, wouldn’t it? Like mine.’

      ‘The same thing applies to them. They’re kept out of sight, too. More, even, since they know what the Khedive’s sons are like. I’ve been in Egypt four years and I’ve never seen a Pasha’s wife or daughter.’

      ‘Except me.’

      ‘You’re different. You’re not at all ordinary. In fact,’ said Owen, his mind beginning to stray on to a quite different tack, ‘you’re altogether extraordinary—’

      But Zeinab refused to be diverted.

      ‘It would be someone like me,’ she said. ‘Someone whose family is rich enough for her to meet the Khedive. Someone whose father is, well, modern enough not to care. Someone who’s struck out on her own. Someone who’s vulnerable.’

      Unexpectedly she began to cry.

      Owen was taken aback. Zeinab cried frequently at the opera, never, up till now, anywhere else. He took her in his arms.

      ‘For Christ’s sake!’ he said. ‘You don’t even know the girl!’

      ‘I can feel!’ sobbed Zeinab. ‘I can feel!’

      ‘You can get misled by feeling.’

      Zeinab pulled herself away. ‘You don’t have any feeling,’ she said, looking at him stormily. This was, however, more like the Zeinab he knew and he felt reassured.

      ‘Aren’t you missing out the most likely possibility?’ he said. ‘That she’s foreign?’

      ‘I thought you said—?’

      ‘It’s what the steersman said. He thought she was different from the other two and they were certainly foreign. Well, she might have been different but still foreign. And isn’t that the most likely thing? You don’t get the Egyptian women on their own either on the Prince’s boat or off it. He’s used to mixing with foreign women. Someone he’s met at Cannes? I’d have thought it was pretty likely. After all, the Khedive himself—’

      ‘Well, of course,’ said Zeinab, sniffing, ‘that’s true.’

      ‘It was the clothes, you see, that made him think she was Egyptian. The shintiyan.’

      ‘Would a Frenchwoman wear shintiyan?’ asked Zeinab, who herself dressed à la Parisienne. ‘I certainly wouldn’t.’

      ‘Maybe to please the Prince. Or as a joke or something.’

      Zeinab thought it over.

      ‘The other two were foreign, weren’t they?’

      ‘Yes. And that’s another thing. My guess is that they were from some cabaret or other. That’s where he might have come across them. You see, you said the girl would have to come from a family of rank. Well, I don’t think girls who let themselves get picked up en masse off the bank to spend a week with a bloke on a dahabeeyah are likely to be that high class. Foreign, not too classy, three at a time—that sounds like cabaret to me.’

      ‘No decent Egyptian woman would let herself be subjected to such a thing,’ said Zeinab, removing Owen’s hand.

      ‘So,’ said Owen, putting it back, ‘they must either be foreign or—’

      ‘Or СКАЧАТЬ