Death of an Effendi. Michael Pearce

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СКАЧАТЬ – but because he had been away he had not been able to.

      He looked at the newspaper and felt vexed. They had slipped up in his absence. There on the front page was a reference to the financiers’ visit. What were they here for, demanded Al-Liwa? Was it to suck yet more blood out of Egypt’s already dried-up veins? Well, if blood was what they wanted, blood was what they would—

      Owen gave the newspaper back to the waiter. He was used to the sanguinary rhetoric of the Nationalist newspapers and it did not bother him. However, they had been trying to keep the visit secret. The negotiations were important and neither the British Administration nor the Khedive wanted them disturbed by any unfortunate incident.

      ‘Not got,’ said the waiter, jerking his thumb again, ‘because all money go out of country to people like them!’

      If even ordinary waiters were saying such things, thought Owen, was it any wonder that other people were?

      Tvardovsky kept, or was kept, apart from the other Russians. At lunch he came and sat with Owen.

      ‘How’s it going?’

      ‘They have no vision,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘They see only roubles.’

      ‘What do you see?’

      ‘I see fields of grain,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘This was once Rome’s granary. It could be again.’

      ‘Depending on what?’

      ‘Water,’ said Tvardovsky, ‘and pumps.’

      ‘And money?’

      ‘Well, naturally.’

      ‘People, too,’ said Owen.

      ‘Yes,’ granted Tvardovsky, ‘people are important.’ He looked at Owen. ‘You know the country,’ he said. ‘How would the people feel?’

      ‘I think they would need to feel part of it,’ said Owen.

      ‘And at the moment they don’t,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘That is because they are serfs.’

      ‘Well, not really—’

      ‘The next best thing to. We were serfs, too, in Russia,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘I was one. Or, rather, the son of one. So I know.’

      ‘I don’t think it’s quite the same in Egypt.’

      ‘They need to feel part of it. Will the British make them feel part of it?’

      ‘We have done a bit,’ said Owen.

      ‘No,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘The answer is no. But Russians could.’

      Owen looked at the financiers on the adjoining tables.

      ‘You said they had no vision.’

      ‘Not these.’ Tvardovsky dismissed them with a contemptuous wave of his hand. ‘Others. Have you heard of a Russian named Kropotkin?’

      ‘No,’ said Owen.

      ‘He is a prince. But an unusually intelligent one. He says that cooperation, not competition, is the natural way of things. You British will not make the ordinary Egyptian feel part of things because you believe in competition. But that is not what the ordinary man wants. It is not natural to him. What is natural is cooperation. And that is what is needed here.’

      ‘And Mr Kropotkin will bring it?’

      ‘Alas,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘It may take a bit of time.’

      After lunch the financiers, unused to the heat, returned to their tents for a siesta. Owen took a chair, however, and sat outside beneath an orange tree, where the foliage was thick enough to give dense shade. He could have gone back to his tent, next to Tvardovsky’s, but from here he could see better.

      At about four the financiers began to emerge from their tents and make their way to the armchair area, where they were served afternoon tea. They drank their tea, as the Egyptians did, without milk.

      From time to time someone came and led one of them off. Individual interviews had been arranged with the Governor of the Bank of Egypt and the Financial Adviser. ‘In the end,’ said Tvardovsky, ‘a financier has to work alone. We do not trust each other.’

      Tvardovsky went for an interview, too. Owen accompanied him to the tent but did not go in.

      Dinner was early in view of the shoot the next day. Tvardovsky sat at Owen’s table again. He drank heavily.

      ‘Steady on,’ said Owen. ‘We’re making an early start tomorrow, remember.’

      ‘Ah yes,’ said Tvardovsky. ‘The killing.’

      It was still dark but in the tents the lamps were on. Suffragis hurried about carrying bowls of hot water for shaving and coffee for those who needed it. Up on the terrace a light breakfast had been prepared but the main breakfast would be later, after the shoot. People were already walking down to the water.

      Owen emerged from his tent carrying a gun. Tvardovsky, coming out at the same time, regarded it distrustfully.

      ‘What’s that for?’ he said.

      ‘Protective camouflage,’ said Owen. He did not expect to use it. Duck-shooting was not what he was about.

      Tvardovsky himself was gunless. Nevertheless, he walked down to the boats with the others.

      They were flat-bottomed boats, like punts, suitable for the shallow water at the edge of the lake and for lying among the reeds. The boatman held the boats for the shooters to clamber in, two to a boat, with a boatman there to paddle and retrieve.

      At the last moment there was a hitch. There were not enough boats to accommodate everyone.

      ‘I’ll sit this one out,’ said Tvardovsky.

      ‘So will I,’ said Owen.

      ‘No, no,’ said the maître d’hôtel. ‘No problem.’

      He produced two more boats. They were of the basket sort, made of reeds. Empty, they seemed to lie on top of the water. Carrying someone, they sank down and water seeped in through the sides so that there was a little pool of water inside the boat, in which the person was sitting. After that, though, they sank down no more and the level of water remained the same, matching that outside.

      ‘Actually,’ said the maître d’hôtel, ‘you’ll find them more suited for shooting. The boatmen will be able to take you right in among the reeds and you’ll get a better shot.’

      Tvardovsky shrugged and climbed in. That was the snag. The boat could only take him, not Owen. Owen was being marshalled towards a similar boat lying alongside. Tvardovsky looked up at Owen.

      ‘I won’t be far,’ said Owen.

      Tvardovsky shrugged again.

      ‘Where gun?’ said the boatman.

      ‘No СКАЧАТЬ