‘What was the riot about?’
‘It was a protest: but not serious. Only two killed. Partly to tell the Brits to get off the Canal, and partly to celebrate a pocket rebellion that happened here last year. Many policemen who belonged to the Muslim Brotherhood were killed.’
‘I heard about that. Didn’t a mob kill some Britons, and then take cover in a clinic of some kind, and a police station? We had to bring the tanks up to stop the fighting.’
He sighed and said, ‘If you say so, Charlie.’
‘Wasn’t that the way it happened?’
‘No. Not exactly. That’s not the story they tell on the streets.’
‘What then?’
‘Some Europeans were killed, and the killers should have been arrested and tried for murder. Your authorities failed to do that: they reacted far too slowly. The mob got out of hand, and the authorities found they had a small-scale insurrection on their hands. When the tanks eventually arrived, your commander found that they had been issued with the wrong ammunition. If he had assaulted the buildings with normal high-explosive shells, the casualties would still have been high, but maybe less than half of the eventual number.’
‘What did he use?’
‘Armour-piercing shells: I believe you call them APs. They smashed the buildings and the people inside them to pieces. What is more, it is suggested that he ordered his crews to fire off all their ammunition, and take none back to barracks, in order to cover the mistake that he had made. Egypt will never forgive you for that day’s work, Charlie. It will become the first day of the end of the British presence in the Canal Zone.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ It seemed such an incongruous thing to say. After all, we had a hundred and fifty thousand representatives of the most highly mechanized army in history, parked on his lawn.
‘Yes, I do, Charlie. If I was a good chess player I would tell you the endgame is coming on. From now on it will be impossible for any individual in the Middle East not to take sides, and one day one of those sides will be bigger than yours, and will shove you out.’
One of his boys poured us more coffee. I asked him, ‘What you just told me about the tank action. Do you know that to be true for a fact, or is it one of those political myths that are repeated so often they become history?’
‘Truly, Charlie, I don’t know and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter any more. Martyrs win wars for you even before battle is joined. If ordinary Egyptians are repeating and retelling the story already, you will lose, eventually, and they will win. They will rise, and you will have to decide to leave, or create a bloodbath. I think you will leave, and if I want to stay, I shall have to cut my cloth accordingly. I like that turn of phrase, don’t you?’
‘Will we still be partners?’
‘Of course; and friends.’
‘Then, as a friend, are you able to give me the names and addresses of a person I could trust in either Istanbul or Kurdistan, if I was to find myself there alone and without friends?’
He frowned before he replied, ‘Yes, I can do that. They would be businessmen, like us. They would want favours in return for helping you.’
‘I assumed that. More importantly, would you do that for me without asking me why I am making this request?’
‘Naturally, Charlie . . . but you must take care of yourself. Mariam would probably stick a knife in me if I allowed you to come to harm.’
‘I’ll tell her not to.’
‘OK, deal.’
We shook hands over the breakfast table. I told him one more thing, which was: ‘When that MP burst into the room last night, I found that under that delightful costume you provided I was clutching my pistol. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realized that if he had taken one step towards the girls, I would have shot him down without a thought.’
‘Then you came close to choosing sides, Charlie – always dangerous. But I’m glad you didn’t shoot. If you had, we would have had to kill all of them. Sad to think of the families without fathers, yes?’ He was probably telling me to grow up.
I mooched around the club all morning, keeping out of sight of the Egyptian policemen barring entry. Mariam came down and played draughts with me while the club staff cleaned around us. I said, ‘Your eyelids are blue.’
‘I colour them.’
‘No: it means that you made love last night. Our eyelids become blue after we have made love.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘A lady told me.’
‘She must love you very much to tell you secrets like that.’
‘No . . . I don’t think so.’
She turned her head away and smiled.
I also solved a problem for David Yassine. I found myself doodling the word prevailed again and again on a beer mat. Parts of it began to look familiar.
When I worked it out, I waved him over and said, ‘Are you familiar with the English word anagram?’
‘Of course I am. Besides, it’s not an English word; it’s Greek.’
‘Doesn’t matter – look at this.’ I wrote the word out afresh, prevailed – and then wrote the words evil padre, after it.
‘What does that mean?’
‘If it means that the local Church is after you, old son, then you’ve had it. Fucked. Pack up your tent and scoot back to Beirut.’
‘No,’ he told me, ‘I think I’ll stick around, now I know what the problem is.’
Chapter Eighteen
Jazz me blues
‘Did the tanks really use APs to winkle out the terrorists in Ismailia last year?’
‘I told you not to ask questions, Charlie. It’s the sort of thing that gets you noticed.’ Watson looked cross.
‘That’s not an answer, sir.’
‘It’s the nearest bloody thing you’re going to get. I warned you, drop it.’
‘Have they found Oliver
