‘How was that?’
‘Nothing heroic. Lost control of my motorcycle on the way back to camp from Sidcup one night. I was loaded. When I woke up I had no eyes and no nose. They managed to rebuild the schnozzle, but no chance with the eyes – popped and gone to heaven.’ I knew I’d been right about motorbikes all along. But after I heard him I winced, and instinctively said, ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s almost a reflex reaction to apologize to the disabled for their own disability, isn’t it? I don’t think they love us for it.
‘Don’t be. They weren’t particularly good eyes.’
‘Your man is coming back.’
‘How many glasses on the tray?’
‘Five: two each for us, I think, and one for him.’
‘Marvellous people these Egyptians. Great sense of anticipation. We’ll drink one here, and take one through with us.’
‘And we can talk in front of your man?’
‘Christ yes; no problem. But be careful what you say in front of the dog though: I think she’s a spy.’
The one-eyed Labrador lay under the table throughout the meal. Occasionally she’d let out a heartfelt sigh, and Levy would surreptitiously drop her a morsel of food. Her mouth of yellowing teeth was rarely less than nine inches from my naked leg, which unnerved me. Levy insisted on eating his lunch without talking shop. Fish, fish and fish, and all of it good. Better than good: memorable.
When I remarked on it he said,
‘Surprised you haven’t been here before. You’re an automatic member; it’s only an extension of the Mess.’
‘Nobody told me about it.’
‘Then you’ve something to thank me for already, and I love starting off relationships with the other person in my debt. I like to finish lunch with Egyptian-style coffee, by the way – all right by you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Some of the old wallahs disapprove, of course. They stick to English tea – something to do with a sense of empire.’
‘Who are the old wallahs?’
‘The nabobs? Generals, colonels and AVMs. We used to see the occasional admiral, but I think it’s too far from the real sea for them: unless they’re near something salty which drowns people, they feel insecure. We’ll take coffee out on the veranda: your pipe smoke may keep the flies at bay.’
‘You can smell my pipe on me.’
‘. . . and the fact that you washed with Palmolive this morning, are wearing suede desert boots, and use neither an aftershave nor Brylcreem. The nabobs wouldn’t like your boots in the club either.’
‘How can you smell the difference between suede and ordinary leather?’
‘I can’t. I can’t smell boot polish from you either, so the suedes were a deduction. Was I right?’ He made me smile.
‘Yes, you were, but what if I had no shoes on at all?’
‘My dog would have smelled your feet, and set up a terrible howl. Within weeks of losing my eyes, my senses of smell and hearing improved until they were almost painful. Compensation I think, but a whole new world just the same. I’d probably make a better tracker dog than Mary.’ The dog – that must have been her name.
We sat in the shade, in another couple of peacock chairs. His Arab stood about twenty feet from us at the end of the veranda, scanning the gardens, the Bitter Lake and the people around us. His eyes never stopped moving. More of a bodyguard than a bearer or a guide.
Maybe Levy picked up on what I was thinking because he asked me, ‘Do you think he can hear us from there?’
‘I didn’t think you cared.’
‘I don’t. I just want to know how good you are.’
‘He’s about twenty feet away, so I’d say we were safe.’
‘. . . and you’d be wrong. The conversational human voice can be heard easily up to thirty feet away by anyone who tries. Unless you are locked with one other person in a soundproofed room, or out in the wilderness with a clear view of what’s around you, you are always going to be overheard. That’s a fact, and you’d better remember it.’
I let that sink in. How many stupid things had I said in my life that would now appear to have been overheard? Millions.
I quietly said, ‘Thank you. I will.’
‘You dropped your voice immediately. Quick learner. I like that.’ I wasn’t sure that I did.
‘The Wing Commander said you were going to brief me on what I’m doing out here – which isn’t what the RAF originally told me, apparently.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I expected to see you earlier but there were problems with your screening. Are you really a Commie?’
‘No, I’m a paid-up member of the Party, but that happened by accident in 1947. Do you need to know the story?’
‘Yes; I think I do. Don’t worry: we have all afternoon if we want.’
So I told him. If you’ve got this far, you’ve probably already read my earlier memoir, so I don’t need to tell you again, do I? If you’ve forgotten the story, go back and read it again . . . and see your doctor about your failing memory: you have a problem. Levy thought it was highly amusing. Maybe you will too.
Then I said to him, ‘Your turn, Captain. You can talk while I light my pipe.’ He had been right; the flies had begun to pay amorous attention to us, and God did not create me to be copulated upon by hairy Egyptian flies.
‘In 1945 you were posted to RAF Tempsford, weren’t you? Some ground job after you’d got through your first tour.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Smoke away. Let me do the talking.’
‘OK.’
He frowned. I took the hint, and lit up. I was soon making as much smoke as the battleship Warspite. After two world wars she broke her back on St
