Read Online The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Historical, english, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Women Detectives, Fiction - Mystery, Large Type Books, Egypt, Mystery & Detective - Series, Women archaeologists, Peabody, Amelia (Fictitious character), Mystery & Detective - Historical
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of Nile travel for wealthy tourists, had been largely replaced by steamers and the railroad, but Emerson had purchased one of them and named it after me because he knew how much I enjoy that means of travel. (And also because we could live on board instead of staying at a hotel while we were in Cairo. Emerson dislikes elegant hotels, tourists, and dressing for dinner.)
I approached the Amelia in a far happier frame of mind than I had ever enjoyed after such a prolonged absence. In previous years we had put Abdullah, our reis, in charge of making certain all was in readiness for our arrival. Abdullah was a man. Need I say more?
Among the crewmen waiting to greet us, standing modestly behind them all with her face veiled and her head bowed, was the individual who had replaced Abdullah—his daughter-in-law Fatima.
Fatima was the widow of Abdullah’s son Feisal, who had passed on the previous year. One of his widows, I should say. The younger of his two wives, who had given him three children, had gone compliantly into the household of the man Abdullah selected for her, as custom decreed. Conceive of my amazement, therefore, when Fatima sought me out and asked for my help. She had loved her husband and he had loved her; he had taken a second wife only because she had begged him to, so that he might have the children she could not give him. She did not want another husband. She would work night and day to the limit of her strength at any position I could offer her so long as it enabled her to be independent.
The Reader can hardly doubt the nature of my response. To find a little flame of rebellion, a yearning for freedom—yes, and a marriage as tender and loving as any woman could wish—in an Egyptian woman thrilled me to the core. I consulted Abdullah, as a matter of courtesy, and was pleased to find that although he was far from enthusiastic, he did not forbid the scheme I had proposed.
“What else was to be expected?” he demanded rhetorically. “I do not know what the world is coming to, with the women learning to read and write, and the young men going to school instead of to work. I am glad I will not live to see it. Do as you like, Sitt Hakim, you always do.”
And he went off, shaking his head and muttering about the good old days. Men always grumble, to make women believe they are reluctant about giving in, but I knew perfectly well Abdullah was delighted to be relieved of his housekeeping duties. He never did things the way I wanted them done and he always looked sour when I failed to register sufficient appreciation. Such encounters were very trying for both of us.
Fatima stayed in the background, as was proper, until we had greeted Reis Hassan and the other crewmen. Then I sent the men away so that Fatima could unveil.
She was a little woman, not as tall as I, with the fine, free carriage Egyptian women acquire from carrying heavy loads on their heads. I had taken her to be in her mid-forties, though she had looked older. The face she now displayed wore such a glow of happiness and welcome that her plain features were transformed.
“So, it is well?” I inquired.
“Yes, Sitt Hakim. All is very well.” She spoke English, and my look of surprise made her beam even more broadly. “I study, Sitt, all the days I study, and I wash all thing, all thing, Sitt. Do you come and see, you and Nur Misur.”
“Light of Egypt” was Nefret’s Egyptian name. Knowing how much of a strain it is to carry on a prolonged conversation in a strange language, she said in Arabic, “Fatima, will you sometimes speak Arabic with me? I need the practice more than you need practice in English. How hard you have studied!”
She had done more than study. Every object on the boat that could sparkle or shine did so. The curtains had been washed so frequently they were wearing through in spots. She had sprinkled dried rose petals between the sheets (I looked forward to hearing Emerson’s comments on that). There were vases of
I approached the Amelia in a far happier frame of mind than I had ever enjoyed after such a prolonged absence. In previous years we had put Abdullah, our reis, in charge of making certain all was in readiness for our arrival. Abdullah was a man. Need I say more?
Among the crewmen waiting to greet us, standing modestly behind them all with her face veiled and her head bowed, was the individual who had replaced Abdullah—his daughter-in-law Fatima.
Fatima was the widow of Abdullah’s son Feisal, who had passed on the previous year. One of his widows, I should say. The younger of his two wives, who had given him three children, had gone compliantly into the household of the man Abdullah selected for her, as custom decreed. Conceive of my amazement, therefore, when Fatima sought me out and asked for my help. She had loved her husband and he had loved her; he had taken a second wife only because she had begged him to, so that he might have the children she could not give him. She did not want another husband. She would work night and day to the limit of her strength at any position I could offer her so long as it enabled her to be independent.
The Reader can hardly doubt the nature of my response. To find a little flame of rebellion, a yearning for freedom—yes, and a marriage as tender and loving as any woman could wish—in an Egyptian woman thrilled me to the core. I consulted Abdullah, as a matter of courtesy, and was pleased to find that although he was far from enthusiastic, he did not forbid the scheme I had proposed.
“What else was to be expected?” he demanded rhetorically. “I do not know what the world is coming to, with the women learning to read and write, and the young men going to school instead of to work. I am glad I will not live to see it. Do as you like, Sitt Hakim, you always do.”
And he went off, shaking his head and muttering about the good old days. Men always grumble, to make women believe they are reluctant about giving in, but I knew perfectly well Abdullah was delighted to be relieved of his housekeeping duties. He never did things the way I wanted them done and he always looked sour when I failed to register sufficient appreciation. Such encounters were very trying for both of us.
Fatima stayed in the background, as was proper, until we had greeted Reis Hassan and the other crewmen. Then I sent the men away so that Fatima could unveil.
She was a little woman, not as tall as I, with the fine, free carriage Egyptian women acquire from carrying heavy loads on their heads. I had taken her to be in her mid-forties, though she had looked older. The face she now displayed wore such a glow of happiness and welcome that her plain features were transformed.
“So, it is well?” I inquired.
“Yes, Sitt Hakim. All is very well.” She spoke English, and my look of surprise made her beam even more broadly. “I study, Sitt, all the days I study, and I wash all thing, all thing, Sitt. Do you come and see, you and Nur Misur.”
“Light of Egypt” was Nefret’s Egyptian name. Knowing how much of a strain it is to carry on a prolonged conversation in a strange language, she said in Arabic, “Fatima, will you sometimes speak Arabic with me? I need the practice more than you need practice in English. How hard you have studied!”
She had done more than study. Every object on the boat that could sparkle or shine did so. The curtains had been washed so frequently they were wearing through in spots. She had sprinkled dried rose petals between the sheets (I looked forward to hearing Emerson’s comments on that). There were vases of
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