Read Online The Fig Tree Murder by Michael Pearce - Free Book Online

bigger boy.
    ‘Yes, I am,’ said the smaller boy tearfully.
    ‘No, you’re not. That’s his house over there!’
    He pointed to a small house on the outskirts or, if you were pedantic, just beyond the outskirts of the village.
    ‘That counts as village,’ said Mahmoud firmly, and let the boys scamper off.
    ‘Even that little distance!’ He shook his head sadly. ‘It makes two miles away seem like a foreign country.’
    ‘They marry between villages, though,’ said Owen.
    ‘They have to. The trouble is, it doesn’t diminish the distance.’
    ‘Was the family bent on feud?’
    ‘They wouldn’t say. They wouldn’t say anything.’
    ‘You know, this could be solved. It doesn’t have to turn into a blood feud. From the point of view of the woman’s family, no blood has been shed.’
    ‘From the point of view of the man’s family it has, though. If they think it was one of the wife’s family, they’ll want revenge.’
    ‘Why should it be one of the wife’s family?’
    ‘Honour.’
    ‘Do they care about the woman that much?’
    ‘No. But they do care about the family and they say the family’s been slighted.’
    ‘Ibrahim’s family could pay recompense.’
    ‘Recompense is the last thing it’s thinking of at the moment. One of its men has been killed and it wants revenge.’
    ‘It could pay a little and send the wife back.’
    ‘That would make it worse. The wife’s family would say it showed a lack of respect. Funnily enough, I think Ibrahim’s family would take that view too. They’ve got no thought of sending her back. They don’t like her particularly, all she’s had are two daughters, it’s just an extra burden on them—and yet it hasn’t entered their heads to send her back. She became part of the family by marriage and now it’s their job to look after her. No, what they’re really interested in is the man. A man’s been killed, their man, and that must be paid for.’
    Owen nodded. When he had first come to Egypt he had spent a few months patrolling the desert and knew about feuds and the tribal code of honour.
    ‘The danger is,’ he said, ‘that they’ll kill someone in the wife’s family, and then there’ll be another death to be paid for, and so it’ll go on.’
    ‘These villagers!’ said Mahmoud.
    ‘Let’s hope it’s not someone in the wife’s family.’
    ‘Let’s hope we find out who it is,’ said Mahmoud, ‘before they do.’
     
    The roof of the house was piled high with brushwood, vegetables and buffalo dung, all in close proximity to each other. From the corners of the roof, strings of onions dangled down, each onion as vast as a melon. Poor the people might be, hungry they were not. Where there was such food there must be men to earn it or grow it, and, sure enough, inside the house there were three of them.
    ‘You again?’ said the older brother unwelcomingly to Mahmoud.
    ‘It is justice for your sister that I seek,’ said Mahmoud softly.
    ‘We will look after that.’
    ‘No,’ said Mahmoud, shaking his head. ‘You will not.’
    The brother stared at him for a moment and then looked at Owen.
    ‘Who is he?’
    ‘The Mamur Zapt.’
    The man flinched slightly. Old memories, the old legend, died hard.
    ‘What is it you want?’
    ‘To talk to Khadija.’
    ‘Khadija! There is no point. Talk to us.’
    ‘I talked to you the other day,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Now I would talk with Khadija.’
    The men looked at each other.
    ‘She is not here,’ said one of the other brothers defiantly.
    ‘Then I will wait until she returns,’ said Mahmoud, settling himself comfortably.
    ‘You cannot speak with her!’
    ‘Why is it important that I do not speak with her?’
    ‘It is not important; she is a woman, that is all.’
    ‘Would you like my friend to go into the women’s quarters and fetch her out? He has the right.’
    It was true. The Mamur Zapt had right of entry into all houses in Cairo, including harems. Whether that right extended as far out