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Authors: Michael Pearce
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said to the other brothers.
‘We haven’t done anything!’ shouted the brothers.
‘Let’s keep it like that. Turn round!’
‘What about me?’ cried Khadija.
‘Whore!’ shouted Sheikh Isa. ‘You’re the one who started it all!’
One of the brothers made a grab for the gun. Owen brought it down on his arm. Mahmoud caught him from behind and tied his hands deftly.
‘You stay out of this!’ Owen said to Sheikh Isa. ‘You stay here!’ he said to Khadija.
‘And you,’ he said to the other sheikh, ‘see that she comes to no harm!’
Mahmoud finished tying the brothers and stepped back.
‘Why are you doing this to them?’ demanded Khadija.
‘To save them from being shot,’ said Owen in an aside.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
The station at Matariya did not amount to much. It was merely a stop in the desert. There was no platform and no building, apart from a water tower. There was normally, however, a ticket collector, who sat on a chair under a solitary acacia tree and took tickets when they were offered.
This morning, though, when Owen climbed down from the train, he was not there. The chair stood in its usual place, unoccupied. Owen, who had been under the impression that the collector was permanently fixed to it, was a little surprised; surprised, too, that at this halt, when normally the only things moving were the little desert sparrows that liked to assemble on the arm that swung out from the water tower, there were people scurrying about.
When the train pulled out he saw what it was all about. On the other side of the track, about a hundred yards away, was a large ostrich pen and this morning it was the scene of considerable commotion. Great birds were running agitatedly about the pen, flapping their huge wings as if attempting to take off. They ran manically, not heeding where they were going, and from time to time one bore down on the fence near the station. Whenever that happened, men working on the fence would rush out and wave their arms and shout and at the last moment the huge bird, about nine feet high and twenty stones in weight, would panic and swerve and head off again across the desert.
It was all very exciting and Owen could see at once why it had attracted a crowd of onlookers, including the ticket collector. He could see now, too, that there was a gap in the fence, which the men were working on.
This side of the fence, near the track, a man was lying on the ground and a small group of people were bending over him. Owen walked across.
The man was holding his neck and groaning.
‘Be of good cheer, Ja’affar,’ said one of the men bending over him. ‘We have sent for the barber.’
‘I don’t need a barber,’ groaned the man on the ground, ‘I need a
hakim
!
‘The barber is cheaper, Ja’affar,’ advised one of the men. Ja’affar just groaned.
‘Perhaps Zaghlul will send for a
hakim
,’ suggested another of the men.
‘Zaghlul?’ said the man on the ground. ‘Not if it costs money! He might send for the sheikh to pray for me.’
‘Here is an effendi,’ said one of the men. ‘Perhaps he is a
hakim
!
‘I am afraid not,’ said Owen. ‘But let a
hakim
be summoned and I will pay.’
He looked down at the man on the ground.
‘Why, it’s you!’ he said, surprised, recognizing the man he’d spoken to with Asif. ‘Of course! You work at the farm.’
‘That bloody bird! I didn’t see it coming.’
‘It got through the fence, Ja’affar, and ran away.’
‘Did it? Well, old man Zaghlul will be more worried about that than about me!’
‘Owen! Owen! Is that you?’ called a voice.
Owen looked up. There, surprisingly, was Malik, the Pasha’s son; and there, even more surprisingly, for such things had only just come to Egypt, was a shining, brand-new motor car. ‘Come on! Get in!’
Owen walked over.
‘A bird has got out! We’ll have a hunt!’
‘Well, I don’t know—’
‘Come on, man. Get in!’
‘There’s a man who’s been
‘We haven’t done anything!’ shouted the brothers.
‘Let’s keep it like that. Turn round!’
‘What about me?’ cried Khadija.
‘Whore!’ shouted Sheikh Isa. ‘You’re the one who started it all!’
One of the brothers made a grab for the gun. Owen brought it down on his arm. Mahmoud caught him from behind and tied his hands deftly.
‘You stay out of this!’ Owen said to Sheikh Isa. ‘You stay here!’ he said to Khadija.
‘And you,’ he said to the other sheikh, ‘see that she comes to no harm!’
Mahmoud finished tying the brothers and stepped back.
‘Why are you doing this to them?’ demanded Khadija.
‘To save them from being shot,’ said Owen in an aside.
----
Chapter 5
« ^ »
The station at Matariya did not amount to much. It was merely a stop in the desert. There was no platform and no building, apart from a water tower. There was normally, however, a ticket collector, who sat on a chair under a solitary acacia tree and took tickets when they were offered.
This morning, though, when Owen climbed down from the train, he was not there. The chair stood in its usual place, unoccupied. Owen, who had been under the impression that the collector was permanently fixed to it, was a little surprised; surprised, too, that at this halt, when normally the only things moving were the little desert sparrows that liked to assemble on the arm that swung out from the water tower, there were people scurrying about.
When the train pulled out he saw what it was all about. On the other side of the track, about a hundred yards away, was a large ostrich pen and this morning it was the scene of considerable commotion. Great birds were running agitatedly about the pen, flapping their huge wings as if attempting to take off. They ran manically, not heeding where they were going, and from time to time one bore down on the fence near the station. Whenever that happened, men working on the fence would rush out and wave their arms and shout and at the last moment the huge bird, about nine feet high and twenty stones in weight, would panic and swerve and head off again across the desert.
It was all very exciting and Owen could see at once why it had attracted a crowd of onlookers, including the ticket collector. He could see now, too, that there was a gap in the fence, which the men were working on.
This side of the fence, near the track, a man was lying on the ground and a small group of people were bending over him. Owen walked across.
The man was holding his neck and groaning.
‘Be of good cheer, Ja’affar,’ said one of the men bending over him. ‘We have sent for the barber.’
‘I don’t need a barber,’ groaned the man on the ground, ‘I need a
hakim
!
‘The barber is cheaper, Ja’affar,’ advised one of the men. Ja’affar just groaned.
‘Perhaps Zaghlul will send for a
hakim
,’ suggested another of the men.
‘Zaghlul?’ said the man on the ground. ‘Not if it costs money! He might send for the sheikh to pray for me.’
‘Here is an effendi,’ said one of the men. ‘Perhaps he is a
hakim
!
‘I am afraid not,’ said Owen. ‘But let a
hakim
be summoned and I will pay.’
He looked down at the man on the ground.
‘Why, it’s you!’ he said, surprised, recognizing the man he’d spoken to with Asif. ‘Of course! You work at the farm.’
‘That bloody bird! I didn’t see it coming.’
‘It got through the fence, Ja’affar, and ran away.’
‘Did it? Well, old man Zaghlul will be more worried about that than about me!’
‘Owen! Owen! Is that you?’ called a voice.
Owen looked up. There, surprisingly, was Malik, the Pasha’s son; and there, even more surprisingly, for such things had only just come to Egypt, was a shining, brand-new motor car. ‘Come on! Get in!’
Owen walked over.
‘A bird has got out! We’ll have a hunt!’
‘Well, I don’t know—’
‘Come on, man. Get in!’
‘There’s a man who’s been
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