peasants from the villages and used to this sort of work. One of them, incongruously, began to sing.
After a while Owen left the rubble work. McPhee, a Boy-Scoutish sort of man, was better at this kind of thing than he was. The work of clearing the debris was now proceeding systematically. The sharp-faced, intelligent workman who had got started in the first place was now burrowing deep into the rubble.
The square was filling up with people, eager to help but getting in the way. Owen pulled a constable out and sent him for more help. He tried to get the crowd to keep back. Then, seeing that was useless, he borrowed McPhee’s idea and formed them into chains, getting them to clear away the subsidiary pile, which was threatening to topple back onto the rubble.
So far he had seen very few injured people.
The student he had been talking to had finished his bandaging and came over to stand beside Owen.
“Are you sure it was empty?” Owen asked.
“Not empty,” said the student. “Emptyish.”
He interrupted the large man with the white, dusty face as he went past for the umpteenth time.
“Ali,” he said. “Come here.”
Ali stopped obediently. The student took hold of his head and stared into his eyes. Then he released him. “Concussed,” he said.
“You’re not a law student,” said Owen.
“No, medical. I was visiting friends.”
“Why,” said Ali, in a tone of surprise, “it’s Deesa.”
“Yes,” said the student, “it’s Deesa. What happened, Ali?”
“I don’t know,” said the man. “I came to the door to take some air and then suddenly it was as if a giant put his hand to my back and pushed me. I fell into the street and lay there and when I looked up the building had gone. Where did it go to, Deesa?”
“It fell down, Ali,” said Deesa. “That is all that is left.” He pointed to the rubble.
The big man shook his head disbelievingly.
“When I looked up, it had gone,” he repeated. “Where did it go to, Deesa?”
“Ali,” said Deesa. “Try to remember. How many people were there inside?”
Ali shook his head blankly.
“Try to remember, Ali. How many people were there inside? Was Karim inside?”
“No. He is at the mosque.”
“God be praised. And Mustafa?”
“Mustafa is at the souk.”
“It looks as if Ali was on his own,” the student said to Owen. “And if he was standing at the door he couldn’t have been too busy.”
There came a shout from the rubble. The sharp-faced man jjad reemerged and was beckoning urgently. McPhee began to organize a special group.
“It looks as if they’ve found someone,” said Deesa. “I’d better see if I can help.” As he went across, he looked back over his shoulder at Owen. “I’m only in my third year, though.”
“You’re doing fine.”
Ali sat down and put his head on his knees. Suddenly he looked up at Owen.
“Two,” he said. “There were two.”
“Sure?”
“At the back. The table at the back.”
Owen called across to McPhee. “There are two of them. At least.”
“We’ve found one.”
More constables came into the square. They formed into a loose ring holding back the crowd. The crowd had grown so large that it was spilling back down the side streets. Unusually for a Cairo crowd, it was silent.
There was a ripple among the men working on the rubble. A white-dusted form was lifted out. Deesa bent over it.
McPhee came across, inspected the pile of rubbish and shook his head.
“An angrib,” he said, “has anyone got an angrib?”
Someone shouted acknowledgment from the back of the crowd and a moment or two later some men appeared carrying a low, rope-matting bed. The form was lifted onto it. Then it was hoisted up and borne off to the hospital.
Deesa started to walk beside it, then turned and came back. “It’s no use,” he said to Owen.
He stationed himself at the top of the hole down which the sharp-faced workman was already burrowing. The man began to pull at the stones
After a while Owen left the rubble work. McPhee, a Boy-Scoutish sort of man, was better at this kind of thing than he was. The work of clearing the debris was now proceeding systematically. The sharp-faced, intelligent workman who had got started in the first place was now burrowing deep into the rubble.
The square was filling up with people, eager to help but getting in the way. Owen pulled a constable out and sent him for more help. He tried to get the crowd to keep back. Then, seeing that was useless, he borrowed McPhee’s idea and formed them into chains, getting them to clear away the subsidiary pile, which was threatening to topple back onto the rubble.
So far he had seen very few injured people.
The student he had been talking to had finished his bandaging and came over to stand beside Owen.
“Are you sure it was empty?” Owen asked.
“Not empty,” said the student. “Emptyish.”
He interrupted the large man with the white, dusty face as he went past for the umpteenth time.
“Ali,” he said. “Come here.”
Ali stopped obediently. The student took hold of his head and stared into his eyes. Then he released him. “Concussed,” he said.
“You’re not a law student,” said Owen.
“No, medical. I was visiting friends.”
“Why,” said Ali, in a tone of surprise, “it’s Deesa.”
“Yes,” said the student, “it’s Deesa. What happened, Ali?”
“I don’t know,” said the man. “I came to the door to take some air and then suddenly it was as if a giant put his hand to my back and pushed me. I fell into the street and lay there and when I looked up the building had gone. Where did it go to, Deesa?”
“It fell down, Ali,” said Deesa. “That is all that is left.” He pointed to the rubble.
The big man shook his head disbelievingly.
“When I looked up, it had gone,” he repeated. “Where did it go to, Deesa?”
“Ali,” said Deesa. “Try to remember. How many people were there inside?”
Ali shook his head blankly.
“Try to remember, Ali. How many people were there inside? Was Karim inside?”
“No. He is at the mosque.”
“God be praised. And Mustafa?”
“Mustafa is at the souk.”
“It looks as if Ali was on his own,” the student said to Owen. “And if he was standing at the door he couldn’t have been too busy.”
There came a shout from the rubble. The sharp-faced man jjad reemerged and was beckoning urgently. McPhee began to organize a special group.
“It looks as if they’ve found someone,” said Deesa. “I’d better see if I can help.” As he went across, he looked back over his shoulder at Owen. “I’m only in my third year, though.”
“You’re doing fine.”
Ali sat down and put his head on his knees. Suddenly he looked up at Owen.
“Two,” he said. “There were two.”
“Sure?”
“At the back. The table at the back.”
Owen called across to McPhee. “There are two of them. At least.”
“We’ve found one.”
More constables came into the square. They formed into a loose ring holding back the crowd. The crowd had grown so large that it was spilling back down the side streets. Unusually for a Cairo crowd, it was silent.
There was a ripple among the men working on the rubble. A white-dusted form was lifted out. Deesa bent over it.
McPhee came across, inspected the pile of rubbish and shook his head.
“An angrib,” he said, “has anyone got an angrib?”
Someone shouted acknowledgment from the back of the crowd and a moment or two later some men appeared carrying a low, rope-matting bed. The form was lifted onto it. Then it was hoisted up and borne off to the hospital.
Deesa started to walk beside it, then turned and came back. “It’s no use,” he said to Owen.
He stationed himself at the top of the hole down which the sharp-faced workman was already burrowing. The man began to pull at the stones
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