Read Online The Mingrelian Conspiracy by Michael Pearce - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Pearce
Ads: Link
over.’
----
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Oh, no!’ said the café owner.
‘But yes!’ said Owen brightly, looking around for a place to sit and finally choosing one right next to where the owner was sprawled against a table, bandaged legs stretching over a chair in front of him. ‘I like your coffee!’
‘Mekhmet!’
A small, frightened-looking man scuttled in.
‘Mekhmet, some coffee for our guest!’
‘Right, Sidi Mustapha!’ said the man, touching his brow. ‘At once!’
He made for the door.
‘And put some poison in it!’ shouted the owner.
The little man stopped in the doorway, confused.
‘Go on, you fool! It’s only a joke.’
He clapped his hands impatiently.
The little man’s eyes rolled, panic-stricken.
‘Oh, my God!’ said the owner. ‘Get on with it, you fool. Get some coffee!’
A woman stuck her head out of a door at the back. ‘Don’t shout at him!’ she said indignantly. ‘He’s a poor, afflicted creature! He’s doing his best!’
‘He’s not doing anything at all!’ shouted the café owner. ‘He’s just standing there!’
‘You’ve confused him! Come on, Mekhmet, love,’ she said kindly. ‘Take no notice of him!’
The owner groaned and put a fist to his head.
‘It’s impossible!’ he said. ‘The man’s a halfwit. Tell him anything and he gets confused. You can’t run a café business like that! I’m only employing him because he’s her sister-in-law’s cousin.’
The woman emerged from the back with some coffee for Owen.
‘You’re only employing him because he’s cheap!’ she said tartly. ‘You thought you could get something for nothing.’
‘I was wrong, then, wasn’t I? I haven’t even got something!’
‘You’re a hard-hearted man,’ she said. ‘If you turn your face from God’s poor, He will turn his face from you!’
‘You get back inside, woman!’ shouted Mustapha indignantly. ‘Showing yourself off in public to all the men!’
‘If you’re going to shout at Mekhmet when he brings the coffee, and you’re going to shout at me, who’s going to bring it, I’d like to know? You just tell me that!’
She stalked off. The café owner mopped his brow.
‘Just look at that!’ he said. ‘Women are all the same. Difficult! She wouldn’t have married me if it hadn’t been for the dowry. Now she expects me to provide for everybody! Anyone who’s simple or lame or blind she invites in. Turn my face from God’s poor? I’m going to
be
one of God’s poor if she carries on the way she’s going.’
‘The fact is, you need a man about the place,’ said Owen. Mustapha looked at him.
‘You on that again?’
‘It’s the answer to your prayers.’
Mustapha was silent for some time.
‘Is he smart?’ he said at last.
‘He’s big,’ said Owen.
The café owner chuckled.
‘Like that, is it? Well, it’s not altogether a bad thing. Get somebody smart and the next thing you know, they’ve got something going on the side. Big and willing, that’s all you want. At least, that’s what the farmers used to say back in the village when I was a boy. And—he’s not going to cost anything?’
‘Even less than Mekhmet,’ said Owen.
The Grand Duke’s visit had been announced the day before and the newspapers were full of it. The tone was broadly welcoming. Even the Nationalist papers—and most of the papers were Nationalist—took a positive view of the visit as a mark of international recognition.
There were, of course, as always in Cairo, exceptions. For the most part these were confined to the Balkan communities and Owen realized now for the first time how many of these there were in the city. He had been hazily aware, for example, of the Montenegrins parading in their big boots outside the chief hotels for the benefit of tourists, but had not realized until now that they formed a substantial community. He had vaguely registered that Serbs were always fighting Croats and Bosnians Herzegovinians, but since in Egypt at
----
Chapter 4
« ^ »
Oh, no!’ said the café owner.
‘But yes!’ said Owen brightly, looking around for a place to sit and finally choosing one right next to where the owner was sprawled against a table, bandaged legs stretching over a chair in front of him. ‘I like your coffee!’
‘Mekhmet!’
A small, frightened-looking man scuttled in.
‘Mekhmet, some coffee for our guest!’
‘Right, Sidi Mustapha!’ said the man, touching his brow. ‘At once!’
He made for the door.
‘And put some poison in it!’ shouted the owner.
The little man stopped in the doorway, confused.
‘Go on, you fool! It’s only a joke.’
He clapped his hands impatiently.
The little man’s eyes rolled, panic-stricken.
‘Oh, my God!’ said the owner. ‘Get on with it, you fool. Get some coffee!’
A woman stuck her head out of a door at the back. ‘Don’t shout at him!’ she said indignantly. ‘He’s a poor, afflicted creature! He’s doing his best!’
‘He’s not doing anything at all!’ shouted the café owner. ‘He’s just standing there!’
‘You’ve confused him! Come on, Mekhmet, love,’ she said kindly. ‘Take no notice of him!’
The owner groaned and put a fist to his head.
‘It’s impossible!’ he said. ‘The man’s a halfwit. Tell him anything and he gets confused. You can’t run a café business like that! I’m only employing him because he’s her sister-in-law’s cousin.’
The woman emerged from the back with some coffee for Owen.
‘You’re only employing him because he’s cheap!’ she said tartly. ‘You thought you could get something for nothing.’
‘I was wrong, then, wasn’t I? I haven’t even got something!’
‘You’re a hard-hearted man,’ she said. ‘If you turn your face from God’s poor, He will turn his face from you!’
‘You get back inside, woman!’ shouted Mustapha indignantly. ‘Showing yourself off in public to all the men!’
‘If you’re going to shout at Mekhmet when he brings the coffee, and you’re going to shout at me, who’s going to bring it, I’d like to know? You just tell me that!’
She stalked off. The café owner mopped his brow.
‘Just look at that!’ he said. ‘Women are all the same. Difficult! She wouldn’t have married me if it hadn’t been for the dowry. Now she expects me to provide for everybody! Anyone who’s simple or lame or blind she invites in. Turn my face from God’s poor? I’m going to
be
one of God’s poor if she carries on the way she’s going.’
‘The fact is, you need a man about the place,’ said Owen. Mustapha looked at him.
‘You on that again?’
‘It’s the answer to your prayers.’
Mustapha was silent for some time.
‘Is he smart?’ he said at last.
‘He’s big,’ said Owen.
The café owner chuckled.
‘Like that, is it? Well, it’s not altogether a bad thing. Get somebody smart and the next thing you know, they’ve got something going on the side. Big and willing, that’s all you want. At least, that’s what the farmers used to say back in the village when I was a boy. And—he’s not going to cost anything?’
‘Even less than Mekhmet,’ said Owen.
The Grand Duke’s visit had been announced the day before and the newspapers were full of it. The tone was broadly welcoming. Even the Nationalist papers—and most of the papers were Nationalist—took a positive view of the visit as a mark of international recognition.
There were, of course, as always in Cairo, exceptions. For the most part these were confined to the Balkan communities and Owen realized now for the first time how many of these there were in the city. He had been hazily aware, for example, of the Montenegrins parading in their big boots outside the chief hotels for the benefit of tourists, but had not realized until now that they formed a substantial community. He had vaguely registered that Serbs were always fighting Croats and Bosnians Herzegovinians, but since in Egypt at
Similar Books
