Read Online The Snake Catcher's Daughter by Michael Pearce - Free Book Online

deeply into cotton and international finance (borrowing, mostly). They looked outward to Europe, where they spent most of their time, adjusting to the loss of power which had come with British rule. They supplied most of the Khedive’s cabinet but their capacity for action, or, indeed, inaction, was severely constrained now by the presence of British Advisers at the top of each Ministry. Nevertheless, Governmental posts were much sought after, not least by Nuri, Zeinab’s father, and his cronies. They belonged, however, to a previous generation; a fact to which they were by no means reconciled.
    They were all known to Owen, except one.
    “Demerdash Pasha,” introduced Nuri, with a wave of his band.
    The Pasha bowed distantly.
    “Captain Owen. The dear boy has a
tendresse
for Zeinab,” he explained.
    “How is Zeinab these days?” asked one of the other Pashas.
    “The Mamur Zapt,” he heard another one amplifying for the benefit of the newcomer.
    Owen saw the impact.
    “Mamur Zapt?”
    A little later he found an opportunity to speak to Owen.
    “I knew your predecessor,” he said.
    “A friend?”
    “We worked together. A true servant of the Khedive.”
    “As I aspire to be,” said Owen.
    The Pasha looked puzzled.
    “How can that be?” he said.
    One of the other Pashas linked arms with him affectionately.
    “Demerdash Pasha has been away for a long time,” he said with a smile.
    “And where have you been spending your time, Pasha?” asked Owen.
    “Constantinople,” the man said shortly.
    “Demerdash Pasha is a great friend of the Turks,” said one of the other Pashas.
    Demerdash turned on him.
    “I am not a great friend of the Turks,” he said sharply. “I was there because the Khedive asked me to be there.”
    “You are a friend of Egypt,
mon cher
,” said Nuri.
    “Yes,” said Demerdash, “a friend of Egypt. But of Egypt as she was and not as she is.”
    “Oh la la,” said Nuri, and led him away.
    “Just the same as he used to be,” said one of the other Pashas, watching them go. “He doesn’t give an inch.”
    “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” said another Pasha.
    “That remains to be seen,” said the first Pasha.
    The group broke up with Nuri’s departure and Owen continued his circulation. Some time later, however, he found himself standing next to Nuri and Demerdash at the buffet table. They were talking to someone who had, apparently, just returned from the Sudan.
    “And how were things down in the Bahr-el-Ghazal?” asked Demerdash.
    The other man shrugged. “Hot,” he said.
    “What about women?”
    “All right.”
    “That was where the best slaves came from,” said Demerdash. “Beautiful black ones.”
    “None of that these days. They’ve got rid of slaves.”
    Demerdash made a gesture of dismissal.
    “Does it make any difference?”
    “You’ve got to be careful.”
    “The British!” said Demerdash scornfully.
    “All the same—”
    “Don’t tell me you spent that time there without sampling at least a few little
négresses
.”
    “What’s that?” said Nuri.
    Demerdash turned to him.
    “
Il me dit qu’il a passé six ans au Sudan sans une seule petite négresse
!”
    “Impossible!” said Nuri.
    The table bowed under the weight of food. There were gigantic Nile perch with lemons stuffed in their jaws, pheasants cooked but then with their feathers replaced so that they looked as if they had just wandered off an autumnal English field, ducklings shaped out of foie gras, huge ox heads from which the tongues, cooked, lolled imbecilely.
    Paul regarded these latter with disfavour.
    “Exactly like a Parliamentary delegation,” he said sourly.
     
    The reception finished about eleven. The night was still young by Cairo standards and many of the guests went off to revel less stiffly in more congenial places. Owen decided to walk home. The other side of rising with the light was that he declined with the light, and midnight always found him totally