The Last Cut by Michael Pearce

Author:Michael Pearce [Pearce, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9781590581766
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press
Published: 1998-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Chapter 8

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One of the sights of Cairo was the water-carts. Every morning and sometimes at other points during the day they would go through the streets dampening down the dust. There was a tank at the back of the cart from which the water would spray out in little fountains. Urchins would dart in and out under the jets and after the cart had passed there would be a brief moment when the air was full of the seaside smell of water on hot sand. Cairenes loved that moment. They would come out into the doorways and sniff the air like dogs.

There was a water-cart ahead of Owen now. But it was not spraying the streets. It was standing at a corner and a group of water-carriers were filling their bags from the tank.

‘They won’t want to do that next week,’ Owen said to the driver as he passed. ‘Not when there’s water in the canal. What will you do then?’

‘Old man Fayoum will just move it further into the Gamaliya,’ said one of the water-carriers.

‘Ah, it belongs to Omar Fayoum?’

‘It certainly does. And they say he’s going to get another like it soon.’

‘He must be doing well, then.’

‘Never done better, he says. The last few months especially. Though I don’t know how that could be. It’s the same water, isn’t it? And it takes the same time to carry.’

‘Ah, but does it?’ said the man next to him, stooping to pick up his skins.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Owen.

‘Well, they do say he’s found another place where he can get it.’

‘That’s a lot of nonsense!’ said someone standing on the other side of the cart. Owen couldn’t see him clearly but thought it might be Ahmed Uthman, the husband of the woman who had taken Leila in.

‘It’s all got to come from the river, hasn’t it?’ said a man beside him. Owen could see him. It was Leila’s father.

‘Well, that’s more than we know,’ said the water-carrier who had first spoken.

‘You don’t know very much, then!’ retorted Ahmed Uthman.

‘What’s the trouble?’ said the driver of the cart. ‘Don’t you like our water?’

‘I like the water. It’s the price I don’t like.’

‘Well, you don’t have to pay it, then, do you?’ said the driver. ‘Tell him, Ahmed!’

‘Why don’t you just bugger off?’ said Ahmed Uthman, coming round the side of the cart.

‘Yes,’ said Leila’s father, joining him. ‘Why don’t you?’

‘Here, what’s going on?’

‘You don’t like the water? You don’t have to have it, then!’

‘Well, I won’t! Not if it’s like that!’

‘We won’t need to, will we? Not after the Cut!’ said his friend, supporting him.

‘We don’t like your water, either,’ said Leila’s father. ‘Wherever it comes from. We don’t want to see it in the Gamaliya!’

‘I take my water where I like!’

‘Oh, do you? Well, in that case—’

He moved forward threateningly.

Suddenly, he saw Owen.

Ahmed, it’s him!’ he said.

‘Him!’

Ahmed Uthman recovered first.

‘Get out of here!’ he shouted to the driver. ‘Quick!’

The driver seized his whip. Ahmed Uthman and Leila’s father threw their bags into the cart and leaped up after them.

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