The Mamur Zapt and the Camel of Destruction. Michael Pearce
bothering about.’
‘But it is, it is,’ cried Mahmoud excitedly. ‘You put up with it because you say, “They are only Egyptians, you can’t expect anything better;” and that is bad, that is to wrong us, to insult us–’
‘I don’t do anything of the sort–’
‘It is to apply a double standard, one for the English, another for the Egyptians!’
‘Nonsense!’
‘Tell me,’ said Mahmoud fiercely, ‘would you expect the same service if you were in England?’
It was a long time since Owen had been in England. He considered the matter honestly.
‘Yes,’ he said firmly.
‘Yes?’
Mahmoud stopped, astonished.
‘They’re the same the whole world over.’
‘They are?’
‘They are.’
‘Well …’ said Mahmoud, deflating. ‘Well … All the same,’ he shot out as the unfortunate clerk scurried past, ‘the service here needs improving!’
They were old friends and had, indeed, worked together on several important cases. Mahmoud was a lawyer, a rising star of the Parquet.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Owen.
‘Working up a case,’ said Mahmoud. ‘It starts tomorrow.’
‘I didn’t know you were an expert on waqfs.’
‘I’m not. That’s why I’m going over it again before I get in court.’
‘Can I get some free legal advice? No, I’ll tell you what, I’ll pay for it. I’ll take you out to lunch.’
‘You don’t need to pay for it,’ said Mahmoud, ‘but lunch would be a pleasure.’
They agreed to meet at one and for the rest of the morning Owen worked on the files the clerk had brought him, after which he was little the wiser.
‘It is complicated,’ Mahmoud admitted over lunch, ‘but basically what you want to know is: can a waqf be set aside?’
‘That’s right.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Well, you tell me. Public interest?’
Mahmoud shook his head.
‘Not a chance. There is an issue of public interest, since the endowment was established for the benefit of local children. But if the endowment has merely been transferred, the issue does not arise.’
‘If it’s a developer, he’s going to close down the school.’
‘You’d have to wait until it was clear that was what he was going to do.’
‘It would be too late, then. He’d have demolished the building.’
‘It wouldn’t matter anyway because he could always say he was going to open another school somewhere else in the neighbourhood.’
‘What about the argument that the relative didn’t know what he was doing when he sold the benefit? The Widow Shawquat said he was senile.’
‘She’d have to be able to prove that.’
‘I don’t know that she’d be very good at proving anything. Not if it came to a real legal wrangle with lawyers. The other side would be able to afford good lawyers and she wouldn’t.’
‘I’d do it myself,’ said Mahmoud, ‘only I’m going to be tied up for at least two months. This is a big case.’
‘Oh heavens, no; I wasn’t dreaming of involving you to that extent. In fact, I wasn’t really thinking of involving the Widow Shawquat if I didn’t have to. I was wondering if I could appeal myself.’
‘As Mamur Zapt?’ Mahmoud frowned. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The Ministry is nationalist, not in my way but in a different way. They would be prejudiced from the start.’
‘What do I do, then? Someone’s got to formally appeal, presumably?’
‘Yes. But it ought to be someone who would impress the Ministry of Religious Endowments. Someone preferably of religious weight. And that, cher ami,’ said Mahmoud drily, ‘is not you.’
The Agricultural Bank occupied the first and second floors of a large modern building in the Ismailiya Quarter. The ground floor was occupied by a furrier’s, which in the climate of Egypt might appear to err on the optimistic side. The Ismailiya, however, was the fashionable European quarter and its purchasers were thinking more of France than they were of Egypt.
Owen asked about access to the Bank.
‘We don’t deal directly with the public,’ said the clerk to the Board loftily.
He was another Copt, like Nikos. The original inhabitants of the city, before even the Arabs, the Copts seemed to take to administration naturally and settled in the Ministries like water finding its own level.
The Arabs couldn’t understand it at all. They thought they had defeated them and now here they were being governed by them! It was another of the little things that didn’t help the popular attitude towards the Civil Service.
‘How do you deal with them, then?’ asked Owen.
‘We lay down policy.’
I thought you made grants to fellahin?’
‘We do that through the omda.’ The village headman.
‘And you don’t go out to the villages yourselves?’
‘I believe some people do.’
He brought Owen minutes of the Board’s meetings and papers recently considered.
‘Self-explanatory, I think.’
Owen detained him.
‘The thing I’m trying to establish is Mr Fingari’s exact role.’
‘He represented the Ministry.’
‘I know. What did he do?’
‘He expressed the Ministry’s viewpoint.’
‘Which was?’
The clerk gestured towards the papers.
‘It’s all in the minutes,’ he said.
A Greek, expensively dressed and with an air of seniority, came through the door. Owen recognized him. It was Zokosis, one of the businessmen who had invited him to meet them at the Hotel Continentale. He shook hands.
‘I hope Petros has been helping you?’
‘We have some way to go.’
‘Ah!’ He sat down. ‘Try me.’
‘Thank you. I’m trying to establish what Fingari actually did.’
The Greek laughed. ‘Good question,’ he said. ‘At least, I think so. I wonder what any of them do. Well, look, all I can do is tell you what he did for us. He attended Board meetings once a month. Meetings usually occupy the whole morning.’
‘And in between?’
‘Well, of course, there would be papers to read. Possibly he even drafted one or two papers. Although off-hand I can’t … I’ll get Petros to check.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I really can’t recall …’
‘You know, Mr Zokosis, you surprise me. You gave me the impression at the Continentale that his work was important.’
‘Did