The Snake-Catcher’s Daughter. Michael Pearce
Owen shouted for his constables. They came, big men, forcing their way through the crowd.
‘Get them out of the way!’ said Owen. ‘Clear a space.’
The constables linked arms, bowed down and charged the crowd with their heads. They were used to this kind of situation. The smallest accident draws a crowd in Cairo, all sympathetic, all involved and all in the way.
A couple of constables stayed out of the cordon, drew their truncheons and slapped any encroachment of hand, foot or head.
Owen levered himself up on to the edge of the cistern and put his head down into its depths.
‘Effendi!’ said an anxious voice. It was Selim, who, previously singled out for glory, had suddenly grown in stature and now took upon himself a senior role.
‘Get hold of me!’
He felt Selim’s grasp tighten and swung himself lower.
The snakes did not move. One or two were lying on McPhee’s chest, others coiled beneath his armpits. They all seemed asleep at the moment, perhaps they were digesting a meal, but if he tried to move McPhee he was bound to waken them.
‘Effendi,’ said Selim, ‘is this not something better left to experts?’
A voice at the back of the crowd shouted: ‘Abu! Fetch Abu!’
‘Pull me up!’
He came back up over the side and lowered his feet to the ground.
‘I’ve got to get him out,’ he said. ‘Now listen carefully. Two of you, no three, it will be a heavy weight, catch hold of me. I’m going to reach down and get hold of McPhee. I’ll try and get a good grip –’
‘They’ll bite you in the face, effendi!’
Owen swallowed.
‘I’m going to do it quickly,’ he said. ‘Very quickly. As soon as I shout, pull me up. I’ll be heavy because I’ll be holding McPhee. But you just bloody pull, as fast as you can. The rest of you can help. And Selim!’
‘Yes, effendi?’
‘There’ll be snakes on him. Maybe on me, too. Now, what I want you to do is to catch hold of them –’
‘Catch hold?’ said Selim faintly.
‘And throw them back.’
‘Look, effendi,’ began Selim, less sure now about the glory.
‘Do it quickly and you’ll be all right.’
‘Effendi –’
‘I’m relying on you.’
Selim swallowed.
‘Effendi,’ he said heroically, ‘I will do it.’
‘Good man. Remember, speed is the thing.’
‘Effendi,’ said Selim, ‘you cannot believe how quick I will be.’
‘Right.’ Owen put his hands on the edge of the cistern and braced himself. ‘Get hold of me.’
In the background, he heard Selim say to one of the constables:
‘Abdul, you stand by me with your truncheon!’
‘If I strike, it will make them angry.’
‘If you strike, you’ve got to strike them dead!’
‘But, Selim,’ said the worried voice, ‘it is not easy to kill a snake. Not in one blow. It would be better if you just caught hold of them and threw them.’
‘Thank you very much, Abdul,’ said Selim.
‘Selim!’ said Owen sternly. ‘Do it the way I told you!’
Just then a girl ducked under the legs of the cordon and came up beside Owen.
‘What are you doing with our snakes?’ she said fiercely.
‘I’m trying to get him out … Your snakes, did you say? Who the hell are you?’
‘I’m Abu’s daughter.’
‘He’s the snake catcher,’ said someone.
Light dawned.
‘They’re your snakes?’
‘Yes.’ The girl looked down over the edge. ‘What’s he doing down there?’
‘Never mind that. Can you get him out?’
‘Of course.’
She swung her leg up on the edge.
‘What about the snakes?’
‘I’ve milked the cobras.’
‘Milked?’
She bent down, seized one of the snakes by the neck and held it up for Owen to see. It opened its jaws.
‘See?’
The snake’s mouth looked much like any other snake’s mouth to Owen but he didn’t feel inclined to examine it closely.
‘Er … yes,’ he said.
The cobra tried to snap at him but the girl was holding it too firmly.
‘Selim,’ said Abdul’s worried voice, ‘shall I strike?’
The girl tossed the snake back into the cistern and then dropped down after it. Owen saw her flinging the snakes aside. She put her hands under McPhee’s armpits and lifted his shoulders.
‘Can you take him?’
Owen grabbed hold of him. Selim, bold, reached over and caught up McPhee’s legs.
They lifted him down to the ground.
Something moved under his shirt. A snake put its head out. The girl plucked it out and threw it nonchalantly into the cistern.
‘It’s the warmth,’ she said. ‘They like to go where it’s warm.’
‘Warm?’ said Owen, and dropped on his knees.
McPhee was still alive. Alive, but very unconscious. Owen tipped his head back and looked at his eyes.
The girl knelt down beside him.
‘He’s overdone it, if you ask me,’ she said. ‘Taken a bit too much this time.’
‘Someone else gave it him,’ said Owen harshly.
He tore open McPhee’s shirt and put an ear to his chest. A strong, snaky smell, a mixture of snake and palm oil and spices, clung to the shirt. The girl caught it, too, and looked puzzled.
The heartbeat was slow but regular. Owen looked around. The tiny yard was packed to overflowing. He was suddenly conscious of the extreme heat and lack of air.
‘We must get the Bimbashi to the hospital,’ he said.
There were no arabeahs in that part of the city so the constables improvised a litter out of some of the planks lying against the wall. They had just pushed their way out into the street when the owner came rushing after them.
‘Hey!’ he said. ‘What are you doing? You can’t take those!’
‘Mean bastard!’ said the crowd indignantly.
The owner stepped back and hurriedly changed tack.
‘It’s not seemly,’ he said. ‘He’s a Bimbashi, after all!’
This was an argument which weighed with the crowd. And with the constables, who stopped uncertainly and lowered the litter to the ground.
‘Come on,’ said Owen, ‘we’ve got to get a move on.’
The crowd, however, now grown to even larger proportions, would