The Last Cut. Michael Pearce
idea of the extent of the damage?’
‘One of the gates has gone.’
He pointed to the regulator. The gates had been forced open. One of them bent back at an angle.
‘It got the full force of the blast.’
‘It definitely was a blast, was it?’ asked Owen.
The man looked at him.
‘Owen, is it? The Mamur Zapt? Seen you at the Club, but not spoken. Glad to meet you.’ They shook hands. ‘Yes, it definitely was. I can show you. Not just this moment, though. I’ve got things I must –’
He glanced back at the regulator.
‘No, that’s fine. Look, I won’t take your time. Can you put me on to someone else? Anyone see anything? Presumably you yourself weren’t –’
‘I was in bed. It was two o’clock in the morning.’
‘Someone called you. Who was that?’
‘The watchman. Ahmed.’
‘Can I have a word with him? Where would I find him?’
The engineer pointed up to the main wall of the barrage.
‘He’s up there,’ he said. ‘Ask for Ahmed.’
The watchman’s hut was empty except for a woman with a baby and a small boy. When Owen asked for Ahmed, she nodded and sent the boy to fetch him. Meanwhile, Owen walked out on to the barrage.
Upstream, feluccas were tacking gracefully in the wind and, closer to, a large gyassa, sails newly lowered and rigging bright with the little scarlet flags used for marriages and the return of pilgrims from Mecca, was disgorging passengers on to the shore. They were already beginning to make their way up to the gardens, past a long line of stalls selling peanuts and pastries and sweetmeats and souvenirs. In the gardens there were yet more stalls, tucked among the bamboo thickets and the prickly pears, the clumps of datura and the bright masses of bougainvillea.
Everywhere, too, there were water-sellers. It was a hot day and their services were much in demand; so much so that there was a steady file of them going back to the river to replenish their water-skins. Down by the gyassa he could see their black bags floating on the water.
The boy returned with an old, grey-haired man; not too old, apparently, for both the boy and the baby were his.
‘Pardon my slowness, Effendi.’
‘Even the Khedive should wait for age,’ said Owen courteously.
‘Ah, it’s not age,’ said the man, tapping his leg. ‘It’s this. I broke it when we were building the Dam at Aswan. It set badly and they said I could not work again. But when Macrae Effendi came up here he sent for me and made me watchman.’
‘And you were watching last night?’
‘That is so.’
‘And what did you see?’
The man hesitated.
‘Well, Effendi, it was not what I saw. It was – I was out on the bridge. And then the air hissed suddenly across my face and at once there was a mighty clap, as of thunder. And I said: “That cannot be right, for no one does that sort of work at night.” For I knew what it was, having worked on the Dam at Aswan. And then I heard the rush of water, and saw the whiteness in the darkness, and knew the dam had broken. And I hastened back and sounded the signal and called Macrae Effendi.’
‘You did well.’
‘And then I went back on to the bridge. Effendi, I know I could have gone to the breach. But with this –’ he motioned towards his leg–‘what could I have done? And, besides, Macrae Effendi says: “Let every man do his duty. If every man does his duty, then all will be well.” And my duty, Effendi, was on the bridge.’
‘Quite right. So there you were, back on the bridge, watching, as was your duty. What else did you see?’
‘Nothing, Effendi. The night was dark. But shortly I heard shouts and knew that the workmen were there. And then I heard Macrae Effendi.’
‘But you saw nothing? No man fleeing the spot, for instance?’
‘It was dark, Effendi. And, besides, he would have come through the gardens, where there are trees and bushes.’
‘There are other watchmen?’
‘There are watchmen on all the dams when the river rises. But, Effendi, they would have been watching the dams and the banks.’
‘They would have been watching against the river and not against people?’
‘That is right. What need is there to watch against people? To strike against the river is to strike against oneself.’
‘And yet last night someone did.’
‘What could have possessed them, Effendi?’ asked the watchman, shaking his head. ‘Who could do a thing like that?’
‘Some loony,’ said Macrae bitterly, now unhelmeted and slumped exhaustedly in the office. There was coffee on the table in front of them. He picked up one of the cups.
‘Inexplicable!’ said the Minister. ‘Unless –’ he looked at Owen –‘you don’t think it could have been some ridiculous Nationalist –?’
‘Politics, you mean?’ said Macrae. ‘Well, you could be right. Anyone who gets mixed up with politics has to be crazy. Especially in Egypt. Oh, sorry, Minister!’
‘Let’s not jump to conclusions!’ said Owen. ‘It could just be an individual with a grudge.’
‘Well, let’s hope you find him before he does any more damage,’ said Macrae.
‘Are you going to be able to put this right?’ the Minister asked.
‘Depends what you mean. We’ll have things more or less under control by the evening. But then we’ll need new gates.’
‘New gates?’
‘And we’ll have to set them,’ said the other engineer, the one Owen had met at the Ministry. His name was Ferguson. ‘That means that what we’re talking about really is a complete new regulator.’
‘But that will cost millions!’ said the Minister.
‘Aye,’ said Macrae.
‘We’ll have to divert the canal,’ said Ferguson.
‘Divert the canal!’
‘Aye,’ said Macrae.
‘But – but – that will –’
‘Cost more millions,’ said Ferguson.
‘We have to keep the flow going, you see,’ said Macrae. ‘And you can’t build when the water’s still going through. You have to build somewhere else. Nearby, of course.’ He looked out of the window. ‘The gardens, I should think. And then divert the water into the new channel.’
The Under-Secretary pulled himself together.
‘I’ll put it to them. It – it may take some time.’
‘Can’t wait,’ said Macrae. Ferguson nodded in agreement. ‘If you want it done before next year’s rise – and you do – you’ll have to start next month.’
‘I’ll put that to them, too,’ said the Under-Secretary, downcast.
‘But that’s not the main thing,’ said Macrae.
‘No?’ said the Under-Secretary.
‘No?’ said Ferguson, surprised.
‘No. The main thing is to get the madman who did it. Before he does it again. Owen?’