Read The Map of Love Online

Authors: Ahdaf Soueif

The Map of Love (53 page)

‘But you have seen
Urabi already, since his return?’ Isma
il Sabri asks.

‘I called on him. But we were alone, and it was before these recent … developments.’

‘Perhaps he won’t be there,’ Isma
il Sabri suggests, as the carriage rattles through the dark streets and they lean back in their opposite corners.

‘Let us hope so,’ Sharif Basha says. ‘But I believe he is not even aware of the effect he is having. That the day should come,’ he says, ‘when I find myself siding with Mustafa Kamel against
Urabi!’

‘Whatever possessed him to give such an interview?’ Isma
il Sabri wonders. ‘To say he is happy to see the British in Egypt? After all these years?’

‘He has gone senile. Turned into another foolish old man. He should have sensed a trap the moment
al-Muqattam
approached him.’

‘He was never very clever,’ Isma
il Sabri says. ‘He was patriotic and brave, and he had presence. But he was not clever.’

‘He should have remained silent. Come home if he wished, but remained silent.’

And there indeed is Ahmad
Urabi. Sharif Basha spots him the moment he enters Wisa Basha Wasif’s salamlek. The room
is crowded with men come to celebrate the return of Wisa Basha’s son from Europe. Smoke and the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses and beyond it all
Urabi stands alone. The head that towers over most men in the room is grizzled now, the beard completely white. Our own Garibaldi’, Sharif Basha thinks bitterly, even as he feels again that surge of affection he had felt when he had called on his father’s old commander upon his return from exile at the end of September. A historic affection now, and suffused with sadness. It angers him that
Urabi should now, at the end, have betrayed the Revolution — but it pains him to see the old man stand so markedly alone. He seeks out Wisa Basha and says a few words of congratulation, then makes for
Urabi’s corner. He is aware of heads turning as he greets the old man and yet, beyond enquiring after his health and that of his family, he finds himself with nothing to say and is relieved when Mustafa Basha Fahmi eventually strolls over. Well, both men are avowed friends of the British and can converse with each other freely. After a moment he leaves them together — the prime minister and the failed revolutionary — and turns away. Anna is upstairs with the women. He wonders if she is near the lattice, if she is even now watching him. But he does not, of course, raise his eyes to the haramlek. ‘Sharif Pasha al-Baroudi?’

He turns. Milton Bey stands before him. Sharif Basha takes the extended hand briefly and steps back.

‘I believe we have never been properly introduced,’ Milton Bey says.

‘I regret, Milton Bey, I speak no English,’ Sharif Basha says in French.

‘Ah! Quel dommage!’ The physician gives him a shrewd look. ‘My French is very poor. We have need of an interpreter.’

Sharif Basha bows slightly and when Milton Bey is accosted by Ibrahim Bey al-Hilbawi, he excuses himself and turns away. He has nothing against Milton Bey: a doctor who came to Egypt and opened a hospital and is doing good work by all
accounts. He is even training some young Egyptians. But the man has never spoken to him before; why come up so publicly to greet him? Is it being said now, of him, that he is a friend of the British? Sharif Basha is frowning when Qasim Amin puts a hand on his shoulder.

‘We are at a wedding, ya Basha,’ he says.

Sharif Basha smiles. ‘May we dance at yours,’ he teases his friend.

‘You know my opinions,’ Qasim Amin says. ‘But if I were lucky like some —’

‘I shall pray for you.’

‘I have been meaning to congratulate you.’ Prince Muhammad Ibrahim joins them. ‘You did a good job in the Council stopping that new tax. I was just talking to Mustafa Kamel about it.’

‘The Council does what it can.’ Sharif Basha shrugs. ‘But our opinion, as you know, is not binding.’

‘It was a nasty move, though,’ Qasim Amin says.

‘They will try again —’

‘I wonder Cromer has the face to do it,’ Prince Muhammad Ibrahim says. ‘To try to tax local textile manufacture. Even thread! To beat down our industry to give an advantage to theirs?’

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