The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [235]
Here once more Nessim’s tact came to the rescue; he took Leila and Mountolive out into the rose-garden where the three of them walked in silence for a while, their minds embalmed by the dense night-odour of the flowers. When they were out of earshot of the balcony the eldest son said lightly: ‘David, I hope you didn’t mind my father’s outburst at dinner. He feels very deeply about all this.’
‘I know.’
‘And you know’ said Leila eagerly, anxious to dispose of the whole subject and return once more to the normal atmosphere of friendliness, ‘he really isn’t wrong factually, however he expresses himself. Our position is an unenviable one, and it is due entirely to you, the British. We do live rather like a secret society — the most brilliant, indeed, once the key community in our own country.’
‘I cannot understand it’ said Mountolive.
‘It is not so difficult’ said Nessim lightly. ‘The clue is the Church militant. It is odd, isn’t it, that for us there was no real war between Cross and Crescent? That was entirely a Western European creation. So indeed was the idea of the cruel Moslem infide l. The Moslem was never a persecutor of the Copts on reli-gious grounds. On the contrary, the Koran itself shows that Jesus is respected as a true Prophet, indeed a precursor of Mohammed. The other day Leila quoted you the little portrait of the child
Jesus in one of the suras — remember? Breathing life into the clay models of birds he was making with other children….’
‘I remember.’
‘Why, even in Mohammed’s tomb’ said Leila ‘there has always been that empty chamber which waits for the body of Jesus. According to the prophecy he is to be buried in Medina, the fountain of Islam, remember? And here in Egypt no Moslem feels anything but respect and love for the Christian God. Even today. Ask anyone, ask any muezzin. ’ (This was as if to say ‘Ask anyone who speaks the truth’ — for no unclean person, drunkard, mad-man or woman is regarded as eligible for uttering the Moslem call to prayer.)
‘You have remained Crusaders at heart’ said Nessim softly, ironically but still with a smile on his lips. He turned and walked softly away between the roses, leaving them alone. At once Leila’s hand sought his familiar clasp. ‘Never mind this’ she said lightly, in a different voice. ‘One day we will find our way back to the centre with or without your help! We have long memories!’
They sat together for a while on a block of fallen marble, talking of other things, these larger issues forgotten now they were alone.
‘How dark it is tonight. I can only see one star. That means mist. Did you know that in Islam every man has his own star which appears when he is born and goes out when he dies? Perhaps that is your star, David Mountolive.’
‘Or yours?’
‘It is too bright for mine. They pale, you know, as one gets older. Mine must be quite pale, past middle age by now. And when you leave us, it will become paler still.’ They embraced. They spoke of their plans to meet as often as possible; of his intention to return whenever he could get leave. ‘But you will not be long in Egypt’ she said with her light fatalistic glance and smile. ‘You will be posted soon? Where to, I wonder? You will forget us — but no, the English are always faithful to old friends, are they not? Kiss me.’
‘Let us not think of that now’ said Mountolive. Indeed, he felt quite deprived of any power to confront this parting coolly.
‘Let us talk of other things. Look, I went into Alexandria yesterday and hunted about until I found something suitable to give Ali and the other servants.’
‘What was it?’
In his suitcase upstairs he had some Mecca water in sealed blue bottles from the Holy Well of Zem Zem. These