The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [317]
He might suddenly find himself, at any street corner, face to face with a man armed with a pistol — in any dark corner of the town; or else he might find his food poisoned some day by some suborned servant. Against these eventualities he could at least react, by a study of them, by a close and careful attention to probabilities. Justine lay silent, with wide eyes. ‘And then’ he said
‘tomorrow I must speak to Narouz. He must be made to see.’
Some weeks before he had walked into his office to find the grave, silver-haired Serapamoun sitting in the visitor’s chair, quietly smoking a cigarette. He was by far the most influential and important of the Coptic cotton-kings, and had played a decisive role in supporting the community movement which Nessim had initiated. They were old friends though the older man was of another generation. His serene mild face and low voice carried the authority of an education and a poise which spoke of Europe. His conversation had the quick pulse of a reflective mind.
‘Nessim’ he said softly, ‘I am here as a representative of our com-mittee, not just as myself. I have a rather disagreeable task to
perform. May I speak to you frankly, without heat or rancour?
We are very troubled.’
Nessim closed and locked the door, unplugged his telephone and squeezed Serapamoun’s shoulder affectionately as he passed behind his visitor’s chair to reach his own. ‘I ask nothing better’
he said. ‘Speak.’
‘Your brother, Narouz.’
‘Well, what of him?’
‘Nessim, in starting this community movement you had no idea of initiating a jehad — a holy war of religion — or of doing anything subversive which might unsettle the Egyptian Govern-ment? Of course not. That is what we thought, and if we joined you it was from a belief in your convictions that the Copts should unite and seek a larger place in public affairs.’ He smoked in silence for a minute, lost in deep thought. Then he went on:
‘Our community patriotism in no way qualified our patriotism as Egyptians, did it? We were glad to hear Narouz preach the truths of our religion and race, yes, very glad, for these things needed saying, needed feeling. But … you have not been to a meeting for nearly three months. Are you aware what a change has come about? Narouz has been so carried away by his own powers that he is saying things today which could seriously compromise us all. We are most alarmed. He is filled now with some sort of mission. His head is a jumble of strange fragments of knowledge, and when he preaches all sorts of things pour out of him in a torrent which would look bad on paper if they were to reach Memlik Pasha.’
Another long silence. Nessim found himself growing gradually pale with apprehension. Serapamoun continued in his low smoothly waxed voice. ‘To say that the Copts will find a place in the sun is one thing; but to say that they will sweep away the corrupt regime of the pashas who own ninety per cent of the land
… to talk of taking over Egypt and setting it to rights….’
‘Does he?’ stammered Nessim, and the grave man nodded.
‘Yes. Thank God our meetings are still secret. At the last he started raving like someone melboos (possessed) and shouted that if it was necessary to achieve our ends he would arm the Bedouin. Can you improve on that?’
Nessim licked his dry lips. ‘I had no idea’ he said.
‘We are very troubled and concerned about the fate of the whole movement with such preaching. We are counting on you to act in some way. He should, my dear Nessim, be restrained; or at least given some understanding of our role. He is seeing too much of old Taor — he is always out there in the desert