The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [42]
“No,” I admitted. “I am ashamed to say I did not know. I ought to have inquired. Where are the classes, at one of the missions?”
“They are conducted by a Madame Hashim, a Syrian lady; she is a wealthy widow who does this out of pure benevolence and a desire to improve the lot of women.”
“I would like to meet her.”
“Would you?” Nefret asked eagerly. “Fatima did not want to ask, she is in such awe of you, but I know she would be pleased if we would attend one of the classes.”
“I fear there will not be time before we leave. This is our last night in Cairo, you know, and I have asked the Rutherfords to dine with us here. I will try to call on the lady next time I am in the city, for as you know I am extremely supportive of such enterprises. Literacy is the first step toward emancipation, and I have heard of other ladies who conduct such small private classes, without encouragement or government support. They are lighting the—”
“You are lecturing again, Peabody,” said my husband.
“Would you mind if I went with Fatima this evening, then?” Nefret asked. “I would like to encourage her, and find out how the classes are conducted.”
“I suppose it would be all right. Emerson, what do you think?”
“Certainly,” said Emerson. “In fact, I will indicate my support for the cause of emancipation by accompanying her.”
I knew perfectly well what Emerson was up to. He loathes formal dinner parties and the Rutherfords. The ensuing discussion involved quite a lot of shouting (by Emerson) and I insisted we retire to our sitting room, where Nefret settled the matter by perching on the arm of Emerson’s chair and putting her arm around his neck.
“Professor darling, it is sweet of you to offer, but your presence would only make everyone uncomfortable. The classes are for women only; the students would be struck dumb with awe of the Father of Curses, and Madame would have to veil herself.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson.
“You might send a messenger to Madame, telling her you are coming, Nefret,” I said. “That is only courteous.”
From Letter Collection B
I had told Ramses and David where I was going. It was unnecessary in this case, but I make a point of conforming to our agreement so they won’t have any excuse to squirm out of it. Ramses is getting to be as nervous as a little old maiden aunt; he tried to persuade me to abandon the scheme, and when I laughed at him he said he and David would go with me. Really, men can be very exasperating! Between Ramses and the Professor I thought we would never get away.
The Professor is a dear, though. He sent a cab to fetch Fatima from the dahabeeyah and take us on to her class. The poor little woman was absolutely overcome; when she joined us in the sitting room she could hardly speak coherently as she attempted to thank him.
The Professor went rather red in the face. He grunted at her the way he does when he is embarrassed or trying to hide his feelings. “Hmph. If I had known you were coming into the city to attend these classes I would have made arrangements for transportation. You ought to know better than to wander round by yourself.”
Someone who didn’t know him would have thought he was angry. Fatima knows him. Her eyes shone like stars over the black of her veil.
“Yes, Father of Curses,” she murmured. “I hear and will obey.”
He escorted us down to the street and put us in the cab and threatened the driver with a number of unpleasant things if he drove too fast or ran into another vehicle or got lost. There was no danger of his losing his way, for Fatima was able to give precise directions.
The house was on Sharia Kasr el Eini—a pretty little mansion with a small garden shaded by pepper trees and palms. A servant dressed in galabeeyah and tarboosh opened the door for us and bowed us into a room on the right.
It was a small room, unoccupied and rather shabbily furnished. We waited for what seemed like a long time before the door opened and Madame entered, with fulsome apologies for having kept us waiting.