Black Mischief (12 page)

In London Lady Metroland
was giving a party. Sonia said: ‘No one asks us to parties now except Margot.
Perhaps there aren’t any others.’

‘The
boring thing about parties is that it’s far too much effort to meet new people,
and if it’s just all the ordinary people one knows already one might just as
well stay at home and ring them up instead of having all the business of remembering
the right day.’

‘I
wonder why Basil isn’t here. I thought he was bound to be.’

‘Didn’t
he go abroad?’

‘I
don’t think so. Don’t you remember, he had dinner with us the other evening?’

‘Did
he? When?’

‘Darling,
how
can
I remember that? … there’s Angela —she’ll know.’

‘Angela,
has Basil gone away?’

‘Yes,
somewhere quite extraordinary.’

‘My
dear, is that rather heaven for you?’

‘Well,
in away…’

Basil was awakened by the
clank and rattle of steel cable as the anchor was lowered. He went up on deck
in pyjamas. The whole sky was aflame with green and silver dawn. Half-covered
figures of other passengers sprawled asleep on benches and chairs. The sailors
paddled between them on bare feet, clearing the hatches; a junior officer on
the bridge shouting orders to the men at the winch. Two lighters were already
alongside preparing to take off cargo. A dozen small boats clustered round
them, loaded with fruit.

Quarter
of a mile distant lay the low sea-front of Matodi; the minaret, the Portuguese
ramparts, the mission church, a few warehouses taller than the rest, the Grand
Hotel de l’Empereur Amurath stood out from the white-and-dun cluster of roofs; behind
and on either side stretched the meadowland and green plantations of the
Azanian coast-line, groves of tufted palm at the water’s edge. Beyond and still
obscured by mist rose the great’ crests of the Sakuyu mountains, the Ukaka
pass and the road to Debra Dowa.

The
purser joined Basil at the rail.

‘You
disembark here, Mr Seal, do you not?’

‘Yes.’

‘You
are the only passenger. We sail again at noon.’

‘I
shall be ready to go ashore as soon as I am dressed.’

‘You
are making a long stay in Azania?’

‘Possibly.’

‘On
business? I have heard it is an interesting country.’

But for
once Basil was disinclined to be instructive. ‘Purely for pleasure,’ he said.
Then he went below, dressed and fastened his bags. His cabin companion looked
at his watch, scowled and turned his face to the wall; later he missed his
shaving soap, bedroom slippers and the fine topee he had bought a few days
earlier at Port Said.

Chapter Four

T
he
Matodi terminus of the Grand Chemin de Fer d’ Azanie lay half a mile inland
from the town. A broad avenue led to it, red earth scarred by deep ruts and
potholes; on either side grew irregular lines of acacia trees. Between the
trees were strings of different-coloured flags. A gang of convicts, chained
neck to neck, were struggling to shift a rusty motor-car which lay on its side
blocking the road. It had come to grief there six months previously, having
been driven recklessly into some cattle by an Arab driver. He was now doing
time in prison in default of damages. White ants had devoured the tyres;
various pieces of mechanism had been removed from time to time to repair other
engines. A Sakuyu family had set up house in the back, enclosing the space
between the wheels with an intricate structure of rags, tin, mud and grass.

That
was in the good times when the Emperor was in the hills. Now he was back again
and the town was overrun with soldiers and government officials. It was by his
orders that this motor-car was being removed. Everything had been like that for
three weeks, bustle everywhere, proclamations posted up on every wall, troops
drilling, buglings, hangings, the whole town kept awake all day; in the Arab
Club feeling ran high against the new régime.

Mahmud
el Khali bin Sai-ud, frail descendant of the oldest family in Matodi, sat
among his kinsmen, moodily browsing over his lapful of khat. The sunlight
streamed in through the lattice shutters, throwing a diaper of light over the
worn carpets and divan; two of the amber mouthpieces of the hubble-bubble were
missing; the rocking-chair in the corner was no longer safe, the veneer was
splitting and peeling off the rosewood table. These. poor remnants were all
that remained of the decent people of Matodi; the fine cavaliers had been
scattered and cut down in battle. Here were six old men and two dissipated
youngsters, one of whom was liable to fits of epilepsy. There was no room for a
gentleman in Matodi nowadays, they remarked. You could not recount an anecdote
in the streets or pause on the waterfront to discuss with. full propriety the
sale of land or the pedigree of a stallion, but you were jostled against the
wall by black men or Indians, dirty fellows with foreskins; unbelievers, descendants
of slaves; judges from up-country, upstarts, jack-in-office, giving decisions
against you in the courts … Jews foreclosing on mortgages … taxation …
vulgar display … no respect of leisure, hanging up wretched little flags
everywhere, clearing up the streets, moving derelict motorcars while their
owners were not in a position to defend them. Today there was an ordinance
forbidding the use of Arab dress. Were they, at their time of life, to start
decking themselves out in coat and trousers and topee like a lot of half-caste bank
clerks? … besides, the prices tailors charged … it was a put-up job … you
might as well be in a British colony.

Meanwhile,
with much overseeing and shouting and banging of behinds, preparations were in
progress on the route to the railway station; the first train since the
troubles was due to leave that afternoon.

It had
taken a long time to get a train together. On the eve of the battle of Ukaka
the stationmaster and all the more responsible members of his staff had left
for the mainland. In the week that followed Seth’s victory they had returned
one by one with various explanations of their absence. Then there had been the
tedious business of repairing the line which both armies had ruined at several
places;
they had had to collect wood fuel for the engine and wire for
the telegraph lines. This had been the longest delay, for no sooner was it
procured from the mainland than it was stolen by General Connolly’s disbanded
soldiers to decorate the arms and legs of their women. Finally, when everything
had been prepared, it was decided to delay the train a few days until the
arrival of the mail ship from Europe. It thus happened that Basil Seal’s
arrival in Matodi coincided with the date fixed for Seth’s triumphal return to
Debra Dowa.

Arrangements
for his departure had been made with great care by the Emperor himself, and the
chief features embodied in a proclamation in Sakuyu, Arabic and French, which
was posted prominently among the many pronouncements which heralded the advent
of Progress and the New Age.

ORDER
FOR THE DAY OF THE

EMPEROR’S
DEPARTURE

(1)
The
Emperor will proceed to Matodi railway station at
14.30
hours
(8.30
Mohammedan
time). He will be attended by his personal suite, the Commander-in-Chief and
the General Staff The guard of honour will be composed of the first battalion
of the Imperial Life Guards. Full dress uniform (boots for officers), will be
worn by all ranks. Civilian
‘
gentlemen will wear jacket and orders.
Ball ammunition will not be issued to the troops.

(2)
The
Emperor will be received at the foot of the station steps by the stationmaster
who will conduct him to his carriage. The public will not be admitted to the
platforms, or to any of the station buildings with the exception of the following,
in the following order of precedence. Consular representatives of foreign
powers, the Nestorian Metropolitan of Matodi, the Vicar Apostolic, the Mormon
elder, officers of H.I.M. forces, directors of the Grand Chemin de Fer d’Azanie,
peers of the Azanian Empire, representatives of the Press. No person,
irrespective of rank, will be admitted to the platform improperly dressed or
under the influence of alcohol.

(3)
The
public will be permitted to line the route to the station. The police will
prevent the discharge of firearms by the public.

(4) The
sale of alcoholic liquor is forbidden from midnight until the departure of the
Imperial train.

(5) One
coach will be available for the use of the unofficial travellers to Debra Dowa.
Applications should be made to the stationmaster. No passenger will be admitted
to the platform after
14.00.

(6) Any
infringement of the following regulations renders the offender liable to a
penalty not exceeding ten years’ imprisonment, or confiscation of property and
loss of rights, or both.

Basil read this at the
railway station, where he drove in a horse-cab as soon as he landed. He went to
the booking-office and bought a first-class ticket to Debra Dowa. It cost two
hundred rupees.

‘Will
you please reserve me a seat on this afternoon’s train?’

‘That
is impossible. There is only one carriage. The places have been booked many
days.’

‘When
is the next train?”

‘Who
can say? Perhaps next week. The engine must come back from Debra Dowa. The
others are broken and the mechanic is busy on the tank.’

‘I must
speak to the stationmaster.’

‘I am
the stationmaster.’

‘Well,
his ten, it is very urgent that I go to Debra Dowa today.’

‘You
should have made your arrangements sooner. You must understand, monsieur, that
you are no longer in Europe.’

As
Basil turned to go, a small man who had been sitting fanning himself on a heap
of packing-cases, scrambled down and came across the booking-hall towards him.
He was dressed in alpaca and skull cap; he had a cheerful, round, greasy,
yellowish face and ‘Charlie Chaplin’ moustache.

“Ullo Englishmans,
you want something.’

‘I want
to go to Debra Dowa.’

‘O.K. I
fix it.’

‘That’s
very nice of you.’

‘Honour
to fix it. You know who I am. Look here.’ He handed Basil a card on which was
printed:
M. Krikor Youkoumian, Grand Hotel et Bar Amurath Matodi, grand
Hotel Café Epicerie, et Bibliothèque Empereur Seyid Debra Dowa. Tous les renseignements.
The name Seyid had been obliterated in purple ink and
Seth
substituted
for it.

‘You
keep that,’ said Mr Youkoumian. ‘You come to Debra Dowa. You come to me. I fix
everything. What’s your name, sir?’

‘Seal.’

‘Well
look, Mr Seal. You want to come to Debra Dowa. I got two seats. You pay me two
hundred rupees, I put Mine Youkoumian in the mule truck. ‘Ow’s that, eh?’

‘I’m
not going to pay anything like that, I’m afraid.’

‘Now
listen, Mr Seal. I fix it for you. You don’t know this country. Stinking place.
You miss this train, you stay in Matodi one, two, three, perhaps six weeks. How
much you pay then? I like Englishmens. They are my favourite gentlemen. Look,
you give me hundred and fifty rupees I put Mine Youkoumian with the mules. You
don’t understand what that will be like. They are the General’s mules. Very
savage stinking animals. All day they will stamp at her. No air in the truck. ‘Orrible,
unhealthy place. Very like she die or is kicked. She is good wife, work ‘ard,
very loving. If you are not Englishmans I would not put Mme Youkoumian with the
mules for less than five hundred. I fix it for you, O.K.?’

‘O.K.,’
said Basil. ‘You know, you seem to me a good chap.’

‘Look,
‘ow about you give me money now. Then I take you to my café. Dirty little
place, not like London. But you see. I got fine brandy. Very fresh, I made him
myself Sunday.’

Basil
and Mr Youkoumian took their seats in the train at two o’clock and settled down
to wait for the arrival of the imperial party. There were six other occupants
of the carriage — a Greek who offered them oranges and soon fell asleep, four
Indians who discussed their racial grievances in an eager undertone, and an
Azanian nobleman with his wife who shared a large pie of spiced mutton, lifting
the slices between pieces of newspaper and eating silently and almost
continuously throughout the afternoon. Mr Youkoumian’s personal luggage was
very small, but he had several crates of merchandise for his Debra Dowa
establishment: by a distribution of minute tips he had managed to get these
into the mail van. Mine Youkoumian squatted disconsolately in a corner of the
van clutching a little jar of preserved cherries which her husband had given
her to compensate for the change of accommodation; a few feet from her in the
darkness came occasional nervous brays and whinnies and a continuous fretful
stamping of the straw.