The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet Read Online Free Page A

other
uncompromisingly.
    “And why did you want to kill Nuri Pasha?”
    “He dishonoured my wife’s sister.”
    “Your
story will be checked,” said Mahmoud.
    He
waited to see if this had any effect on the man but it did not.
    “How
did he dishonour your wife’s sister?”
    Mustafa
did not reply. Mahmoud repeated the question. Again there was no response. The
fellah just sat, brawny arms folded.
    Mahmoud
tried again.
    “Others
will tell us if you do not,” he said.
    The
man just sat stubbornly there.
    “Come,
man,” said Mahmoud, not unkindly. “We are only trying to get at the truth that
lies behind this business.”
    “There
is one truth for the rich,” the villager said bitterly, “and another for the
poor.”
    “The
truth we seek,” said Mahmoud, “is not necessarily that for the rich.”
    “The
rich have all the weapons,” the man said, “and you are one of the weapons.”
    Unexpectedly,
Mahmoud seemed to flinch.
    “I
would not have it so,” he said mildly.
    The
man had noticed Mahmoud’s reaction. It seemed to mollify him.
    “Nor
I,” he said, mildly, too. “I would not have it so.”
    He
rubbed his unshaven chin.
    “Others
will tell you,” he said. “My wife’s family works in the fields for Nuri Pasha.
One day Nuri went by. He saw my wife’s sister. He said: “Tell her to bring some
melons to the house.” She brought the melons and a man took her in. He took her
to a dark room and Nuri came to her.”
    “That
was wrong,” said Mahmoud, “but it was wrong also to try to kill for that.”
    “What
was I to do?” the man said passionately. “I am a poor man and it is a big
family. Now she is with child. Before, there was one mouth and she could work
in the fields. A man wanted her and would have taken her at a low price. Now
there are two mouths and she has been dishonoured. No one will take her now
except at a large price. And how can I find a large price for her?”
    Unconsciously
he had laid his hand on the table palm uppermost as if he was pleading with
Mahmoud.
    “How?”
he repeated vehemently. “How? I have children of my
own.”
    Mahmoud
leaned across the table and touched him sympathetically on the arm.
    “There
is worse, friend,” he said. “How will they manage without you when you whcn »^teti
are gone?”
    The
passion went out of the man’s face.
    “There
will be money,” he said, and bowed his head, “without me.”
    “How
can that be,” asked Mahmoud softly, “ when you have
none?”
    “Others
will provide.”
    “What
others? Your family?”
    “Others.”
    Both
sides seemed to consent to a natural pause, which lasted for several minutes.
Owen was impressed. He knew that if he had been conducting the interrogation,
in the distant English way, he would never have reached the man as Mahmoud had
done.
    Mahmoud
leaned forward now and touched Mustafa on the sleeve. “Tell me, brother,” he
said, “about your visit to the city yesterday.” “I went to the city,” said the
man, almost as if he was reciting, “and there were many people. I was one of a
crowd. And I saw that bad one and I fired my gun at him. And he fell over, and
I gave thanks to Allah.”
    “How
did you know where to find the bad one?” asked Mahmoud. The man frowned.
    “I
do not know,” he admitted. “He was suddenly there before me.” “Someone told
you, I expect,” said Mahmoud.
    The
man did not pick this up.
    “Have
you been to the Place before?”
    Mustafa
shook his head.
    “Never.”
    “And
yet you knew where to find him,” Mahmoud observed.
    He
waited, but again the man did not pick it up.
    Mahmoud
switched.
    “Where
did you get the gun?”
    The
man did not reply.
    “Did
the one who told you where to find the bad one also give you the revolver?”
    Again
there was no reply.
    “If
the rich have their weapons,” said Mahmoud, “and I am one of them, you, too,
are a weapon. Who is wielding you?”
    “Not
the rich!”
    “When
the tool is broken it is thrown