and looked across the Ezbekiah Lake – still dry in this season – at Elfi Bey’s palace on the opposite shore, looming behind its high walls. The French had crossed to the Cairo side of the Nile on Tuesday and their chief general, whom they called Bonaparte, had taken up residence in Elfi’s palace, all newly furnished as it was. Her tutor Shaykh Jabarti had remarked grimly, ‘Just as if the amir had had it built expressly for the commander of the French. Let that be a lesson for you, Zeinab,’ he added. ‘Men of understanding should not waste their efforts on the perishable things of this world.’
Jabarti and her father, Shaykh Bakri, along with the chief ulema and other city leaders, were at that very moment at Elfi Bey’s palace responding to a summons from the French commandant. Zeinab had watched her father set off in the morning, wearing his grandest turban and his best kaftan. Now she peered through the lattice of the mashrabiyya window overlooking the street side of the house, ostensibly on the lookout for her father’s return, but secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of a Frenchman; her curiosity about the Franj was insatiable.
Dada, her wet-nurse, told her that the French walked about the markets without arms and without aggression, smiling at people and offering to buy what they needed at the prices they were used to paying in their own country: one would offer to buy a chicken for a French riyal, another an egg for a silver half-penny, and in that manner they were winning the confidence of the populace.
‘The shopkeepers go out to them with stuffed pancakes, roast chicken, fried fish and the like,’ Dada reported. ‘The markets and the coffee houses have all reopened. Some dishonest bakers have even started to cheat by mixing chaff into the flour for their bread. And the Greeks have begun opening up taverns wherever the French have moved in. The Franj have taken over the houses of the amirs, not only here in the Ezbekiah but also in the Elephant Lake district, where they have seized Ibrahim Bey’s house. Today Consul Magallon took up residence in one of Murad Bey’s houses – and to think he and his wife used to be such friends of Sitt Nafisa! And if it were only the Franj! Even Bartholomew Fart Rumman has helped himself to Ismail Kashif ’s house, and what is a hundred times worse, to his wife as well. Poor Sitt Hawa! God only knows what will happen to her if Ismail Kashif ever returns.’ The wet-nurse finished braiding Zeinab’s long black tresses and rubbed a drop of almond oil between her palms to smooth the fly-away strands.
‘Dada, what manner of men are they? Are they reported to be very beautiful?’
‘Just listen to the child! Some are, some aren’t, like the sons of Adam everywhere. They shave both their beard and moustache; some leave hair on their cheeks. The barber tells me they do not shave their head or pubic hair. They have no modesty about their bodies. They mix their food and drinks. They never take their shoes off and tread with them all over precious carpets and wipe their feet on them. But you will see them soon enough, Sitt Zeinab; more and more of them are entering the city every day.’
The clanking of the gate alerted Zeinab to her father’s return and she ran to greet him in the inner courtyard. On the way she snatched the washcloth a servant was dipping in rose-water and proffered it herself to her father to wipe his face and hands. She stood by, shifting from foot to foot in her impatience, while her father took his time to sit on the wooden bench in the shade of a eucalyptus, remove his shoes, cross his legs under him, turn back the voluminous sleeves of his kaftan and perform his ablutions with the perfumed washcloth. Zeinab’s mother made her appearance, a little breathless with hurrying; she was a plump woman and easily winded.
‘Well, Shaykh Khalil?’ She offered her husband a cup of carob juice and took a seat beside him. ‘What news, inshallah? How did the French receive you?’
‘With all proper regards – even if they are a people who come to the point rather more promptly than we would think courteous. After the preliminary compliments conveyed by the translator, their commander in chief addressed us and consulted us concerning the appointment of ten shaykhs to form a diwan, a council that would govern local affairs.’
‘A diwan of clerics! God be praised.’
‘Indeed. It bodes very well that the French seem disposed to recognize our position among the people. Shaykh Sharkawi was chosen to head the diwan, as the most prominent of the ulema, and after him, I myself was nominated, along with Sadat and Mahruqi, as is proper. Three French commanders were also appointed, including their daftardar who has commandeered my house on the Elephant Lake. But no matter … It was when the affair was concluded that the trouble began.’ He paused to take a sip of juice.
‘What trouble, Father?’ Zeinab blurted.
Her father frowned. ‘Learn to control your curiosity, child, or you will be sent back to your nurse.’ He took a long drink of carob juice. ‘It was when we rose to take our leave that the chief general went to Shaykh Sharkawi and kissed him on both cheeks, then with a flourish draped a blue, red and white shawl around his neck. The shaykh immediately removed it and flung it on the ground. “I will not forfeit this world and the next,” he exclaimed. Bonaparte flushed with rage and remonstrated with him through the interpreter. “The commander in chief intends to exalt you by bestowing his attire and emblem on you. If you are distinguished by wearing it, the French soldiers and the people will honour and respect you.” Sharkawi replied: “But our good standing with God and our fellow Muslims will be lost.”’
Her father clapped his hands for his pipe. ‘This infuriated Bonaparte. I tried to soothe him and asked exemption from this measure, or at least a delay in its implementation. Bonaparte retorted: “At least you must all wear the rosette on your chest.”’
‘What is this thing they call a rosette, Father?’
‘It is an emblem made of three concentric colours of ribbon – the same blue, white and red as their flag and their shawl. As soon as the shaykhs left the council, they each in turn, starting with Shaykh Sadat – how that man loves to grandstand before the common folk! – removed the rosette and flung it on the ground, in front of the assembled crowd outside. I had no choice but to follow suit. Shaykh Jabarti told me privately that he does not himself hold that wearing such an emblem is against Islam, particularly when it is imposed and harm can result from disobedience; but he knows that the people hold it to be sacrilege. It will remain to be seen how this matter is resolved. As the proverb goes: If you wish to be obeyed, command that which is feasible.’
‘Mabruk, Shaykh Khalil, congratulations on your appointment to the diwan.’ Zeinab’s mother signalled to the servant to light the apple-scented tobacco in the small clay cup at the top of the glass hookah. ‘Having the ulema and the French on the same footing in the diwan … it’s more than the Mamlukes ever did for the clerics. When does the council meet for the first time?’
‘Next week. We have our work cut out for us in the first session: we have to appoint officials to replace the Mamlukes and their retainers in all the functions they performed. The one stipulation the French laid down was that no member of the Mamluke caste would be allowed to hold any position, official or otherwise. Jabarti told the French the common folk feared no one but the amirs, so they allowed some descendants of the ancient houses to assume certain posts. Elfi Bey’s khatkhuda, Zulfikar, was appointed to be khatkhuda to Bonaparte. But there is another matter of more immediate concern to me … an opportunity to advance my position with the French …’
‘Really, Shaykh Khalil? God be praised!’ Zeinab’s mother leaned in eagerly.
Shaykh Bakri blew rings of apple-scented smoke in the air. ‘The French commandant also announced that Omar Makram, the Naqib, who fled the city, would be replaced as chief of the syndicate of the House of the Prophet. Naturally, they will be nominating a successor …’
‘Oh! Shaykh Khalil! I see where you are going with this:
