Pascali's Island

Harmony depends on a balance of forces. I must accept this, must put away my sick doubts, my longing to sabotage the scales. Pythagoras stressed it, everyone has subsequently admitted it. But while harmony may characterise the universe as a whole, as a self-regulating principle, in human affairs we must do our own regulating. A certain abuse of power is only to be expected. But not Steinways, Excellency. For Mahmoud Pasha to burden the peasants in order to acquire a grand piano his thick fingers ca

These thoughts were passing through my mind, when the Pasha came in and we stood up for introductions. The Pasha took three steps towards Mister Bowles, before stopping. Quite a high mark of respect. Mister Bowles had to take five or six steps to shake his hand. I have seen him often enough before, but always on public occasions, in uniform, breast resplendent with medals. Here in his house he looked grosser, the shape of his head blunter, more elemental. Perhaps with a dim sense that this was a cultural occasion he was wearing, instead of uniform, a black Stambouli frock coat, strained tight across his thick shoulders. His small, incurious eyes surveyed us both steadily for some moments, then he said, 'Hos bolduk,' in a voice rasping and slow and I replied, as etiquette demanded, 'Hos geldenez.'

We seated ourselves again, and remained for some time in a silence broken only by the faint wheeze of the Pasha's breathing, and the shrieks of his acquisitions. The blinds were drawn against the morning sunlight, but the slats were open, so that the room was patterned with light. Mister Bowles's lowered head, his eyebrows and moustache, were gilded, my hands in my patient lap were striped with light. From my right, where the courtyard would be, I heard the graded tinkling of water, falling from different levels in the fountain. From elsewhere, in the interior of the house, came the voices of women, raised in what sounded like a plaintive altercation.

Izzet began to speak. It was a question, he said, was it not, if he and the Pasha understood matters aright, it was a question of a lease of some kind… some part of the coastal area included in the Pasha's possessions… The vagueness, of course, was deliberate. All bargaining in the Levant begins and ends on a note of aristocratic indifference.

I explained the Englishman's proposition once again. I knew, of course, that desire for profit was at the moment contending in their breasts with distrust of the foreigner. There might be other reasons for wanting to obtain free access to coastal territory – reasons which an occupying power would be quick to suspect. And there was after all something strange-in view of the time and place – almost excessive, in the very legality of Mister Bowles's proceeding.

Because of all this, and just as had happened in my interview with Izzet earlier, I found myself seeking to allay their suspicions by stressing the Englishman's simplicity and sincerity, his deep faith in the processes of law. This meant, in effect, making him out as something of a simpleton – the equivalent in commercial terms of a holy fool.

They listened, the Pasha in total, basilisk immobility, Izzet directing his thin face from time to time towards the Englishman. Both deeply dishonest men, they were naturally finding it hard to understand Mister Bowles. Nothing changed in the Pasha while I spoke – he might have been sleeping – but I thought I detected a growing, predatory intentness in Izzet: the Englishman's simple faith in legality was working its magic with him.

'Tell them,' Mister Bowles said, leaning forward earnestly, 'that I should feel myself to be trespassing on the Pasha's property if I had not paid a proper sum for the right of access.'

'He wants everything done in the proper way,' I said. 'You know the English sense of fair play. Dürüst hareket. It is known the world over.'

'Biliorium,' the Pasha said. 'Türkler gibbi. In this they resemble us Turks.' He inclined his thick body forward. The movement brought into prominence the bulk of his revolver holster under the frock coat. 'You will take coffee?' he said.

Izzet went out to order it and there was silence until he returned. Then I said, 'He is willing to pay, of course. A nominal fee.'

'Nominal?' Izzet leaned forward with a snap at the word.

'He is not seeking to buy the land, only to acquire a short lease on it. A lease of one month.'

Mister Bowles must have sensed that we had reached the stage of discussing money for he said suddenly, in his light, blurting voice, 'I was thinking in the region of two hundred liras.'

I sought to cover up my consternation. This was far more than the land was worth. Fortunately at this point the coffee was brought in, by a soldier in uniform but bareheaded, and some time passed in the usual politeness.

'Listen,' I said to Mister Bowles, when we were again settled, 'you are offering too much. Leave things to me.'

To my amazement, Mister Bowles frowned and shook his head. 'Offer them two hundred liras,' he said. 'That seems to me a fair price.'

'But is it more than the land could be sold for,' I said. After all, he had charged me with the affair, and I was unwilling to sit by and allow him to be despoiled. 'Such an offer will make them suspicious,' I said.

'I think not,' Mister Bowles said. 'Please do as I ask.'

'Very well,' I said. I felt some degree of contempt for this obstinacy. 'He offers two hundred liras for the lease,' I said to Izzet, and saw his eyes flicker.

Neither he nor Mahmoud Pasha said anything for some time, but I saw almost at once that Mister Bowles had been right: they were not suspicious, they were merely, out of long habit, pretending to consider. Two hundred liras for a short lease on a few hectares of steep and stony ground, no doubt acquired only incidentally in the first place! No, they were not suspicious. I had done my preliminary work almost too well. The Englishman, they had decided, was in earnest, was a fool, was rich. The combination had gone to their heads. Their attempts at judiciousness, at the appearance of a bargaining stance, would not have deceived a child.

It deceived Mister Bowles, however, apparently, because he said suddenly, 'I could perhaps improve on that.'

'No, no,' I said hastily. 'No, they will accept.'

I saw them glance at each other. Then Izzet turned to me and said, 'Tamam. The Vali accepts the offer.'

The Pasha leaned forward again. 'As a gesture,' he said in his rasping voice, 'of friendship -' This speech was never finished, because at this moment a servant entered, a civilian in red headcloth and entari, and spoke some words very softly, leaning close to the Pasha. Listening hard, I thought I heard the name of Gesing, the commercial agent. At once Mahmoud Pasha addressed himself to the business of rising. Finally on his feet before us, he uttered excuses, something required his attention, he would return.

He did not return, however, and the rest of our business was conducted with Izzet alone. Not that much was left to do. I told Izzet that Mister Bowles would require a form of contract.

'Is that really necessary?' he said. 'The Pasha has given his word.'

I did not dare to laugh, though I was inclined to. 'He asks if the contract is necessary,' I said to Mister Bowles. He nodded vigorously. 'Absolutely,' he said. He stood up and smiled at us both. I do not think I had seem him smile before. Not counting polite stretchings of the lips. It was a gradual smile, deepening slowly, as if backed up by afterthoughts; and as he smiled his eyes widened slightly, in a way that was unusual and very engaging. 'Making out a contract is the proper thing to do,' he said. 'It serves as mutual protection.'