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“So you did provoke him.” I had stopped again, and he looked back. “And you knew I was going to say all that about the Philippines as well.”
Caught out, he let a guilty giggle escape. “I certainly hoped so,” he admitted, and we walked on.
“You let me make a complete fool of myself,” I accused, “and in front of all those lords and ladies.”
“The toffs at that table needed to hear what you told them. I’ve said the same, but …” He grew serious once more. “Perhaps it will carry more weight coming from a citizen of a former colony—” He looked down and came to a halt so suddenly that my own momentum carried me a few steps beyond him. “Your poor feet!” he cried. “I’m sorry! Would you like a taxi? I should have thought!”
My buckle shoes were going to punish me, but it was too late to change that now. “It’s not far,” I said. “After a meal like that, the exercise will do us good.”
As we approached the Nile, the air was rippled by fluttering bats swooping through invisible clouds of insects. What at first seemed silence was actually filled with the rhythmic trilling of crickets and cicadas—surprising, there in the middle of the city. A large, pale bird swept past us on powerful wings, passing so near that I clearly saw its heart-shaped face and bright brown eyes. “A barn owl,” I said, amazed. “We have them in Ohio, too.”
Standing on the Gazirah Bridge, we paused to watch the majestic bird gliding out along the riverbank, head cocked, searching for rodents.
“How,” I asked, “could you be sure that I would say what you wanted the ‘toffs’ to hear? What if I’d been what Miss Bell assumed I was? Some supera
“I knew your sister,” Lawrence reminded me, resting his forearms on the stone balustrade. “She knew your politics. You were intelligent and argumentative, she said. You’d follow an idea and get lost in the journey. And when you forgot yourself and spoke your mind, it was … wonderful,” he whispered with Lillie’s own dear emphasis. “She admired that in you.”
I turned away, pretending to study the black water moving sluggishly beneath the bridge. With quiet kindness Lawrence asked, “Would you like to visit Jebail, Miss Shanklin? To see where Lillie and Douglas lived? I could arrange it. After the conference.”
I cleared my throat and blinked into the darkness. “Yes. I would like that very much. That would be lovely. If it’s no trouble.”
We started again toward Gazirah. “So!” I said briskly. “Miss Bell wants to rule the Arabs, but sneakily. Colonel Wilson wants to rule right out in the open. Mr. Churchill wants to save money and rule on the cheap. What do you want, Colonel Lawrence?”
He took a deep breath and let it out, glancing at the moon riding low over the deep blue geometry of Cairo’s cityscape. “A state for the Kurds,” he said, “and one for the Armenians. Separate kingdoms for Basra and Baghdad. A national home for the Jews in Palestine. And biff the French out of Syria!” Embarrassed, he sniggered in recognition of the absurdity: big ambitions, little me.
“And what do the Arabs want for themselves?” I asked, since no one else seemed to have.
“Independence,” Lawrence said. “A single caliphate: a single state encompassing all the tribes and all the territory that was unified under the Ottoman Empire.”
“Well, then!”
“Miss Shanklin, there are at present nine men claiming to be caliph. None of them can unify Shi’a and Su
“I—I’m sorry. Su
He corrected my pronunciation and explained that after Muhammad died, the question arose as to who would lead the Muslim community. The Shi’a believed that Muhammad had named as his successor his cousin Ali—who was also the husband of the Prophet’s daughter Fatima. The Su
There was more about tribes and emirs and sherifs, but it was late and my feet hurt. This has nothing to do with me, I decided, feeling very American and far removed from the fine points of impenetrable foreign customs. Before long, Lawrence saw that I was lost and waved it all off.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “France will never agree to Arab rule in the Middle East. They want Syria and the Lebanon for themselves, and they’re bargaining hard to a
We turned a corner. Karl was out in front of the Continental, lounging against a huge potted plant, smoking an evening pipe. Rosie noticed me at the same moment and gave a strangled little whine of joy. Karl let slip her leash. She sprinted down the quiet street. For the next two minutes, I was wholly occupied by her exuberant, wiggling greeting.
When at last I could return my attention to the two gentlemen, my broad smile faltered. From this distance, Karl seemed relaxed and amused; Lawrence was motionless as a snake. Their eyes were locked. Lawrence seemed absorbed in some sort of mental calculation.
Rosie struggled to be let down, and I bent to put her on the pavement. “No harm done,” I heard Lawrence say breezily. When I straightened and looked around, he was no longer at my side. Mouth open, I watched him disappear into the darkness.
“An Arab dominion,” Karl said. “Like Canada. Or Australia … Self-governing for internal affairs, but without a separate foreign policy. It’s an interesting solution. The Arabs might be less offended than by the notion of being ‘protected’ by the British, but Lawrence is correct: the India Office will oppose him.”
We had already chatted for nearly half an hour by then, sitting in the club chairs of the Continental’s quiet lobby. To be honest, I wanted to go to bed, but Karl had been waiting all evening to hear about the di
“Why would the India Office care?” I asked.
“Great Britain rules India, and India has the largest Islamic population on earth. An Arab dominion in the Middle East would give dangerous ideas to millions of Indian Muslims.”
You’re probably thinking, Agnes, India is mostly Hindu, not Muslim! But, remember, this was back in 1921, before India became independent and before Pakistan became a separate country.
India was the primary source of British prosperity, Karl continued. “It is governed by bureaucrats who live like royalty with palaces and servants,” he said. “Who among them would give up wealth and privilege for such airy ideals as liberty and equality for brown people?” He puffed on his pipe for a time before shaking his head. “No. It ca
“What have the French got to do with anything?” I asked—a little irritably, I’m afraid. Lawrence’s abrupt departure had thrown me off balance. Rosie was shedding all over my dress. My feet were killing me.
There was nobody else around, so I kicked off my shoes. To my astonishment, Karl lifted my feet to his lap and began to knead the soles. Like so much of what Karl did, the gesture seemed equal parts caring and casual, merely a small physical favor done for a friend. I shouldn’t have allowed it, but it felt so good! Frankly, I’m amazed I remember anything he said after that, but the gist of it was that France had lost an entire generation of young men to the war. Their politicians had begun to debate polygamy as a way to repopulate the nation! Having paid such a price, the French believed themselves entitled to the greatest spoils.