private number,’ he said, pointing to the telephone on the desk. Call me at any time, day or night. I am willing to cooperate in any way.’
Makana left him there, holding the picture of his wife in one hand and copies of the letters that might have killed her in the other. A shipwrecked man clinging to the debris of his life. As he made his way back across the city, Makana wondered if Hilal was right, if maybe he was taking Meera’s death too personally. It was one of those questions to which he had no particular interest in finding an answer.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I don’t know why I came in today. Allah knows there isn’t any work to do.’
Surprisingly, it was Arwa, the headscarf-wearing, gum-chewing sceptic who appeared to have been most touched by Meera’s death.
Meera’s desk was now buried under a small hill of flowers. They had arrived from people in the office, the building and even beyond, from the entire city even, judging by the cards and little messages that had been delivered. Strangers turned up at the door holding fancy cellophane-wrapped bundles. Others strode in carrying wilting handfuls of grey roses, plucked from an exhausted roadside park nearby. The desk had otherwise been completely cleared. No files, folders, even the computer had been unplugged and disconnected. Arwa gave another loud sniff.
‘My husband says they all should go. The country would be purer without them, but he is an idiot and doesn’t even say his prayers regularly.’
‘Where are her things?’
‘Yousef cleared it all out. He enjoyed that.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘That dog was glad to see her go. She was the only one who took the work seriously and they couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Does that make any sense?’
‘It looks like someone cared for her.’
‘This is an Egyptian thing,’ she said, pointing at the heap of flowers. ‘Those crazy bearded men tell you it’s wrong. That this is all pagan tradition, nothing to do with Islam. Who cares what it is, it’s beautiful to see how people decorate the graves of their loved ones, right? We’re not animals.’ Another loud sniff followed by a vigorous rub of her bulbous nose. ‘I feel bad about some of the things I said to her. We’re all Egyptians, mush kedda? I mean, at the end of the day that’s what it’s all about. I should never have come in today.’
‘It’s probably good to keep yourself busy.’
‘Busy? In this place? That’s a laugh. There’s hardly enough to keep one of us occupied.’
Makana watched her as she pottered about, sniffing and sobbing, arranging the flowers on Meera’s desk, pausing to dab her eyes.
‘The sad thing is I barely knew her. She never talked about herself. Wild horses wouldn’t drag words out of her.’ Arwa broke off to lift a telephone that was ringing and barked into the receiver. ‘Who? No, he’s not here. We are not working today. Why? Don’t you read the newspapers, you donkey?’ She slammed the phone down and sniffed. ‘Even if she was married to that terrible man, so what? What can we do about the men we marry? If my husband was as smart as he thinks he is, we would be living in a palace instead of a hovel fit only for six-legged creatures. He said her husband lost his job because he was a blasphemer. I don’t believe it. She was a smart woman. Imagine, she could have been teaching at university, but here she was, working with us. That tells you a lot. She never looked down her nose at any of us, which is more than can be said for some. You know why people say those things? Because they can’t stand the idea of a woman making something of herself. Even my stupid husband. All men are the same.’
‘She never talked about being in trouble?’
‘She kept to herself. Well, except for Ramy.’
‘Ramy? You mean Faragalla’s nephew?’
‘They were friends for a time. Of course, that got everyone talking. People have evil tongues.’ Arwa raised an eyebrow. ‘What do we know about anyone, right? I mean, here am I talking to you like I’ve known you all my life, but I don’t even know that it’s true about you being here to help us.’
‘Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘You don’t look like an accountant. They have flat heads and narrow eyes.’ She twirled a length of red twine that had come loose from a bouquet of orchids. ‘My husband says you are