Mohammed had doubtless been of great service to me; he had most likely lied to the crowd that I was a nephew of Lord Cromer’s, or son-in-law to the head of the police, as I found out on later occasions that he had inspired a certain respect for me by similar falsehoods. Be this as it may, I was fortunate to have got out of the row as well as I had. But why should Mohammed have been so alarmed when I insisted on his going with me to the nearest police-court? He was about to turn tail when we reached the entrance; I was, however, in no mood to argue the matter—he should either come in or leave my service.
The Moslem magistrate and his clerks fortunately spoke French, and I was able to state my case. They questioned Mohammed in Arabic, and he, having got over his fears of the police-court, gave a fair account of what had taken place. I was assured that the man would be found, and that I should hear again from them before long.
I returned the next day to the fruit-stall, and made some compensation to the woman for the slap on her cheek of which I had been the innocent cause; but nothing would persuade her to sit to me any more. When I got to work she closed up her shop and departed. I consoled myself, while I put in the detail of the mushrbiyeh oriel which projected over her closed shutters, that the solatium I had given her would more than cover any loss of custom during a Ramadan morning. When an Arab in the poorer quarters buys an orange, it is for immediate consumption. To be seen buying one, unless just before or after the gun announces the setting of the sun, would awaken suspicions as to the orthodoxy of the purchaser. A stray Jew or Copt might turn up as a customer; but the chances were slight, as we were far from either the Jewish or Coptic quarters.
I had to finish my fruit-shop as best I could from other studies, and find another woman to help me to finish the figure.
Days went by, and I heard nothing further about my aggressor, and concluded that either he had not been found, or that my statement had been pigeon-holed, and its existence forgotten. I was anyhow singularly free from interruptions when I worked in the street where I had been molested, and did not much mind if I heard no more about it. After a fortnight or so, I received a letter from the British consulate, telling me to appear at the police-court on such and such a day. I went at the appointed time, and waited in the magistrate’s office until my case should come on. The clerk was pleased to air his French, and tell me about the prisoner, and the punishment he would probably undergo. Had he called me a Kelb? seemed a matter of great import. He had probably called me the ‘son of a dog’; but I was more concerned at the time as to what he would do with the thick cane than hurt by these reflections on my parentage. I was asked if I would go into the hall and see the man, and I did so. I not only found him there, in the custody of a policeman, but I was introduced to a crowd of his relations. One and all beseeched me to let him off, and Mohammed told a woeful tale of how many were dependent on the loafer’s earnings. The starvation of a numerous offspring would be laid to my account should the prisoner be prevented from loafing in his own particular manner. The tears of his mother had some effect—but what could I do? I did not run this show, I got Mohammed to explain, and the decision must rest with the magistrate. I would, however, make as light of the case as I could, seeing that it was during Ramadan that it happened. There being no skirt to my garments, the old mother had a try at kissing the hem of my trousers, and as to the prisoner himself, I could hardly recognise in the poor lachrymose creature the furious ruffian of the fruit-stall.
The result of all this pleading put me in the unusual position (when our case was called) of advocate for the defence rather than that of the prosecutor. When the man got off with sixteen days, I had to slip away quickly to avoid the marks of gratitude from his relations. The part which struck me as odd was that none of his sentence was due to his violent slap of the poor woman’s cheek. She was not his wife, I explained to the clerk while I waited in the office. ‘There had been matrimonial relations of a sort,’ he explained, and he seemed to hold that that might cover his right to administer corporal punishment. It was my first season in Egypt, so I had still much to learn.
Had the sixteen days of my aggressor’s confinement been passed while the fast lasted, it would have been a light sentence. But Ramadan was now far spent, and the term lasted over the holidays of the Lesser Beiram. That must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow, for there are great rejoicings and feastings on the first day of Shauwâl. Except those under lock and key, few Arabs sit down to a meal where a bit of mutton does not enrich their stew.
Some months after, while I passed through the street of my fruit-shop, I noticed a man smiling at me, and making his salaams; I seemed to remember his face, though I could not quite place him. I asked Mohammed who my acquaintance might be, and he said, ‘Do you not remember the man you had put in prison?’
I have met with many cases since, where an Egyptian has been justly punished, and has shown as little resentment. I have asked large employers of labour as to whether any spiteful action ever followed to the master who had sent one of his men to the lock-up. I was told that acts of vengeance were common enough; but never in a case where punishment was merited. They are not slow to wrath, but the sun seldom goes down on their anger. I have known cases, however, where some fellah having been grossly cheated, and not being able to get justice in the courts, has nursed his revenge for a long while. A burning stack or a lighted thatch may be so long after the first wrong that suspicion may fall on others than the incendiary. ‘Never hurry your revenge; it will be just as sweet in two years’ time,’ is a saying amongst the fellaheen; but nothing but the grossest injustice will excite this passion in so light-hearted a people.
It is a matter of congratulation to every one in Mohammedan countries, whether he be a follower of the Prophet or not, when the festivities of Shauwâl announce that the fast of Ramadan is over.