CHAPTER IV
EAST AND WEST
Egyptis surely one of the most cosmopolitan countries in this old planet. It is also one of the most interesting. You will find all the breeds you want in or about Cairo, Alexandria, and Port Said—and some you don't. Quite a variety of languages, too, although English, French, and Arabic are most in favour.
The natives stick to Arabic, but many of them have a smattering of French and English of a sort. They are all there at picking up a new language, especially if there is money back of it. They will do anything for the dollars. They may have had souls once; but now—— They have sold them long ago.
The newspaper sellers were real dabs atlearning English. They used to visit our camps daily (like the "orangemen"), calling out the most striking items contained in their wares. Everything out of the common was to them "very goot news"—althoughwemightn't think so. Thus one morning you might hear: "Very goot news; Engelsch 'vancin'"; while the same evening the beggars were announcing: "Very goot news: strike in Glasgow." We got to take this kind of thing as a matter of course, but it was a bit tough to hear: "Very goot news: Lord Roberts dead." However, as time went on their knowledge of English increased at a rapid rate. But it was camp English—Australasian at that—and when they took to airing it in the streets of Cairo things happened. They were especially disrespectful to the Kaiser, inventing fancy diseases for him every day, and prefacing each item with the usual: "Very goot news——"
One of the institutions of Egypt is the Bootblack Brigade. We struck it in full forceat Cairo. No sooner did you step out of the train there than your ears were assailed by a shrill chorus of, "Mister, clean 'im boots." There was only one thing to do—let them clean them. It was no good trying to dodge those boys; they were out to black your boots, and they meant to black them or perish in the attempt. You gained nothing by bolting into a pub or restaurant; no sooner were you seated comfortably than they had you bailed up by the leg and their brushes going at forty horse-power. Even boarding an electric car didn't fill the bill; they just chased the car till it pulled up, hopped on board, and got to work. Swearing had no effect; calling their parents names had less—they were used to it. Let them earn the usual half-piastre and you could call them and their forefathers all the names in the Bible. You found yourself entirely in their hands; go where you would those Cairo bootblacks ran you down.
It is a gay old city, is Cairo. It is the homeof Eastern curios, priceless fabrics, beautiful pottery, good coffee, bad liquor, donkeys, dirt, vermin, ear-splitting noises, and rampant vice. You can get as much of each of these goods as you like. East and West certainly do meet in Cairo. But they don't mix—for obvious reasons.
The Egyptian of the better class struck me as rather a fine fellow in a way. He was certainly intelligent, handsome as men go, and clean-run enough while on the right side of thirty. After that age, however, he was prone to pile on flesh and drop his chest lower down. His chief amusements seemed to be eating, drinking iced lemonade and sherbet, riding in big, costly motors, listening to the band, and admiring the Western ladies. In dress he was an out-and-out howling swell—a flash of the flashiest. On the whole I should say he liked and respected the Britisher in a lazy, good-tempered way; was a law-abiding citizen, but would never find the sand to standup to the Westerner in a mix-up for the showboss's job.
The lower-class natives were just a cut above the poor devils of donkeys they exercised their cruelties on. They would sell their own daughters to the highest bidder—and throw in a wife asbacksheesh. They were nearly all "crooks," and cheated you right and left if you allowed them. It was only a new chum who gave them anything like the price they asked for their goods. They hated you like poison when you drove a fair bargain and despised you for a tenderfoot if you didn't. They were as saving as a Cousin Jack, investing their earnings in donkeys and wives. I once asked a chap with a face like a Murchison black-fellow, which fetched the higher price: he side-tracked, but admitted that while it was always easy enough to pick up a passable wife, good donkeys were anything but common. Taking them bye and large, the lower-class natives, as we found them, were twisters,crooks, and liars; they were (like most Eastern breeds) cruel devils with animals, loading their wretched donkeys and ponies down till they could hardly move, and then cutting them up with heavy sticks and whips till a fellow felt like putting the swine to sleep. I fancy they treated their camels rather better; camels are costly animals, and I have heard it stated that if ill-treated they have a habit of eating their masters. This I cannot vouch for, by the way. I once nearly put my great toe out in an argument with one of the brutes (a native, not a camel), over a poor little donkey. I had only light canvas shoes on at the time, instead of the military hob-nailed boot. I never made a similar mistake again. However, I had the satisfaction of knowing that the unfortunate animal would be sparedhisweight for a day or two. In dismissing the low-down Gippy for the time, I have only to add that he is as husky as they make them, intensely religious, and works his wives and daughters much thesame as the other animals he possesses. He is also a deal dirtier, and his washerwoman must have a lively job.
Before visiting Egypt I had the usual Western ideas regarding harem life. I soon changed that. I'd lay an even bet that the women of the East are, on the whole, quite satisfied with their lot. True, they have no choice in the matter, and have never run across anything better. Anyway they just take things as they find them, and seem quite content to graft away like billy-oh, while their owners lie in the shade and smoke. They are really only big children, these women, with undeveloped brains. The men have the education, seem to hold the bank, while the women are treated by them sometimes as toys to play with, and sometimes as wilful kids that have got to be either humoured or punished. I must say I never ran across a brighter or more cheery lot than those so-called down-trodden females. We used to meet them everywhere, for theyknock around quite openly, at times with their husbands, and again in charge of an elderly lady or two, of a rather more severe cast of countenance. They wore veils that hid their faces from the eyes down, and from what we did see of them were not on the whole bad-looking. They were rather fine about the eyes, and they made full use of those organs, even in the company of the "old man," who didn't seem to be overjoyed when he caught them giving the glad eye to a mob of khaki-clad Christians. We were warned not to return same, no matter what the provocation, lest we should offend native feelings—an order which, of course, we obeyed!
The Turkish ladies were as flash as they make them, dressed in what struck us as the latest from Paris. They used to knock round Cairo in big Rolls-Royce cars, and seemed to have no end of a jolly fine time.They, at least, certainly didn't appear down-trodden. I don't remember seeing an ugly one; they were aspretty a crowd as you could wish to bump into, and as lively as a basketful of jack rabbits. The way they used to smile and roll those dark eyes of theirs! It made a chap feel like owning a harem and turning Mohammedan right away. They were out-and-out flirts, and their veils helped them, being made of stuff like white muslin that you could see through. To our surprise their complexions were of the pink and white brand. They went in for plumpness a bit, wore high heels, hobble skirts, and ran to fineness about the waist. Their weak point lay in their action; they didn't walk too well (tight shoes, I reckon). But, on the whole, they were jolly fetching—and knew it. We were specially warned against those Turkish ladies. Poor girls! And they were so keen on learning English, too.
I used to like watching the Egyptian women carrying water gourds and things on their heads. I never saw one come to grief; their sense of balance was A1. It made a fellowstare some to see a slender little woman about seven-stone-nothing pick up a big gourd of water for all the world like a ten-gallon drum, balance it on her head, and trip off with it, wearing a kind of "old-man-you-couldn't-lick-that" smile on her face. I once saw a woman carrying on her head what I at first took to be a small hut; on coming closer it proved to be a large door piled up with all the family goods and chattels. The man of the house rode beside the old lady on a donkey, encouraging her the while between puffs at his cigarette by singing an Arab love song. He had a voice like a quinsy-smitten parrakeet, so, perhaps, that accounted for her staying power. And yet she seemed quite satisfied with this truly Eastern division of labour. They all do: ask a woman in Egypt why she doesn't make her better half (or quarter, or other fraction) graft a bit more, and she thinks you are poking fun at her; go one further and tell her thatyourwife doesn't do any hard work (which is alie!) and she, if she can speak English, promptly informs you that "Engelsch woman one dam fool!" So there you are—where you started.
I used to read of the spicy and scented East, but it was some time before we struck the brand you find in books of travel. True, we had found a variety of "scents" in the land of Rameses, but they weren't the kind of thing you'd invite your latest girl to inhale—although they were all fairly "spicy," and typically Eastern. Cairo has its full share; in fact, it bubbles over in parts, and yet it was in Cairo that I ran the travel-book's own particular to earth.
Reader, were you ever in the Native Bazaar in Cairo? If you weren't, take my tip and pay it a visit the first time you happen to slide Eastward. You'll not regret having done so. But—a word in your ear—don't carry more than, say, £1000 in your pocket, for you'll spend every piastre you can lay hands on before they let you go, and you'll blue the cash withoutcaring a well-known adjective where the next cheque is coming from.
The entrance to the Bazaar is far from imposing. I toddled in by way of a row of butchers' booths and fruit-sellers' stalls, to find myself transplanted straight into a scene from the Arabian Nights Entertainments. I rubbed my eyes, opened them again—and lo! the Grand Vizier bowed before me (with a face like an Adelphi assassin—but this by the way, for I don't suppose it was his fault). He named his price, I offered him 200 per cent. less; for a moment he seemed on the point of fainting from surprise and indignation, then, recovering, he accepted my terms and proceeded to do the honours of the place in the capacity of guide. An amusing enough cut-throat he proved to be, too, although just a bit too fond of talking about his adventures with the ladies. Some of his yarns—— Ahem!
(Here in parentheses let me give the new chum a word of advice on the engaging of guides in Egypt. On arrivingat the particular show he has set out to inspect—and often before he gets within coo-ee of it—he will find himself beset by an ill-clad and evil-smelling mob of hooligans all yelling fit to raise Lazarus. Don't let them rattle him, however; his game is to select the biggest, ugliest, loudest-voiced and most villainous-looking assassin in the push, make his bargain with the gentleman much as he would with a Paddy jarvey, then order him to "Lead on, Macduff"—and leave the rest to the aforesaid gentleman. There will be no further trouble with the other lot; the guide, if our friend possesses the faculty of reading faces, will see to that.)
(Here in parentheses let me give the new chum a word of advice on the engaging of guides in Egypt. On arrivingat the particular show he has set out to inspect—and often before he gets within coo-ee of it—he will find himself beset by an ill-clad and evil-smelling mob of hooligans all yelling fit to raise Lazarus. Don't let them rattle him, however; his game is to select the biggest, ugliest, loudest-voiced and most villainous-looking assassin in the push, make his bargain with the gentleman much as he would with a Paddy jarvey, then order him to "Lead on, Macduff"—and leave the rest to the aforesaid gentleman. There will be no further trouble with the other lot; the guide, if our friend possesses the faculty of reading faces, will see to that.)
I soon found I had made a wise selection, for a single glance from the Vizier's eagle eye was sufficient to send the rest of the unemployed scuttling to cover. He didn't have to use his feet once; it was another instance of the triumph of mind over matter. I told him so, but I fancy he didn't quite take me—bowed almost to the ground as he requested me to "spik Engelsch as he no spik French moch well." I think he must have been the Prince of all the Assassins.
On entering Aladdin's Palace the first thingthat strikes you is the narrowness and crookedness of the streets: in many places a long-armed man could pinch scent from a booth on one side, while helping himself to a silk scarf on the other—if he were not watched so closely by the merchants. Then the light is very subdued; something like that you run across in the bush, while everywhere your nose is assailed by the perfume of crushed flowers and spices. Look upward and you will see the sky a mere slit between the confining walls of the lofty, old-world houses; look around and you will see the wealth of the East in lavish profusion. In a word, you are in Old Cairo, to my mind one of the most interesting spots in Egypt.
Let us stroll down this close-packed double row of little windowless stalls that resemble nothing so much as dog boxes in a canine show. See that old fellow with the Arab features and dress, working so industriously at his clumsy native loom: he is eighty if he is a day, andjust as likely as not ten years older. Note the speed and skill with which his knotted old fingers do their work. He is weaving a silk scarf, a beautiful piece of work, which later on may adorn the shoulders of some harem favourite—or a New York belle. In the next stall squats a native tailor or vestment maker. Opposite him a spice merchant calls your attention to his wares, just as his forefathers did in the days of Abraham. A few yards farther and we come on a couple of young natives busily pounding away with heavy steel pestles in a mortar surely identical with the jars in which the Forty Thieves secreted themselves—scent and pot-pourri makers almost certainly. Squeezing past a mild-looking camel, which we do not trust, however, we almost stumble over a couple of silk spinners, an old man and a precocious-looking boy. The spinning-wheel might have come straight from an Irish cottage. The yarn is passed through the interstices of the boy's small white teeth, the idea being toclean it of foreign matter, I suppose. Flattening ourselves against a sweetmeat stall to permit of the passage of a train of heavily laden donkeys, our eyes are dazzled the while by a glimpse of a silk merchant's stock in the booth opposite; hanging to the walls, piled in huge heaps, and lying around anyhow, are scarves, robes, and vestments in all the colours of the rainbow. What would that stuff be worth in London or Melbourne? Who knows?... We turn the corner, dodge a cow and a goat that are being milked in the street, and find ourselves at the entrance door of a dealer in beaten brass and copper goods, Japanese ware, and antiques. This we enter, ignoring the protests of our guide, who would much prefer that our custom should go to the more flashy-looking store farther up the street—kept by his brother or uncle, most likely, and a first-rate house for buying Eastern curios and antiquesmade in Birmingham. You tell him so, insult the memory of his mother, and leavehim to continue his protestations on the threshold.
There are many things we should like to purchase. That pair of vases, for instance, so beautifully chased and inlaid with silver, price £20. Or that group representing a couple of Japanese wrestlers, dirt cheap at £18. Or that magnificent cabinet—— But our finances only run to two weeks' pay at two shillings per diem, so we turn our attention to flower-holders, candlesticks, and such-like cheaper lines of goods, enjoying the while a cup of excellent Egyptian coffee and some unusually good cigarettes at the expense of the proprietor. Shopping in Cairo is a slow game, so we kill an hour in the making of our purchases—and emerge with a balance still at the bank.
And now we come on a street almost entirely given over to the vendors of silks and ostrich feathers. What a wealth of colour! And how harmoniously the myriad tints blend with the flowing robes of the natives, the dullerhues of the crumbling walls, rickety, projecting balconies, and sun-blanched lattices! Looking down the narrow thoroughfare packed as it is with a moving sea of quaintly garbed figures, suggests an ever-changing arabesque, kaleidoscopic-like in its effect. It is the East as Mohammed found it, a bit of Old Egypt basking snugly in the warmth of a truly oriental setting.... We thread our way slowly through the noisy crowd of guttural-tongued natives, and emerge with something approaching a shock into the clang and rattle of a modern city street with its electric cars, resplendent automobiles, and plate-glass windows. Yet even here the East holds its own: you see it in the strings of camels and the numerous donkeys that dispute the right of way with the big touring cars and electric runabouts; in the open-air cafés; in the dress of the natives, especially the sherbet and lemonade sellers, and the hawkers of sweetmeats and cigarettes; but it is the meeting of the Occident andOrient, the commingling of the East and West, and the effect is anything but congruous.
Reader, I am not out to describe Cairo. For one thing, space forbids; for another, I reckon I amn't a boss hand at descriptive writing; and, lastly, you can get as much of that kind of thing as you want in the guidebooks. But I should like to point out three places you should really pay a visit to the first time you blow into the old City: the Citadel, the Museum, and the Tombs of the Mamelukes; add to these the Zoo, and the Hezekieh Gardens on a Sunday afternoon, and you won't regret it. It is a gay city, is Cairo; a bad old city, but, above all, an intensely interesting one. You will there, it is true, find vice, dirt, and immorality flaunted openly, the trimmings all shorn away. But you needn't stop and look, you know—(you will, all the same). And "to the pure all things are pure." Besides, when away from home things often strike you from a vastly different standpoint. You areout to "do" Egypt; you have paid to "do" it—then "do" it by all means. But take my tip, and exercise a wise discretion when writing to the folks at the old farm. Or don't write—just mail them the guidebooks.