Seven

THE MAN AT THE WINDOW

I think I’d better make it clear right away that there isn’t going to be any local colour in this story.

I don’t know anything about archaeology¹ and I don’t know that I very much want to. Messingabout with people and places that are buried and done with doesn’t make sense to me. Mr.?Careyused to tell me that I hadn’t got the archaeological temperament² and I’ve no doubt he was quiteright.

The very first morning after my arrival Mr.?Carey asked if I’d like to come and see the palacehe was—planning I think he called it. Though how you can plan for a thing that’s happened longago I’m sure I don’t know! Well, I said I’d like to, and to tell the truth, I was a bit excited about it.

Nearly three thousand years old that palace was, it appeared. I wondered what sort of palaces theyhad in those days, and if it would be like the pictures I’d seen of Tutankahmen’s tomb furniture.

But would you believe it, there was nothing to see but mud! Dirty mud walls about two feet high—and that’s all there was to it. Mr.?Carey took me here and there telling me things—how this wasthe great court, and there were some chambers³ here and an upper storey and various other roomsthat opened off the central court. And all I thought was, “But how does he know?” though, ofcourse, I was too polite to say so. I can tell you it was a disappointment! The whole excavationlooked like nothing but mud to me—no marble or gold or anything handsome—my aunt’s housein Cricklewood would have made a much more imposing⁴ ruin! And those old Assyrians, orwhatever they were, called themselves kings. When Mr.?Carey had shown me his old “palaces,” hehanded me over to Father Lavigny, who showed me the rest of the mound⁵. I was a little afraid ofFather Lavigny, being a monk⁶ and a foreigner and having such a deep voice and all that, but hewas very kind—though rather vague. Sometimes I felt it wasn’t much more real to him than it wasto me.

Mrs.?Leidner explained that later. She said that Father Lavigny was only interested in“written documents”—as she called them. They wrote everything on clay, these people, queer,heathenish-looking marks too, but quite sensible. There were even school tablets—the teacher’slesson on one side and the pupil’s effort on the back of it. I confess that that did interest me rather—it seemed so human, if you know what I mean.

Father Lavigny walked round the work with me and showed me what were temples orpalaces and what were private houses, and also a place which he said was an early Akkadiancemetery. He spoke⁷ in a funny jerky way, just throwing in a scrap⁸ of information and thenreverting to other subjects.

He said: “It is strange that you have come here. Is Mrs.?Leidner really ill, then?”

“Not exactly ill,” I said cautiously.

He said: “She is an odd woman. A dangerous woman, I think.”

“Now what do you mean by that?” I said. “Dangerous? How dangerous?”

He shook his head thoughtfully.

“I think she is ruthless,” he said. “Yes, I think she could be absolutely ruthless.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” I said, “I think you’re talking nonsense.”

He shook his head.

“You do not know women as I do,” he said.

And that was a funny thing, I thought, for a monk to say. But of course I suppose he mighthave heard a lot of things in confession⁹. But that rather puzzled me, because I wasn’t sure ifmonks heard confessions¹⁰ or if it was only priests. I supposed he was a monk with that longwoollen robe—all sweeping¹¹ up the dirt—and the rosary and all!

“Yes, she could be ruthless,” he said musingly¹². “I am quite sure of that. And yet—though sheis so hard—like stone, like marble—yet she is afraid. What is she afraid of?”

That, I thought, is what we should all like to know!

At least it was possible that her husband did know, but I didn’t think anyone else did.

He fixed¹³ me with a sudden bright, dark eye.

“It is odd here? You find it odd? Or quite natural?”

“Not quite natural,” I said, considering. “It’s comfortable enough as far as the arrangementsgo—but there isn’t quite a comfortable feeling.”

“It makes me uncomfortable. I have the idea”—he became suddenly a little more foreign—“that something prepares itself. Dr.?Leidner, too, he is not quite himself. Something is worryinghim also.”

“His wife’s health?”

“That perhaps. But there is more. There is—how shall I say it—an uneasiness.”

And that was just it, there was an uneasiness.

We didn’t say any more just then, for Dr.?Leidner came towards us. He showed me a child’sgrave that had just been uncovered. Rather pathetic it was—the little bones—and a pot or two andsome little specks¹⁴ that Dr.?Leidner told me were a bead¹⁵ necklace.

It was the workmen that made me laugh. You never saw such a lot of scarecrows—all in longpetticoats and rags, and their heads tied up as though they had toothache. And every now and then,as they went to and fro carrying away baskets of earth, they began to sing—at least I suppose itwas meant to be singing—a queer sort of monotonous¹⁶ chant that went on and on over and overagain. I noticed that most of their eyes were terrible—all covered with discharge, and one or twolooked half blind. I was just thinking what a miserable¹⁷ lot they were when Dr.?Leidner said,“Rather a fine-looking lot of men, aren’t they?” and I thought what a queer world it was and howtwo different people could see the same thing each of them the other way round. I haven’t put thatvery well, but you can guess what I mean.

After a bit Dr.?Leidner said he was going back to the house for a mid-morning cup of tea. Sohe and I walked back together and he told me things. When he explained, it was all quite different.

I sort of saw it all—how it used to be—the streets and the houses, and he showed me ovens wherethey baked bread and said the Arabs used much the same kind of ovens nowadays.

We got back to the house and found Mrs.?Leidner had got up. She was looking better today,not so thin and worn. Tea came in almost at once and Dr.?Leidner told her what had turned upduring the morning on the dig. Then he went back to work and Mrs.?Leidner asked me if I wouldlike to see some of the finds they had made up to date. Of course I said “Yes,” so she took methrough into the antika room. There was a lot of stuff lying about—mostly broken pots it seemedto me—or else ones that were all mended and stuck together. The whole lot might have beenthrown away, I thought.

“Dear, dear,” I said, “it’s a pity they’re all so broken, isn’t it? Are they really worthkeeping?”

Mrs.?Leidner smiled a little and she said: “You mustn’t let Eric hear you. Pots interest himmore than anything else, and some of these are the oldest things we have—perhaps as much asseven thousand years old.” And she explained how some of them came from a very deep cut onthe mound down towards the bottom, and how, thousands of years ago, they had been broken andmended with bitumen¹⁸, showing people prized their things just as much then as they do nowadays.

“And now,” she said, “we’ll show you something more exciting.”

And she took down a box from the shelf and showed me a beautiful gold dagger¹⁹ with dark-blue stones in the handle.

I exclaimed with pleasure.

Mrs.?Leidner laughed.

“Yes, everybody likes gold! Except my husband.”

“Why doesn’t Dr.?Leidner like it?”

“Well, for one thing it comes expensive. You have to pay the workmen who find it the weightof the object in gold.”

“Good gracious!” I exclaimed. “But why?”

“Oh, it’s a custom. For one thing it prevents them from stealing. You see, if they did steal, itwouldn’t be for the archaeological value but for the intrinsic value. They could melt it down. Sowe make it easy for them to be honest.”

She took down another tray and showed me a really beautiful gold drinking cup with a designof rams’ heads on it.

Again I exclaimed.

“Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? These came from a prince’s grave. We found other royal gravesbut most of them had been plundered²⁰. This cup is our best find. It is one of the most lovely everfound anywhere. Early Akkadian. Unique.”

Suddenly, with a frown, Mrs.?Leidner brought the cup up close to her eyes and scratched at itdelicately with her nail.

“How extraordinary! There’s actually wax on it. Someone must have been in here with acandle.” She detached the little flake²¹ and replaced the cup in its place.

After that she showed me some queer little terracotta figurines—but most of them were justrude. Nasty minds those old people had, I say.

When we went back to the porch Mrs.?Mercado was sitting polishing her nails. She washolding them out in front of her admiring the effect. I thought myself that anything more hideousthan that orange red could hardly have been imagined.

Mrs.?Leidner had brought with her from the antika room a very delicate little saucer broken inseveral pieces, and this she now proceeded to join together. I watched her for a minute or two andthen asked if I could help.

“Oh, yes, there are plenty more.” She fetched quite a supply of broken pottery²² and we set towork. I soon got into the hang of it and she praised my ability. I suppose most nurses are handywith their fingers.

“How busy everybody is!” said Mrs.?Mercado. “It makes me feel dreadfully idle. Of course Iam idle.”

“Why shouldn’t you be if you like?” said Mrs.?Leidner.

Her voice was quite uninterested.

At twelve we had lunch. Afterwards Dr.?Leidner and Mr.?Mercado cleaned some pottery,pouring a solution of hydrochloric acid over it. One pot went a lovely plum colour and a pattern ofbulls’ horns came out on another one. It was really quite magical. All the dried mud that nowashing would remove sort of foamed²³ and boiled away.

Mr.?Carey and Mr.?Coleman went out on the dig and?Mr.?Reiter went off to the photographicroom.

“What will you do, Louise?” Dr.?Leidner asked his wife. “I suppose you’ll rest for a bit?”

I gathered that Mrs.?Leidner usually lay down every afternoon.

“I’ll rest for about an hour. Then perhaps I’ll go out for a short stroll.”

“Good. Nurse will go with you, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I said.

“No, no,” said Mrs.?Leidner, “I like going alone. Nurse isn’t to feel so much on duty that I’mnot allowed out of her sight.”

“Oh, but I’d like to come,” I said.

“No, really, I’d rather you didn’t.” She was quite firm—almost peremptory²⁴. “I must be bymyself every now and then. It’s necessary to me.”

I didn’t insist, of course. But as I went off for a short sleep myself it struck me as odd thatMrs.?Leidner, with her nervous terrors, should be quite content to walk by herself without any kindof protection.

When I came out of my room at half-past three the courtyard was deserted²⁵ save for a littleboy with a large copper²⁶ bath who was washing pottery, and Mr.?Emmott, who was sorting andarranging it. As I went towards them Mrs.?Leidner came in through the archway. She looked morealive than I had seen her yet. Her eyes shone and she looked uplifted and almost gay.

Dr.?Leidner came out from the laboratory and joined her. He was showing her a big dish withbulls’ horns on it.

“The prehistoric²⁷ levels are being extraordinarily²⁸ productive,” he said. “It’s been a goodseason so far. Finding that tomb right at the beginning was a real piece of luck. The only personwho might complain is Father Lavigny. We’ve had hardly any tablets so far.”

“He doesn’t seem to have done very much with the few we have had,” said Mrs.?Leidnerdryly. “He may be a very fine epigraphist but he’s a remarkably²⁹ lazy one. He spends all hisafternoons sleeping.”

“We miss Byrd,” said Dr.?Leidner. “This man strikes me as slightly unorthodox—though, ofcourse, I’m not competent to judge. But one or two of his translations have been surprising, to saythe least of it. I can hardly believe, for instance, that he’s right about that inscribed³⁰ brick, and yethe must know.”

After tea Mrs.?Leidner asked me if I would like to stroll down to the river. I thought thatperhaps she feared that her refusal to let me accompany her earlier in the afternoon might havehurt my feelings.

I wanted her to know that I wasn’t the touchy³¹ kind, so I accepted at once.

It was a lovely evening. A path led between barley³² fields and then through some floweringfruit trees. Finally we came to the edge of the Tigris. Immediately on our left was the Tell with theworkmen singing in their queer monotonous chant. A little to our right was a big waterwheelwhich made a queer groaning³³ noise. It used to set my teeth on edge at first. But in the end I gotfond of it and it had a queer soothing³⁴ effect on me. Beyond the waterwheel was the village fromwhich most of the workmen came.

“It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it?” said Mrs.?Leidner.

“It’s very peaceful,” I said. “It seems funny to me to be so far away from everywhere.”

“Far from everywhere,” repeated Mrs.?Leidner. “Yes. Here at least one might expect to besafe.”

I glanced at her sharply, but I think she was speaking more to herself than to me, and I don’tthink she realized that her words had been revealing.

We began to walk back to the house.

Suddenly Mrs.?Leidner clutched my arm so violently that I nearly cried out.

“Who’s that, nurse? What’s he doing?”

Some distance ahead of us, just where the path ran near the expedition house, a man wasstanding. He wore European clothes and he seemed to be standing³⁵ on tiptoe and trying to look inat one of the windows.

As we watched he glanced round, caught sight of us, and immediately continued on the pathtowards us. I felt Mrs.?Leidner’s clutch tighten³⁶.

“Nurse,” she whispered. “Nurse .?.?.”

“It’s all right, my dear, it’s all right,” I said reassuringly³⁷.

The man came along and passed us. He was an Iraqi, and as soon as she saw him near to,Mrs.?Leidner relaxed with a sigh.

“He’s only an Iraqi after all,” she said.

We went on our way. I glanced up at the windows as I passed. Not only were they barred, butthey were too high from the ground to permit of anyone seeing in, for the level of the ground waslower here than on the inside of the courtyard.

“It must have been just curiosity,” I said.

Mrs.?Leidner nodded.

“That’s all. But just for a minute I thought—”

She broke off.

I thought to myself. “You thought what? That’s what I’d like to know. What did you think?”

But I knew one thing now—that Mrs.?Leidner was afraid of a definite flesh-and-blood person.

 

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