Murder in Mesopotamia

At the north-west corner was the photographic-room with the dark-room leading out of it. Next to that the laboratory. Then came the only entrance – the big arched doorway through which we had entered. Outside were sleeping quarters for the native servants, the guard-house for the soldiers, and stables, etc., for the water horses. The drawing-office was to the right of the archway occupying the rest of the north side.

I have gone into the arrangements of the house rather fully here because I don’t want to have to go over them again later.

As I say, Mrs Leidner herself took me round the building and finally established me in my bedroom, hoping that I should be comfortable and have everything I wanted.

The room was nicely though plainly furnished – a bed, a chest of drawers, a washstand and a chair.

‘The boys will bring you hot water before lunch and dinner – and in the morning, of course. If you want it any other time, go outside and clap your hands, and when the boy comes say, ‘jib mai’ har’. Do you think you can remember that?’

I said I thought so and repeated it a little haltingly.

‘That’s right. And be sure and shout it. Arabs don’t understand anything said in an ordinary “English” voice.’

‘Languages are funny things,’ I said. ‘It seems odd there should be such a lot of different ones.’

Mrs Leidner smiled.

‘There is a church in Palestine in which the Lord’s Prayer is written up in – ninety, I think it is – different languages.’

‘Well!’ I said. ‘I must write and tell my old aunt that. She will be interested.’

Mrs Leidner fingered the jug and basin absently and shifted the soap-dish an inch or two.’

‘I do hope you’ll be happy here,’ she said, ‘and not get too bored.’

‘I’m not often bored,’ I assured her. ‘Life’s not long enough for that.’

She did not answer. She continued to toy with the washstand as though abstractedly.

Suddenly she fixed her dark violet eyes on my face.

‘What exactly did my husband tell you, nurse?’

Well, one usually says the same thing to a question of that kind.

‘I gathered you were a bit run-down and all that, Mrs Leidner,’ I said glibly. ‘And that you just wanted someone to look after you and take any worries off your hands.’

She bent her head slowly and thoughtfully.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes – that will do very well.’

That was just a little bit enigmatic, but I wasn’t going to question it. Instead I said: ‘I hope you’ll let me help you with anything there is to do in the house. You mustn’t let me be idle.’

She smiled a little.

‘Thank you, nurse.’

Then she sat down on the bed and, rather to my surprise, began to cross-question me rather closely. I say rather to my surprise because, from the moment I set eyes on her, I felt sure that Mrs Leidner was a lady. And a lady, in my experience, very seldom displays curiosity about one’s private affairs.

But Mrs Leidner seemed anxious to know everything there was to know about me. Where I’d trained and how long ago. What had brought me out to the East. How it had come about that Dr Reilly had recommended me. She even asked me if I had ever been in America or had any relations in America. One or two other questions she asked me that seemed quite purposeless at the time, but of which I saw the significance later.

Then, suddenly, her manner changed. She smiled – a warm sunny smile – and she said, very sweetly, that she was very glad I had come and that she was sure I was going to be a comfort to her.

She got up from the bed and said: ‘Would you like to come up to the roof and see the sunset? It’s usually very lovely about this time.’

I agreed willingly.

As we went out of the room she asked: ‘Were there many other people on the train from Baghdad? Any men?’

I said that I hadn’t noticed anybody in particular. There had been two Frenchmen in the restaurant-car the night before. And a party of three men whom I gathered from their conversation had to do with the Pipeline.

She nodded and a faint sound escaped her. It sounded like a small sigh of relief.

We went up to the roof together.

Mrs Mercado was there, sitting on the parapet, and Dr Leidner was bending over looking at a lot of stones and broken pottery that were laid in rows. There were big things he called querns, and pestles and celts and stone axes, and more broken bits of pottery with queer patterns on them than I’ve ever seen all at once.

‘Come over here,’ called out Mrs Mercado. ‘Isn’t it too too beautiful?’

It certainly was a beautiful sunset. Hassanieh in the distance looked quite fairy-like with the setting sun behind it, and the River Tigris flowing between its wide banks looked like a dream river rather than a real one.

‘Isn’t it lovely, Eric?’ said Mrs Leidner.

The doctor looked up with abstracted eyes, murmured, ‘Lovely, lovely,’ perfunctorily and went on sorting potsherds.

Mrs Leidner smiled and said: ‘Archaeologists only look at what lies beneath their feet. The sky and the heavens don’t exist for them.’

Mrs Mercado giggled.

‘Oh, they’re very queer people – you’ll soon find that out, nurse,’ she said.