Jacques came to the station to see me off. We spoke of Massawa, and always the conversation came back to the shipwreck in which Zanni had disappeared, the strange death of old Saïd Ali and the miraculous saving of his treasures.
‘Ah, all years aren’t the same,’ sighed Jacques. ‘I have just spent two absolutely wasted months shut up in Massawa. I couldn’t go to the Dahlak Islands as I generally do; simply couldn’t get a permit. So all the Arab brokers, free to go where they liked, snapped up wonderful bargains under my nose.’
‘But why couldn’t you get a permit? You never had any trouble in previous years. The governor is generally very obliging towards foreigners.’
‘It wasn’t his fault; indeed he was very sorry fie had to refuse me. It is a new military regulation. It appears that there was an attempt at a Turkish invasion of Eritrea at Takalaï, a place on the coast a little to the north of Massawa. The colony was under arms, two battle cruisers were sent from Italy, and a regiment with artillery was stationed at Takalaï since it was acknowledged that this was a vulnerable point.’
‘At Takalaï, did you say? What was the date of this alleged invasion?’
‘It happened a little over a month ago, but thanks to the courage shown by the native soldiers it didn’t succeed. A corporal nearly captured a disguised Turkish officer, who was probably Saïd Pasha himself. A rope-soled sandal was found, and the secret police discovered that the general is in the habit of wearing this rather unusual type of footwear when he is not in uniform. It was the same size as he wears, too. If this attempt had succeeded, Massawa would have been surprised and surrounded and all communications cut off.’
But I had subsided in a gale of inextinguishable laughter.
‘Stop, stop, Jacques,’ I cried; ‘I was Saïd Pasha, and this famous sandal was one of my Catalan espadrilles. As for the Turkish squadron, it was simply my boutre.’
Jacques looked at me with dilated eyes; I could see he thought I had gone suddenly mad. I should have to explain the affair in detail, as otherwise he would never be able to reconcile what I had stated with these wild fictions of the Italian imagination, so I told him the story the reader already knows.
‘All the same,’ I said, ‘I sent a letter from Kosseir to the Governor of Asmara, to let him know of the behaviour of this native, who had declared himself an askari of the Government, but who had no uniform to prove it, and that for this reason I had refused to obey his insolent orders. I’m surprised that that did not settle the whole affair.’
‘Probably your letter arrived after my departure, and I knew nothing about it. But you were wrong to write; the affair has become very serious now, and has been mentioned in the newspapers. Take my advice and don’t go back to Massawa, since you are to blame for this panic. I believe the Italians would show more indulgence now towards someone who really had tried to take their colony by force, than towards someone who came and said they had been tilting at windmills.’
‘On the contrary,’ I replied, ‘I shall stop there. I have nothing on my conscience, after all, and if the Italians have made fools of themselves it’s not my fault. Besides, all this is only supposition and I think you take a very pessimistic view, considering how kind and obliging the authorities at Massawa have always shown themselves towards strangers. No, I really have no reason for avoiding the place, especially after writing that letter.’
‘You are absolutely crazy. They will make you pay for the whole ridiculous business. They are quite capable of having you shot just to teach you to make jokes at their expense and have the whole world laughing at their Government.’
‘No, Jacques, you are letting your imagination run away with you. That would cover the army with shame without making it a whit less ridiculous. I think they will rather ask me to keep my mouth shut, for I’m sure my letter was kept secret.’
I left Jacques all upset, and he said good-bye to me with tears in his eyes, convinced he would never see me again.