The Deconstruction of an English Gentleman

by 'quite musical and curiously soothing'

2.

In retrospect, Marsh had always cleared the way for Alistair. As the son of a duke, Marsh had a natural authority which influenced both his schoolmates at Eton and his younger friend from the neighbouring estate in Arley Holt.

Marsh introduced Alistair to the secrets of surviving Eton, and when Alistair joined Eton the year that was Marsh's final year at the school, Alistair felt immediately at home.

And even though Marsh had made it clear that they would not have much contact at Eton, he also stressed that Alistair always would be his blood brother, his very special brother-in-arms.

One day, shortly after the first semester had begun, a group of young men from the graduating class with Marsh leading the way had approached Alistair in a group of new boys. One of the boys next to Alistair had asked in awe: "Who is he?" and Alistair had plunged into it: "That is Marsh Hughenfort. He's my cousin and my best friend!"

The other boys looked at him skeptically, but Marsh had smiled at him warmly as he passed and softly said: "Hello Alistair." Alistair had sighed deep with relief and soon everybody knew that Alistair was under the protection of the legendary Marsh Hughenfort. Oh yes, Alistair had had a good time at Eton.

When Marsh entered Cambridge the two friends opened the correspondance that kept them together through the turbulent years of youth. Marsh's letters usually were short and precise: a few remarks on whatever kept him occupied in his studies and a handful of advice to Alistair on what to loose himself into at Eton. Some descriptions of the joys and sorrows of social life in Cambridge -- which Marsh often distanced himself from, especially when it turned into excesses. Without beeing aware of what was happening to him, Marsh slowly and deliberately shaped Alistair into his chosen companion.

Alistair realised how late it was. Dinner would soon be served at Badger Old Place and it would not be good if he were late -- not after the earlier confrontation in the library. He forced Victory into a gallop. But in spite of abilities that would have done the horse credit at Ascot, Alistair was late for dinner. His father looked like a thundercloud, his mother like a Greek tragedy. 19-year-old Rose looked up from her plate and shot him a glance both worried and amused. Ralph moved restlessly in his chair, in spite of his 13 years, and turned his spoon around in his soup, lost in his own world.

Alistair payed his excuses, sat down and dinner passed in heavy silence. As soon as the last bit of cheese was swallowed, his father rose and left the table without a word. Rose and Ralph disappeared just as fast, while his mother sighed deeply and looked at Alistair reproachfully:

"Couldn't you at least show a little consideration?" She spoke with the well-known my-children-will-be-the-death-of-me voice.

Alistair excused himself once again while boiling on the inside. He knew what his mother expected from him and rose to accompany her into the library, where she sat down on the sofa and patted the empty space at her side. The movement brought back some uncomfortable memories of Honoria's lilywhite hand patting a moonlit bench... He suppressed a shiver and sat down carefully at the edge of the sofa.

"Alistair my boy... I expect you to heal the wound."

"What wound?" he asked as if he had no idea what she was referring to.

"You have insulted Honoria St. John." Now the dying had left her voice:

"I expect you to go see her tomorrow and ask for her hand."

Alistair jumped up and shouted:

"Never! No way! I have not insulted Honoria St. John, I have turned her down! I don't want her, do you hear me? I'd rather die!"

He almost ran out of the room and slammed the door into his mother's furious: "Alistair! You stay here, do you hear me?"

After a few steps in the direction of his rooms he changed his mind and turned out into the gardens, where she wasn't likely to pursue him. A week had now passed since his unhappy encounter with Honoria St. John. A tearstricken face with quivering, ruby-red lips, blonde curls and blue eyes emerged in his imagination.

"Oh, go away Honoria," he murmured, but he knew he had to apologize to her. His parents insisted upon it -- and so he would himself, once his anger had cooled. The girl wasn't quite right in her head and he wished she'd never been born and had brought him into this unreasonable situation. But as a true English gentleman he had to undertake part of -- no, all of -- the blame, so she could go on unblemished in life and hopefully find another man, who would appreciate what Alistair had discarded. Which wouldn't be too difficult...

The thought of seeking her out, to be in the same room with her, to breathe the same air...

Alistair shivered and forced his thoughts in a different direction, while he crossed the stream and walked up the hill, away from Badger Old Place and his furious parents.

Alistair had just begun his third year at Eton when a letter from Marsh arrived, the first page consisting of strange signs. Alistair thought Marsh wanted him to learn a code, but on the next page Marsh took to English, even if it was only to praise the language, literature and culture of the Arabian world. As Arabic was not a part of the syllabus of Eton, Alistair had to participate in Marsh's enthusiasm second-hand.

During the Christmas vacation Alistair realised that Marsh in the Arab world had found what he had been looking for. Marsh was approaching 20 and bristled with an energetic and sometimes almost despairing restlessness that made him drag his cousin along for endless hikes, talking of his urge to travel, his dream of seeing scenarios other than the drawing-rooms, the hunting parties and the social intrigues. The wish to do something, to make a difference, haunted him:

"My stepmother has once again filled Justice with celebrities and nobility gossiping, discussing politics and slandering. I'm suffocating!" Marsh exclaimed. Alistair, who recognised the situation -- although on a smaller scale -- from his own home, shared his feelings. That Christmas they walked many miles, part of it in the company of Iris, who didn't enjoy the stuffy atmosphere of the drawing-rooms either. Her mother was urging her to begin looking for a suitable husband, which the 19-year-old Iris preferred to overhear.

The night before they parted, the two young men once again were standing at the roof of Justice Hall under the starry sky.

"I'm dreaming of the desert," Marsh suddenly said. His voice was happy and desperate at the same time. "I'm always dreaming of the desert..."

Alistair didn't know what to say and remained silent. Then he felt Marsh's arm firmly around his shoulders, felt Marsh's warm breath in his ear:

"No matter what happens... no matter what, I'm leaving as soon I've graduated. And I hope you'll join me as soon as possible."

The arm around Alistair's shoulder was strong and calm, the voice in his ear likewise. He felt dizzy, as if the cold of the night and the heat of the desert whirled around him and clashed over his head like waves and as if Marsh's strong arm was all that held him upright in the universe.

Alistair sat on the bench at the hilltop overlooking Badger Old Place in the setting sun and wished more than ever that Marsh had been by his side. But Marsh was beyond his reach and Alistair had to do by himself. The last trial before...

Marsh did pursue his dream of travelling. The summer he left Cambridge he hed been happy in a way only Marsh could be happy: all of his stout, strong body quivered with a suppressed joy he only let out through his eyes, that playfully met the gaze of the younger friend:

"Ali! You couldn't wait until tomorrow to get rid of me?" he greeted, as Alistair, the day before Marsh's departure, entered the drawing room of Justice Hall. All of the family had tea, Alistair was seated and bestowed with tea and scones and answered the questions from the family with monosyllables. He was watching and waiting for just one thing, and nearly dropped both cup and saucer from sheer eagerness when Marsh finally rose. They went through the park; not until they were out of sight of the house, spoke Marsh:

"I go to Paris and then south to Venice and maybe Rome. That's what I've told the family. But I think I'll go east through the Balkans and Greece to Turkey. And most likely I'll continue to Alexandria and Cairo. I long for the desert."

Alistair slowed his pace and kept his eyes to the ground. Marsh laid a hand on his arm:

"I'll write you, I promise. This is just the beginning. I'll come back and fetch you, when you've finished Cambridge."

"But it'll take years!" Alistair complained.

"Spend your time well. Learn something, especially languages and history. Study different cultures and customs. Stay out of trouble and bad company, keep youself healthy and strong, my brother-in-arms."

Alistair had looked up and met Marsh's loving glance:

"I will not forget you," he said.

Marsh wrote as promised, although at long intervals. His letters to Alistair were long and substantial, while his letters to his family at Justice Hall were short, and in vague terms described his route and assured them of his well-being. As the months passed, the letters to his family became sparse. Those that came into Alistair's hands at irregular intervals imposed on him to keep silent about his whereabouts, which became still more exotic. The family thought he was in Greece until they, through an acquaintance, learned that Marsh was seen in Cairo.

At 18, Alistair graduated from Eton and returned to Arley Holt for the summer. The mood at Justice Hall was depressed. Marsh had now been gone for ten months and the duke was angry with him for not telling the truth of his whereabouts. The fact that the older brother, Henry, after ten years of marriage to Sarah, still hadn't produced the expected heir, was beginning to worry the Hughenforts.

Still, Alistair was surprised when the Duke one day encountered him:

"Alistair, you have been Marsh' confidante for many years. I don't like to ask you this, but do you know anything that we don't?" the Duke had bluntly asked.

Alistair had immediately denied. Marsh's letters had only described his travels, and had no mention af Marsh getting himself into anything unpleasant.

"I want him home," the Duke had said. "And I think you'll be the best choice to pursuade him to return. I ask you to go to Cairo and bring him home."

A few days later Alistair was on his way to Cairo, accompanied by Mr. Cassidy, Ralph's resident teacher, who Alistair's parents had decided deserved some time off after patiently having taught their youngest and disturbed son for some years.

A telegram was sent ahead to Hotel Majestic in Cairo. Alistair knew Marsh used to go there, when he was in Cairo. But would he be there when they arrived?

Oh yes, Marsh was there, as suntanned as to pass for an Egyptian and more radiant than ever. He had changed, had grown a beard, moved more relaxed and seemed at peace with himself as he approached the two travellers at the station in the late afternoon. He greeted them warmly, got hold of someone to take their luggage, hired a ramshackle vehicle to take them to the hotel and asked as to their journey. His quick glances to Alistair said: "Wait. We'll talk later."

They took rooms at the hotel and had dinner there, while Alistair brought Marsh up to date with family matters and events in England. Marsh listened politely but distracted, looked at him with his gleaming eyes whose promise of pranks made Alistair lose his concentration and look desperately at Mr. Cassidy, who didn't understand anything but that the two cousins exchanged family news. At half past nine Marsh ushered both of them to bed, telling them that they had a long and tiring journey behind them, and then disappeared into the lively streets.

Somewhat disappointed, Alistair let himself into his room. For a long time he watched the street below. Why didn't Marsh stay at the hotel? Why did he keep Alistair at a distance? Had he lost Marsh's confidence because he came to bring him home?

Alistair's frustrations grew when Marsh, with gleaming eyes, for the next two days dragged his visitors around in Cairo, showing them the sights and introducing them to several Englishmen living in the city. Finally, in the late afternoon on the second day, he placed them at a very British tea at the lounge of Hotel Majestic in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis. While Mr. Cassidy eagerly talked to the blonde Mrs. Lewis, Marsh leaned against Alistair and whispered:

"What will work on mr. Cassidy? Threats or bribes?"

Alistair nearly dropped his cup. Marsh smiled and withdrew to his inward joyfulness.

In the deep night Alistair woke up, when a hand closed over his mouth.

"Shhh, Ali..."

Alistair pushed away Marsh's hand and fought himself into an upright position in the weak light:

"Can you walk through locked doors, Marsh?"

"Oh, you have no idea of what I'm capable of by now," Marsh laughed. "But I intend to show you some of it. Come along!"

Alisatir quickly dressed and followed Marsh, who stopped to push a note under Mr. Cassidy's door before waving Alistair along. They left the hotel and went quickly and silently through dark streets, passed through some still more dubious neighbourhoods until Marsh finally turned into a gate, crossed an open yard and went up a shaky staircase. He pushed Alistair into an almost empty and rather dark room.

"Wait here, I'll be right with you."

Alistair looked around. A number of rolled-up carpets and blankets were stacked by the wall. A small oven glowed softly in the dark. In the corner was a wooden chest, an oil lamp burning on top of it.

As the door behind him opened, Alistair turned and saw an Arab in flowing robes come almost flying at him with his arms open. Next, the Arab embraced Alistair warmly and kissed him several times. Alistair protested and fought to get out of the Arab's grip, when the stranger in perfect English and with Marsh's voice exclaimed:

"Ever since I got your telegram I've been wanting to give you a genuine Arabian welcome!"

Marsh finally let Alistair go and laughed out loud. The alarmed Alistair withdrew a bit from his changed friend.

"You'll love it here, once you get used to it," Marsh declared in a carefree voice.

"Well, maybe not Cairo, but all I'm going to show you. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but we had to dispose of Mr. Cassidy in caring hands first, didn't we?"

"Marsh, I've come her to bring you home," Alistair declared desperately.

"Oh yes, I know. I have to go back to England and I will," Marsh sighed.

"But I think we need to disappear for at couple of weeks before going north."

Alistair's heart was finally beating normally again. He considered the proposal.

"Sometimes," he finally said," it is easier to be forgiven than to get permission."

Marsh smiled:

"If we had asked first, we never would have seen the sun rise at The Circles on Midsummer's morning, right?"

He continued, in an eager voice:

"I have found my true home in the Judean hills. We don't have time to go there, but I'll give you a taste of the real life, before we go back to the stuffy drawing rooms of England. As soon as I can get away I'm going to Palestine for good -- and if you still want to join me, I'll wait for you there."

Alistair nodded and felt a warm expectation of adventure grow within. Marsh went over to the chest, put the lamp on the floor, and opened it. He pulled up a pack of clothes and dropped it in front af Alistair:

"We better get you properly dressed."

Alistair went thorugh the bundle while Marsh explained the names and uses of the different pieces of clothing.

"Well, get moving, I want us to get away before dawn. Do you need me to help you get dressed, perhaps?"

Alistair frightfully shook his head and began to slowly remove his jacket.

"I'll get us some coffee," Marsh declared and left the room with his robes swirling around him.

The Arabian clothes felt strangely familiar to Alistair and he enjoyed Marsh's choices for him. While Marsh had been dressed in subdued colours, he had chosen a more flamboyant style for Alistair. Alistair had thought his taste of colourful clothes was a secret, but secrets didn't escape Marsh. Neither the long shirt nor the headcloth left him anything to wish for and the soft, red leather boots made the outfit perfect.

When Marsh returned carrying a small coffee pot and two small cups, the English Alistair had transformed into Ali the Arab. Marsh walked around him, pushed and pulled a bit at the garments and nodded approvingly.

Then he sat on his heels and poured the coffee. Ali sank down on his heels in front of Marsh and received the small cup. Silently they drank three cups each of the strong and spicy coffee. Then Marsh rose and Ali followed his example, but got a bit scared when Marsh stepped close to hin, leant forward and spoke softly into his ear:

"When you want to live as an Arab you have to learn to greet like an Arab. Kiss me!"

Ali stepped back, his heart fluttering and his eyes looking for escape. Marsh gently took hold of his arm:

"Easy now. I'm not going to hurt you... kiss me."

Ali hesitated.

"Look at me!"

Their eyes met. Marsh looked calm, his eyes almost black and nailing Ali to the spot.

"If you want to survive in the desert you have to completely trust your companions. I tell you, I'm not hurting you, Ali! Kiss me..."

Ali almost closed his eyes and let his lips gently touch Marsh's bearded cheek. Marsh put a strong arm around him and pulled him close:

"Now hold me!"

Slowly Ali put his hands against Marsh's back.

"Relax. Hug me!"

Marsh's breath felt warm against his neck. The broad back glowed under his hands. Marsh went on, his warm breath against Ali's ear and neck:

"I almost died the first time an unwashed and bearded Arab smacked me a kiss." He laughed softly:

"You get used to it, Ali, you get used to it. Do relax now."

Slowly Ali let his stiffened shoulders ease. He let Marsh slide deeper into his embrace. The two men stood for a long time, closely embraced in the almost dark room and felt the warmth from each other. Finally they breathed in the same rhythm and Alistair felt totally at ease. Then Marsh slapped his back and withdrew:

"Oh, it's so good to have you here, Ali. By the way -- my name is Mahmoud. Let's get out of town!"

He quickly picked up some of the bundles from the floor and started for the door, when Ali called him back, cupped the back of his head with a hand and kissed his cheek firmly:

"Good to see you too, Mahmoud!"

Mahmoud lifted an eyebrow:

"Learning fast, hm?"

Then they both laughed like a pair of schoolboys. Shortly afterwards they left Cairo on horseback, heading for the desert.

The sun was low in the northwestern sky. Alistair rose and went slowly back towards Badger Old Place. He and Mahmoud had had two wonderful weeks in the desert, had met some of Mahmoud's bedouin friends, visited villages and oases, but most of the time they just rode alone at the outskirts of the desert, rested in a tent of goathair in the midday heat and sat under the starry sky by the fire at night, drinking Mahmoud's strong and spicy coffee, while Mahmoud had taught Ali to speak Arabic and told tales of his adventures and the people he had met during his travels.

The hardest thing to get used to for Ali was the smells: the unwashes bodies, including his own, garlic and goat and camel blended with the smell of smoke and sweet and spicy smells of food. Mahmoud had just laughed at his delicacy, but when they arrived at a village with a market, Mahmoud had bought Ali three gifts: a small box of kohl, a bottle of cheap and flowery perfume and a formidable knife with an ivory handle.

On their first day in the desert, Ali had asked Mahmoud what the black around his eyes was and Mahmoud had answered:

"It's kohl. They say it protects you against the evil eye, but mainly I think it keeps some of the flies away."

When Ali, smelling of cheap perfume, contemplated his first try at the kohl in a piece of mirror Mahmoud had dug out from one of the saddlebags, Mahmoud appeared behind his shoulder:

"Once you grow a proper beard the little bedu girls will be hard to keep at bay..."

Ali dashed at him, Mahmoud dashed back and soon they rolled in the desert sand in a hilarious replay of their childhood fights. But this time Mahmoud had to work hard for his victory.

When two weeks had passed, they returned to Mahmoud's lodging in Cairo, slipped into their English disguise and went to see Mr. Cassidy at the hotel. Alistair found him somewhat subdued, but greatly relieved to see them both well and alive and the next day they embarked on their journey back to England. Alistair wondered at Mr. Cassidy's way of cringing before Marsh -- when he didn't just tried to avoid him. One night, while sharing some of Marsh's Egyptian cigarettes on the deck, Alistair asked him what he had done to Mr. Cassidy. Marsh drew deeply at the cigarette and gazed at the horizon:

"Oh, I just let him know that if he didn't keep absolutely silent about our little adventure I'd drop a few words to your father about his nightly visits at Madame Khaled's establishment in Cairo."

Marsh turned his head and shot Alistair an inscrutable look.

"Maalesh..." Alistair shrugged.