Iris and Ruby by Rosie Thomas

storeys that reduced the visible sky to a thin strip. There were wooden benches lining the house walls, all heaped high with vegetables and fruit. One stall was a mound of figs with skin as smooth and matte as the softest kid leather, another was a tangle of bitter-looking green leaves. Mamdooh stopped, planting his legs apart and surveying the merchandise.
    Stallholders surrounded him at once, thrusting up polished aubergines and bunches of white onions for his attention. Some of the offerings he waved away, others he condescended to pinch or to sniff at. Once an item had received his approval, there was a convoluted exchange obviously relating to the price. Finally, at length and with ceremony, a purchase was wrapped in a twist of paper in exchange for some coins and Mamdooh stowed it in his straw basket before moving a couple of paces onwards.
    Ruby had never seen shopping taken as seriously as this. She found a space against a dusty wall and watched in fascination.
    Mamdooh glanced back once or twice to check on her. When he realised that she wasn’t going to interrupt him, or wander off and cause trouble, he gave her a small nod of approval. And then, when his shopping was complete he tilted his head to indicate that she was to follow him. At the corner he spoke to an old man sitting on a stool beside a couple of rough sacks. Another coin changed hands and now Mamdooh passed the twist of paper straight to Ruby. She bit into a sweet, creamy white nut kernel.
    Mamdooh treated her just as if she were a kid, she thought. It was quite annoying, but at the same time – well, it was restful, in a way.
    They threaded their way back through the porters and tourists and stallholders and customers, a slow mass of hot humanity that made urgency impossible. Ruby tucked herself behind Mamdooh and watched the faces as they bobbed towards her and were borne past.
    Slanting sunlight just ahead revealed an open square. There were walls of sepia-coloured stone, the dust-coated leaves of rubber trees casting patches of shade on broken pavements, and a pair of faded sun umbrellas rooted in pillars of concrete. At two tin tables, bare except for ashtrays and a folded newspaper, sat a handful of old men.
    They raised their hands or mumbled greetings to Mamdooh, who responded with two or three brief words. Several pairs of eyes, red-rimmed or milky, turned towards Ruby.
    She understood the situation at once. Mamdooh came out to do the household’s shopping, then retired to this café or whatever it was for an hour’s talk with his friends, and her presence was an impediment to this pleasant interval in his day. She lifted her hands and raised her shoulders in apology as Mamdooh prepared to move on.
    She said hastily, ‘I can find my way back, you know, ifyou want to stay with your friends for a bit. I found my way last night, didn’t I?’ She remembered Nafouz and his taxi.
    Mamdooh looked genuinely shocked at this suggestion.
    ‘That would not be at all right, Miss. We will be going home at once. Mum-reese will look for you, perhaps.’
    The perhaps , and the pinch of the lips that went with it, betrayed more hope than conviction, but Ruby knew there was nothing more to be said about going back by herself. Farewells were exchanged with the old men and Mamdooh sailed across the square. But now, Ruby sensed, she was walking with him rather than in his wake. The impression was confirmed when he remarked in a conversational voice, ‘Market, very old also.’
    ‘How old?’
    ‘Seven hundred year.’
    ‘Ha. Just think of all the buying of things.’ Centuries, Ruby thought, of leather and herbs and perfume and figs. The notion made her shiver a little.
    ‘Selling,’ Mamdooh corrected her. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Selling, very important.’
    They both laughed at that. Mamdooh’s shoulders shook and his head tipped back, but his tarboosh didn’t fall off.
    They came to the wide street from a completely unexpected