The Turtle of Oman Page 2

“Is there any chance”—Aref leaned forward again, speaking in a weird, high voice like a cartoon—“Dad won’t like it in America and he will fly home instead? And we won’t have to move?”

  His mom laughed. “No chance! We’ve been planning this adventure for years, habibti—you know that. You’ll be excited too when you see your wonderful school in Michigan and meet your new friends and teachers. After only one day of strangeness, it will feel like home to you. I promise. Think of Dad flying all that way by himself just to get our apartment ready for us—you and I still have so much to do here! We have a whole week of good-byes ahead of us. I have one lecture to give at school and we must sort, pack and get everything cleaned up before we leave. Let’s be in a good mood, yes?”

  No. It sounded horrible.

  His parents would be attending a university in Michigan. They would be called “Doctors” when they came home.

  Different Doctors

  1. They are not doctors for sick people.

  2. They will still be professors at the university in Muscat when they come back, just smarter ones called Doctors.

  3. Aren’t they smart enough? Why do they need to be smarter?

  It made no sense to him. The inside of his head felt like a lemon, squeezed and sour. Someone honked—an orange taxi veered in front of their car. His mother pressed hard on the brake. “What bad driving!” she said.

  “But why, Mom? Why do we have to move somewhere? We won’t know where anything is. They might not let me play soccer there.”

  “Aref, we talked about this one hundred times.”

  “I still don’t understand. I won’t have any friends.”

  “Your new friends are waiting for you. They may not know this yet, but they are.”

  The lemon squeezed and puckered.

  “Anyone should be excited to travel to another country and have great adventures,” Aref’s mom said.

  “How do you know?”

  “Don’t forget,” she continued, “you do get to come home in three short years. Sometimes when people leave their countries, they are not returning. That would be so much harder, yes? Think of the refugees we know—their homes or villages were wrecked or ruined, sometimes they have to escape their countries without any suitcases at all. With nothing. They have to be very brave, knowing they might never go back. They are much more brave than we have to be.”

  Aref was sure this was true. His friend Jad was a refugee from the Sudan. His friend Assef was a refugee from Iraq. Many students at the university were refugees. Refugees had to be the bravest people in the world. But he wasn’t one, and he didn’t know as much as they knew.

  Good-bye, Turquoise and Limestone

  Aref and his mom drove up the driveway. Their two-story house in a modern new neighborhood was as yellow as butter. They were the first people who had ever lived in it. All of the white and yellow and brownish houses on their street sat peacefully in the afternoon sunlight. No one else was moving away.

  “But, Mom,” said Aref, “see, I really like this driveway.”

  She laughed, as if that meant nothing at all.

  The driveway was long, smooth and slanted, so the car tilted up to their house, which sat on a sandy hill. Tufts of green and golden grasses grew up in neat, tall bunches along the sides of the house. They looked like ponytails on his friend Sulima’s head. Red granite paving stones led from the driveway to the front step. Aref jumped from one stone to another. “Yallah, Mom, remember when I couldn’t even do this?”

  What if he forgot everything he had already learned, by leaving? Three years of being gone were not short. Not short at all. Anything could happen.

  Aref raced ahead to their heavy yellow metal front door and slapped it. He knew the strong click the handle made when his mother turned the key. The inside of their house was a deep breath welcoming them back—so quiet, so cool. He knew the long golden sofas, the blue rugs with swirling red edges, the coffee table, the bookshelves. A string of golden bells hung from one wall. He had rattled them all his life. He knew the small orange tree in the corner of the dining room that was laden with bitter tiny oranges you weren’t really supposed to eat. Sometimes he broke one in half and placed it open-faced on the patio so birds could nibble it.

  Mish-Mish, which meant “apricot,” ran up to them meowing loudly the moment they entered the house. Aref knew what his large orange cat wanted. He left his shoes at the front door, went to the kitchen and found the shiny silver sack she loved best. He placed three star-shaped cat treats on top of the food in her bowl and watched her crunch them with her teeth. He leaned over and rumpled her fur and stroked the place that looked like a striped sunset on her chest. He said, “Oh, Mish, I can’t stand it.” She waved her fluffy tail. What would she think when they just disappeared?

  Aref ran upstairs to his bedroom.

  “I will miss my school too much!” he shouted to no one, staring at the blue and red soccer ribbons dangling from his bulletin board. He loved his school. It was the only school he had ever known.

  Now he would have to go to a new school in Michigan called Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary. His parents said the school had a space camp. It had International Night, where all the students from different countries shared food and songs. On the website you could see its hallways marked with street signs—Courtesy Avenue, Kindness Boulevard.

  A few months ago, his mom had ordered Aref a biography of Martin Luther King, Jr. They read some of the book out loud together, discussing it.

  An American Hero

  1. Martin Luther King Jr. jumped out a second-story window when his grandmother died.

  2. He was very smart and popular in school. At first he didn’t study too hard, but later became a better student.

  3. Martin Luther King Jr. believed in all people being brothers and sisters. He stood up for other people’s rights and led marches for freedom.

  4. His father, who was also named Martin Luther King, spoke against racial prejudice too.

  The doorbell rang, bing bong! Aref jumped up from his bed and raced downstairs to answer it. His mom stepped into the living room looking curious.

  Diram, his best friend, was standing on the stoop holding a folded white T-shirt, his own mother behind him. The two moms hugged.

  Diram laughed as he always did, with three short bursts, “Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  He held up the T-shirt. Their photos were on it, with blue stars floating around their heads. Aref took it with surprise and turned to show it to his mom. “Look!” he said. He had never seen school pictures printed on a T-shirt before.

  “Now you can’t forget me!” said Diram. Aref’s mother waved them in toward the living room, but Diram’s mother shook her head and said, “Sorry, we can only stay one minute, we have to pick the twins up at ballet.”

  Diram dodged into the house right under his mother’s outstretched arm anyway. He ran up the stairs to Aref’s room, Aref following right behind him, and stopped short at the doorway.

  “Aref! I am going to miss your room!” said Diram.

  “I am too!” They had had so much fun in this room together, making tents with blankets, camping out on the floor, dumping the tub of Legos to build new, tall cities. . . .

  “Wait, I have something for you too,” said Aref. He gulped. This was going to be hard, but he wanted to do it. He slid open his rock collection drawer and took out the turquoise stone sitting by itself in its folded paper box. Diram loved this stone best. Aref held it out to him. “Here, keep it.”

  “Walla! Are you sure?” asked Diram. “But you love this one!”

  “I know,” said Aref. “But you love it too. Take it.”

  Diram clutched it in both his hands, smashing the paper a bit, and ran down the stairs to show his mom.

  Aref followed.

  “Look what Aref gave me!” Diram said, holding it up.

  Both moms smiled. “Nice!” said Diram’s mother.

  “I will keep it on my desk,” Diram said.

 
Aref was already missing it a little bit, but he smiled. “Great!”

  Diram and Aref had been best friends since kindergarten and now they would not be together. They were the two best soccer players. Diram was the stronger player, scoring the most goals. Aref was second best. He didn’t mind. He had less pressure. They even had fun when they lost. Then they would talk about the game, figuring out what to do better next time. They both loved other sports too and hoped to play more of them.

  “So, don’t forget me, okay?” said Diram.

  “I won’t forget you,” said Aref. “Will you forget me?”

  “No!” said Diram. “We made two shirts. The other one is mine. And . . .” He held up the turquoise stone.

  “Wait a minute,” Aref’s mother said. She dashed to the side of the house, and returned with a clay pot of mint. “Here,” she said to Diram’s mother. “This is the best mint I ever found so far, it loves Omani heat. For your yard!”

  “We will think of you with every leaf,” said Diram’s mother.

  Diram and his mother got back into their car, waving. Aref stood in the doorway holding his shirt.

  “What a nice surprise,” his mom said. She looked at him. “Was that hard? The turquoise?”

  He smiled. “It was hard.” He liked that she knew that.

  She went back inside.

  Aref sat down on the step for a moment to think about it all. He was surprised when another car, a blue one, pulled up before he had even gone back inside. It was Sulima and her dad! Aref actually turned and rang his own doorbell himself, so his mom would come outside again and see them too. Bing bong!

  Sulima jumped from the backseat of the car and ran up to him. “Aref! I was worried you had left already!”

  “Only my dad left,” he said. “Diram was just here!”

  “Muna and Lena too?”

  “No, they were at ballet.”

  “It’s like a parade,” said Aref’s mom, stepping outside. “Hi Sulima!”

  Sulima held out two packages, one for each of them, wrapped in yellow tissue. Aref opened his and found a blue box with OMAN painted on the top of it. A darker blue sea wave was scrolled across the bottom. “It’s for pencils,” Sulima said.

  Aref’s mother opened her package. Inside was a straw fan woven with pink and turquoise colors. “Remember?” Sulima said. “When I borrowed your fan for the school play and then I lost it? Here’s a new one to replace it!”

  Aref’s mom hugged Sulima. “You are so sweet to remember. I’ll take this with me!”

  Sulima’s father was standing by the car smiling. He used to be a deep-sea diver. “We’ll miss you all!” he called, waving.

  The thought struck Aref, did he need to give Sulima a stone too?

  “Wait here a minute,” he said, and he ran upstairs by himself.

  Sulima was Aref’s best friend of the girls his own age. She liked digging and rocks too. She told Aref she was going to be an architect or the president of a construction company someday. Their fathers taught in the same biology department at the university, but her father specialized in marine biology. She had lived with her parents in the United States for two years before she and Aref ever went to first grade. He had to give her a stone.

  She liked the rectangular chunk of pure white limestone that looked like snow.

  He pulled it out of his drawer, pausing only a second, and carried it downstairs. He held it out to her. “For you! I’ll see enough snow.”

  She looked amazed. “Thank you, Aref!” she said, clutching it tightly in both hands. “Say hi to the United States for me.”

  Aref frowned.

  “Remember what I told you?” Sulima asked. “The zoos and roller coasters and trains and skating rinks are really fun. The ice cream stores have too many flavors, even more than here. You’re lucky!”

  Oman had no trains. But Aref didn’t feel lucky. “I hope so,” he said. “I really like this pencil box, thank you.”

  Mostly he liked that it said OMAN on it.

  “Write to me,” said Sulima. “Bye!”

  She ran back to the car and hopped in, waving. Her father, who had already said good-bye to Aref’s parents more than once, waved from the driver’s seat, calling out, “Maasalameh!”

  Aref’s mother put a hand on his shoulder. “You have so many nice friends,” she said.

  She paused before they stepped back inside. “We still need to say good-bye to the Al-Jundi family,” she said, looking down the street at their neighbor’s plum-colored house.

  Saying good-bye was exhausting.

  The Most Important Word in the World

  Aref ran upstairs to put his new T-shirt and pencil box into his empty gigantic shiny green suitcase that had been sitting for weeks beside his bed. Its mouth was open. It had three zippered pockets on the outside and four pouches on the inside. The lining of the suitcase was printed with blue crown-shaped emblems, like a scarf or a tablecloth.

  A cat would definitely fit inside it. Even two small children would fit inside it. He had picked it out himself at the suitcase store with his parents.

  Then he fell onto his bed. “I will always like this bed best!” he yelled. He liked the tall wooden bookshelves in his bedroom, the giant boxes of toys from when he was little pushed into the closet, his room’s blue ceiling and the lamp over his bed, so he could reach up and click it on while lying on his pillows. He liked the map of the world taped to the wall. His father had poked a pin with a red head into the state of MICHIGAN.

  My New Home

  1. Michigan has more lakes and ponds than any other state. It has 64,980 inland lakes and ponds. Maybe I will fall into one.

  2. Ann Arbor’s nickname is Tree Town.

  3. Mackinac Island, Michigan, has no cars on it. You have to take a horse and buggy, or walk. This seems like Oman in the old days. Also it is strange since Michigan is famous for car factories.

  4. The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island features the world’s longest porch.

  Aref’s twin cousins, Hani and Shadi, two years younger than he was, would be moving into his bedroom while he was gone. His cousins and aunt and uncle, who’d had a job transfer, were coming from Dubai, where the skyscrapers poked the clouds, to live in Muscat, right after Aref and his mom left. It was perfect timing. Everybody could share. It was disgusting and upsetting, actually.

  Hani and Shadi would pull two chairs up to Aref’s worktable instead of just one, while Aref was far away, in a room he’d never yet seen. They would sleep in his double bed. They would mess everything up. They would look out the window and hear the call to prayer floating across the valley and that sound would be theirs, not his.

  They would listen to the cool hush of the air conditioner through his vent. They would use his drawers. This really upset him. What if they broke the blue porcelain knobs off? He couldn’t remember how careful they were.

  Aref knew for sure he could not leave his official rock collection, now missing two favorites, given to him for his birthday by his parents years ago, in his drawer. He ran to the kitchen. “Mom, I need tissue. Bubble wrap. Something for packing, hurry.” He needed to wrap the rock collection in a special box, tape it shut and hide it under his bed, or on a high shelf in the hall closet where no one would ever look. Chips and chunks of serpentine and diorite, greenstone, basalt, each with its own shape and its story. . . .

  “It feels lonesome without your father here already,” said his mom, handing him a roll of paper towels and some tissues. “Oh well, we’ll see him in a week! What are you doing? Are you packing? Would you like to come peel some carrots and help me? I need a helper right now—set the table, pour the water. . . .”

  “I will,” said Aref. He was feeling anxious. He dropped the tissues and paper towels onto a chair, picked up the little peeler and a scrubbed carrot from the cutting board, and stared at it.

  “Mom, could Hani and Shadi just sleep in the living room?” he asked.

  “For three years?”

  “Yes
.”

  “You are so silly! You don’t mind sharing.”

  “Well, I really do. I just pretended I liked it, for school. We had to.”

  Miss Nuha, Aref’s teacher, whom everyone loved so much, said the word “sharing” was the most important word in the world. She said if people thought first about sharing, they would always get along and the world could be more balanced—those who had too much could share more with those who didn’t have enough. Was this true?

  Aref and his classmates made posters to illustrate sharing—painting, drawing or collaging images that popped into their minds. Aref painted green and brown speckled turtles on his poster, sharing a wide, dreamy beach. Turtles shared plankton and water and waves and sand. He had fun painting their shells. Sulima painted a much better picture than his—long lines of friends who looked like people in their real class with their arms around one another. Diram painted bright cars in a parking lot, sharing space.

  Aref didn’t mind sharing sunflower seeds. He didn’t mind sharing a crunchy shrimp or two from his Fisherman’s Basket at Zad restaurant or the huge pieces of flat bread at the Turkish House. He didn’t mind sharing soccer balls or his mini-car collection, which he kept in a tall metal canister—but his friends had to put them back before they left—or pages from a giant tablet of drawing paper.

  It was easy to share when you still had what you needed. When you had enough for yourself. Or when you could get whatever you had shared right back again—like his cars.

  “Sweet boy, the kids of Ann Arbor, Michigan, will be sharing their town with you too,” said Aref’s mom.

  “I hate sharing,” he said.

  “No, you don’t.” Aref’s mom put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his face. “A month from now, all your worries will be gone. You will see how silly this was. You will feel excited every morning, just the way you always do.”

  Aref buried his face in her side. He wasn’t crying. “I don’t think so,” he said.