The Turtle of Oman Read online

“I think it’s in between. I think it’s just itself, not like either of them.”

  The jeep was hardly a smooth ride, but Aref loved it. He pretended he was riding a horse. Sulima took horseback riding lessons at the Muscat Equestrian School and Aref had gone with her parents once, to observe a special display of proud Arabian horses (wearing flower necklaces and headdresses) doing tricks and jumps. Sulima loved it, but Aref’s parents had never wanted him to ride a horse. They were afraid he’d hurt himself.

  Aref gripped the door handle and fiddled with the radio with his other hand. Voices floated in from outer space. He liked the crackling, the scraps of messages and music that didn’t really connect. Arabic and English and Farsi mixed together when you flipped quickly from one station to another.

  They heard a faraway voice mentioning “A NEW MUSEUM!!!” and Aref said, “Where do you think this is coming from?”

  “Abu Dhabi—for sure,” Sidi said.

  Aref twiddled the dial, letting more voices crackle out.

  “Basra! Bahrain! Doha!” said Sidi.

  Monsieur rumbled past long lines of palm trees and wadis. They passed an ancient sand-colored fort with holes in the walls. In the distance loomed an old blue-tiled mosque with a minaret. They sang a bird song in Arabic, with a chorus of “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” and Aref clapped his hands. Sidi snapped the fingers of one hand. They waved at people driving in the other direction and those people waved back.

  And sure enough, just as Aref had known they would, they took detours. They turned down a tiny road near a donkey stall and stopped at a field so Sidi could collect some stones that were orange, speckled and strange.

  “I think these fell from another planet,” he said. “They were meteorites that hit the earth. They came blasting down when I was a boy and split into pieces. I have always meant to stop. And look! So many. Still here.”

  Sidi dropped one into Aref’s hand and the other stones into a canvas bag in the back of his jeep. Aref stared at his chunk of meteorite, which seemed very fresh despite being so old, and whispered, “Hello, outer space. Hello, faraway galaxies.”

  When they pulled in at Mohammed’s shop, which seemed to Aref to sit too far off the road to have any customers ever, there was bad news for Sidi—another man named Sami was sitting behind the dusty counter. He said Mohammed caught a ride into Muscat to check on his foot.

  “Harram, what’s wrong with his foot?” Sidi asked.

  “If he knew, he would fix it!” said Sami, and the two men laughed together.

  “Well, tell him my two feet stopped to wish his foot well,” said Sidi, “and Aref’s feet did too, and we will come back another time, in three years maybe.”

  “I will tell him,” said Sami. “I am sure his foot will be grateful. Would you like some falafel? I just made a fresh batch.”

  Sidi bought two steaming hot falafel sandwiches, which they ate outside by a chipped green plant pot shaped like a frog.

  Then they zoomed down the golden-brown highway like two meteorites speeding through the heavens. It was incredible how much energy a falafel sandwich could give you. Sidi put on his sunglasses and sang a song in Arabic about a beautiful day and sunshine bathing the ground. Aref noticed the jeep rising to a higher altitude, its nose tipping up, up.

  Before they got well into the mountains, Sidi pulled over to check out a watermelon stand. Ripe chunks of deep red watermelon were displayed on a table with a plastic cover over them, like a transparent tent, keeping off flies. The watermelon man seemed to be sleeping in his plastic chair. He jumped up and offered them samples, which were sweet and ripe and juicy. Sidi bought a watermelon and placed it on Monsieur’s little backseat.

  “Seen anything interesting lately?” Sidi asked.

  The watermelon man told him some giant white cranes had been gathering behind the village at a pond, at sundown. The babies had already hatched, but the nests were still there.

  “You think there might be any around the pond right now?” Sidi asked.

  The man shrugged. “Don’t know. You could go and look.” He pointed behind him to a small road Aref hadn’t even noticed. Aref and Sidi took a little hike that way.

  Down the road lay a village of a few scattered houses, brown as putty or mud, and behind those houses was a shining pond as round as a coin. Some people stepped out of their houses to wave at them.

  At the pond, Sidi spotted a few large nests of woven reeds and sticks tucked by the banks. Sidi motioned Aref to come over and said, “Look! Maybe they’ll use them again for their next eggs.” But not a crane was in sight. Sidi glanced around the bright sky. “Bet they’re off having lunch like we did. Or maybe they’ve gone to another country too. Did you know that sometimes the father cranes sit on the nests just like the moms? They share the job. Have you ever heard a crane making wild trumpet sounds at dusk?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll put that on our agenda. To come back here someday and hide in those tall reeds over there and wait for them. Good idea?”

  “Very good.”

  Almost Lost

  To get to the Night of a Thousand Stars camp, they had to drive through more brown mountains, green valleys and curvy passes, then off the paved road into a huge desert. There were still mountains all around. Sidi paused for a moment, looking out carefully, to make sure this was the place to turn. Then he drove straight onto the uneven golden sand. It felt strange driving without a road.

  “This looks like the moon,” Sidi said, as he steered with mighty effort, turning the wheel hand over hand. Monsieur careened forward.

  “How do you know that?” asked Aref.

  “It’s how I dream of the moon,” said Sidi. “No signs. No roads. Just a huge blankness.”

  Aref stared at him. “I look at the moon, but never think about being there on its surface. Do you really dream of that?”

  “Of course,” said Sidi. “I am secretly an astronaut. Except—oh right, I don’t like to travel. Never mind.”

  The jeep seemed to be slipping and sliding in the sand.

  Sidi turned the wheel hard to the left. He held it tightly.

  “Are we okay?” Aref asked.

  “I remember this strange part of the trip from the other time we came here,” Sidi said. “It goes on for a few miles.”

  “It seems really long,” said Aref. He was gripping his door handle, jostling side to side.

  Monsieur stirred up a big sandy dust cloud—some of the dust came in through the windows, which made Sidi cough. He stopped driving till he finished coughing. “We’d better close these windows all the way. Sorry, I know it feels as hot as a stove with them closed.”

  Sidi looked to the right and the left. Then he stared at his compass with the big black and white face attached to the dashboard.

  Aref couldn’t see any camp anywhere. “Are we okay?” he repeated. “Where are we? What direction do we want?”

  “Southwest. We might be lost.”

  The sand stretched out like a giant sea—rumpled and brown and deep and entirely empty of trees or other vehicles or people. A ring of mountains still surrounded them. “It’s huge,” Aref whispered.

  “And it’s not dead, either,” said Sidi. “Some people act as if a desert is dead, but it’s very alive and constantly shifting and changing.”

  A string of camels, some big ones and some smaller, like teen camels, gracefully crossed along the top of a dune way up ahead of them on the horizon. They walked in a perfect line, as if they had very good manners. But Aref knew camels sometimes got irritated if people made them carry things and walk for a long time. All of a sudden, they might go berserk and start spitting. The camel that had licked his head out here three years ago was very sweet, though.

  Aref wished they could talk to the man who was riding on the first camel, and ask him for directions, but the caravan was too far away. Another man who looked like a shepherd in a flapping cloak walked behind the line of camels.

  “I wonder if they take turn
s riding,” said Sidi. “Maybe not. I wish I could talk to them, find out where they’re going or coming from . . . I wonder if they’re Bedouins. See that fat saddle-bag under the first one? They’re carrying their pans and food and water in there. Their blankets. It’s their suitcase, all wrapped up. Everything they need, so they can camp at night. He’s sitting on his traveling suitcase.”

  “Should we hike over and talk to them?” asked Aref.

  But Sidi said it was getting too late. He didn’t want to be lost in the desert. The sky turned orange and puffed. The camels shrank into little moving spots.

  Finally, when Aref was really starting to feel a little worried, the Night of a Thousand Stars camp appeared in the distance, with its loops of glittering white lights strung from posts and a few thin, deserty trees scattered around as if outlining an oasis. “There it is!” Aref cried, very happy the long drive was almost over.

  Sidi parked Monsieur beneath a crooked desert tree. He took a deep breath and said, “Yes! I was getting worried. Did you know that? Could you tell? I tried to hide it. I thought we might have to sleep in the jeep. And that is not good sleep. Jeep sleep.”

  No Roof

  It was strange to arrive anywhere new. You felt awkward for about ten minutes, then felt yourself sinking into the new scene, becoming part of it very quickly.

  Aref sat down on a green wooden stool that turned out to have one leg shorter than the others, so it rocked. He switched to a small blue chair and adjusted it on the hard earth patio decked with small metal tables. Sidi chose a larger red chair with yellow flowers painted across its back rung. The chairs had flat cloth pillows on them. Some people from England were eating and drinking at another table. Three older Omani men in dishdashas and hats sat smoking a hubble-bubble in the corner, speaking softly in Arabic. One was rocking in a rocking chair. Sidi raised his hand and nodded to both groups.

  An Indian man named Naveed greeted them. “Welcome! How was your trip?” He complimented Aref’s starry shirt. “In a few minutes you will see even more stars in the sky—keep looking up!”

  Sidi held out the watermelon to him. “My friend, we brought you a present.”

  Naveed bowed and looked happy. “My favorite!” he said.

  Naveed was wearing a yellow turban. He brought them lemonade in clay cups on a tray. “I will be back momentarily with the rest of your food.” Then he served them curried vegetables and mounds of very fragrant rice and hot bread on large clay plates. Aref was extremely hungry. A fire blazed in a pit lined with stones. The desert became chilly the moment the sun went down. Aref stared at the sinking sun with a softly hypnotized feeling.

  “Oh my!” said Sidi. “This is delicious! My stomach is happy! And my legs are cheering in relief, to be out of the jeep!”

  Aref wondered, where had this food come from? Was there a cave in the earth filled with secret refrigerators? Did a helicopter fly low overhead and drop food supplies down in a basket attached to a parachute? It was very mysterious. When Naveed returned to ask if they would like second helpings, Aref hadn’t even finished his giant pile of rice yet.

  Sidi put his hand over his stomach and said, “I am grateful, kind sir, but no. How long have you been out here, cooking all these tasty dinners for wanderers?”

  Naveed laughed and shook his head. “Time runs together. One month, one year . . . I think I have been here almost two years. Or maybe since the beginning of time! My brother used to work here and I took his job when he returned to India for his marriage.”

  “Were you scared when you came?” Aref asked.

  Naveed smiled kindly. “No. The desert is a friendly place.”

  Far in the distance, at that exact moment, they heard a weird scream. It didn’t sound friendly at all.

  “What’s that?” Aref asked.

  “The hyena, ” said Naveed. “Big teeth.” He opened his mouth hyena-style to show them his own teeth.

  Aref shuddered and asked, “Does it come close to this camp?”

  “We hope not,” said Naveed. “No, I think not. I think you will not be seeing it, no.” He was shaking his head to make Aref feel better.

  “Don’t worry, Aref,” said Sidi. He was smiling and didn’t look nervous at all. “Their voices are much scarier from a distance than close up. If you meet one, they act scared of you.”

  “Is it like a wolf or a fox?”

  “A little bit, yes,” said Naveed.

  Sidi sat comfortably in his red chair moving his prayer beads quietly through his fingertips. He looked peaceful. “We came here once before,” he said, “when this boy was younger . . . your brother must have been here then, but we didn’t get to spend the night because a sandstorm was whirling up.”

  “No sandstorms tonight,” said Naveed. “Very quiet!”

  Right then, the hyena howled again and everyone laughed.

  Sidi and Aref washed up in the camp bathroom, a little square building made of brown cement painted with a single dark blue frill around the top of the wall. It had no roof on it. They could look right up at the twinkling stars with no trouble. Amazingly, a single silver faucet offered a stream of cool running water.

  They brushed their teeth standing side by side. Then they stepped out of the bathroom and stared up at the sky some more. The Milky Way stretched and glittered like a massive white sparkling ribbon. It cast a softened glow across a great canopy of sky.

  “Oh . . . I see some beautiful planets that I haven’t seen since before we had lights,” said Sidi. “We slept on the roof all summer long when I was a boy and the Milky Way poured its stories down on our heads and into our dreams. . . .”

  “I want to do that, Sidi,” Aref said. “You always talk about it. Can’t we still do it?”

  Sidi pointed out a distant planet with a reddish-orange tint and said, “I think that’s the one we used to wish on. Yes, we could still do it. We could put two cots or mats up on your roof or mine. You could spend the night at my house before you go. Why not? Why haven’t we been doing that? We forgot! Air conditioning makes people forget.”

  They walked slowly back toward the patio. One of the English men was playing a guitar near the fire pit and singing softly. Sidi and Aref stood for a minute and listened. Aref had heard this song before, at school. “Turn, turn, turn.” Aref mouthed the words.

  Naveed guided them to a black-and-brown striped camel hair tent on a raised wooden platform. They would sleep on cozy narrow beds covered with dark purple and blue stitched quilts. An old red rug covered the floor, and some large maroon satin pillows sat stacked in the corner. Aref raced around investigating. He pointed at the bed farthest from the door. “That’s my bed!” he said, thinking of the hyena. “This one’s yours.” He patted Sidi’s quilt.

  Sidi sat down on his bed, smiling.

  Aref opened a drawer in the small wooden table between the beds and pulled out a flashlight, clicking it on and off. A kerosene lantern on the table flickered softly. Their huge shadows danced on the tent walls.

  “I like a bed inside a tent,” said Aref. “It seems better than a bed in a house. Why don’t we live in tents all the time?”

  “Good idea,” Sidi said. “When you come back from the United States, we’ll both turn into Bedouins.”

  “We’ll change our names.”

  “We’ll change everything.”

  “We’ll cook soup in a big pot over a fire.”

  “We’ll learn how to play the guitar.”

  “When I get old enough to drive the jeep, we’ll travel back here and ride camels instead. You can sit on the suitcase.”

  They climbed into their beds. Aref blew out the lamp.

  Sidi snored.

  Sidi the Sphinx

  In the morning, very loud desert birds were chattering wildly in the skinny tree branches right outside the tent. Birds did not talk that loudly in Muscat.

  Aref wanted to take a shower in the bathroom without a roof. The water was so cold, he screamed like a hyena. His shower was extremel
y short. He ran back to the tent wrapped in a towel to get dressed.

  “Why were those birds so noisy?” he asked Sidi as he shivered inside the towel.

  “They were cheering for morning.”

  “Why?”

  “They like it.”

  Aref pulled on his sweatshirt from school—thank goodness he had brought it. They stepped out of the tent onto the small platform, then the sand. The desert air was surprisingly cold. “Give me your hand!” Sidi said. “My legs are so stiff! I am becoming a Pyramid. No, more like a Sphinx. Or let me lean on your shoulder—here—ow—I think I got a leg cramp from standing up crookedly this morning.”

  It was harder to walk on drifty sand than on pavement, if you weren’t used to it. Desert sand wasn’t packed hard, like sand at the beach.

  “What are we going to do now?” Aref asked. He felt like running or doing a cartwheel.

  Sidi raised both his arms high in the air. “Here, please join me in exercise,” he said. “I am doing my morning stretches. They are keeping me flexible and young.”

  Aref copied him. Sidi began moving his arms in high circles like a windmill and Aref did the same. They tipped their heads from side to side, stretching their necks. “Ahh, doesn’t that feel better?” Sidi asked.

  They walked back over to the green metal tables and chairs in the camp’s dining area and Naveed greeted them. “Uncle! Good morning! Would you prefer coffee or tea?”

  Aref thought it was funny how he called Sidi “uncle.”

  “Can I run for a minute?” he asked.

  “You can run for ten!” So Aref took off, making a big looping circle out into the pliant sand and looking back on the camp. He saw Sidi pointing to another line of camels crossing the top of a distant brown sand dune. Aref counted them—seven. The camels looked straight ahead when they walked. This group had only one shepherd, not two. Where were they going? They weren’t headed to Muscat, that was for sure. They were headed in the other direction. To Yemen, maybe.