The Turtle of Oman Read online

  They sat back down at the same round metal table and ate the scrambled eggs, which tasted delicious even to Aref, and flat bread and watermelon chunks that Naveed served them.

  “You are a magician, brother!” Sidi said to Naveed.

  “I like eggs now,” said Aref.

  They pitched little breadcrumbs to a hopping bird with black-and-white polka-dotted wings. Naveed was making coffee for Sidi in an old-fashioned fancy metal pot over the fire. The English people had disappeared.

  “They went looking for birds very early,” Naveed said. “I sent them to the stone ridge at the second dune.” He pointed beyond the high point where camels walked.

  “Bird-watching?” asked Sidi. “Well, we are bird-watching right from our chairs. Or maybe the birds are watching us.” A smaller, speckled-wing bird landed right on Aref’s foot, peered up at him, and flew away again.

  “Look at him,” said Aref. “He’s so curious. He doesn’t seem frightened at all.”

  “Why would he be frightened?” Sidi asked. “We never hurt him. We only feed him.”

  “So he likes us,” said Aref. “I like him too. He could be my pet. But he wouldn’t enjoy Mish-Mish. Let’s stay here forever, Sidi. Let’s live at this camp.”

  Sidi put his hand over Aref’s. “I love it too. But this camp isn’t going anywhere. It will be here when you return. First, you have to go on your journey. Your parents are so proud to attend a famous graduate school and you will enjoy your new school . . . it will be fun. Everyone in your family will be going to school at once.”

  “I would rather stay here!”

  “Don’t worry, you will come back. In three years, you will be back.”

  Aref was blinking hard to keep the tears inside his eyes. How many were in there, anyway? Were eyes little factories that made as many tears as you needed?

  “I want to be with you,” said Aref. “Every single day.”

  Sidi shook his head as if he were going to say “no” but instead he said, “Of course! You will still be with me. Always. Study hard and tell me what you learn. Find me some rare American rocks. Make your father mail them to me. We’ll send messages all kinds of ways.”

  There was a long silence in which a desert wind as huge as a highway blew right past them. Sidi closed his eyes. “Listen to that,” he said. Aref put his head down on his folded arms on the table.

  “You can tell me about American policemen and basketball and muffins,” said Sidi. “I heard they have a lot of muffins over there.” Aref didn’t say anything. So Sidi went on. “Or maybe, you could tell me about the lakes and . . . maybe you will meet some fishermen. I wonder if they use nets or not. I will practice my e-mail techniques and turn into an expert for you.”

  This made Aref laugh. “No, Sidi, I don’t believe you!”

  Sidi shook his head. “Trust me, it will not be easy, but I will do it. I will even go to a computer class at the library if I have to. Then every single one of us will be going to school.”

  Aref turned his face away, wiped his eyes, and felt a tiny bit better. Sidi gave him hope, anyway. They could still stay connected.

  “Why don’t you take another little run before it gets too hot?” Sidi suggested. “I’ll just sit here and watch you. I’ll do Aref-watching instead of bird-watching. Run in a big circle around the camp—see what it looks like from the camels’ point of view.”

  So Aref took off again, jogging. He headed up toward the dune. Since the soft sand absorbed each foot deeply, he felt as if he were running in slow motion, sinking a little with each footfall. A circle of birds flapped up from the brushy spot where they were nibbling, leaving little puffs of dust. A speckled brown lizard family stood in a circle with their heads together, having a morning conversation.

  Aref looked back at Sidi sitting in the chair, watching him. He waved. Sidi, his white beard gleaming, his shining damp hair combed back, raised one hand and held it in the air. Aref blinked. Right then he knew that moment was clearly written in his brain forever.

  No Missing Feathers

  When Aref returned from his triple circular jog, huffing and puffing because of all that sinking, Sidi handed him a triangular white stone with crooked lines engraved across its surface. “See this? It’s the map of the run you just took. See, there’s where you turned and came back. I found it under my chair while you were running.”

  Aref took the stone and held it between his palms. “It’s so hot.” He stared at it. The crisscrossing lines really did look like a map.

  “Now look at this!” Sidi said, pointing off to the right.

  A man they hadn’t seen before, wearing a leather jacket and red pants with fringes, was walking toward them with a giant falcon sitting on his shoulder. The falcon had a leather hood on its head and was sitting upright and still, with wings tightly tucked at its sides. Aref had seen falcons before, but he’d never met one personally.

  “Marhaba—hello!” said the man. “My name is Jamal. You like to meet my friend?”

  “Walla—sure!” said Aref.

  Sidi greeted Jamal, who said, “I am staying at the camp for a week, doing some training with my bird.”

  “Were you here last night?” Sidi asked.

  Jamal shook his head. “We weren’t sleeping—we were off on the ridge staying awake for many hours.”

  Aref knew this was how a trainer disciplined a falcon—they both had to stay awake for a long time till the falcon took orders properly. It seemed a little extreme.

  Sidi looked interested. “Aref, did you know the falcon is the fastest flyer in the world?” he asked.

  “Of course,” said Aref. “They can peck your eyes out too. Their beaks are very strong.”

  “That’s true,” Jamal said. “My friend’s name is Fil-Fil—pepper—for the spots on his wings.” He took Fil-Fil’s hood off. Aref stepped two paces back, without thinking.

  When Jamal made a clucking sound with his tongue, Fil-Fil shot off his arm like a rocket. He soared in the direction the camels had gone, becoming a distant spot. He glided high, then dipped lower and shot up again, circling twice, and zooming back toward them—a wildly speeding blur. It appeared he could change directions like magic, swooping and veering. Coming closer again, Fil-Fil circled their heads.

  Aref covered his face. “Yow, that’s too CRAZY!!!!”

  “Look! Look!” said Jamal. “Watch what he does now!”

  Jamal whistled sharply. Somehow, Fil-Fil put on his bird-brakes high in the air, curled around, dipped down and managed to land perfectly on Jamal’s arm. He tipped forward to catch his balance, then rocked back and was still. Sidi and Aref looked at each other and opened their eyes wide.

  “You want him to land on your arm?” Jamal asked Aref. “You want to hold him?”

  “Sure!” Aref said, after a second. He felt a little scared when he said it.

  “He is the smartest bird I ever knew,” said Jamal. “I have known many falcons personally, but Fil-Fil is outstanding. He flies farther, faster, and always comes back instantly to my command. We were just having an intense training session the other night because he was making up his own rules. Please notice, he seems proud to meet you. He likes it when people watch him fly.”

  Jamal pulled a second leather landing pad out of a pocket in his jacket and wrapped it around Aref’s arm, fastening it tightly with some strips of cloth. Aref blinked. He stared at Fil-Fil’s huge, hooked claws.

  Jamal placed his large arm alongside Aref’s much smaller one and clucked to the falcon. The bird stepped over onto Aref’s arm, staring straight into his face. Aref took a deep breath. He slowly turned his face to Sidi. “Look!”

  “He’s excited,” said Jamal. “He wants to fly some more.”

  Sidi was watching everything closely, not saying a word.

  Jamal made a tiny whistling sound and Fil-Fil expanded his speckled wings, opening them wide as if displaying their glory. Then Jamal clucked again. Fil-Fil rose up with a strong spring into the air. Aref’s a
rm fell hard when he launched. Fil-Fil zigzagged, soared, dipped, curled, and circled.

  “He has the gift of motion,” Sidi whispered.

  “In a minute, I’ll tell you to lift your arm to invite him back,” Jamal said to Aref. “But let him fly a little more first. He has so much energy.”

  “Did you hear about the Falcon Hospital in Abu Dhabi?” asked Sidi. “They have two hundred air-conditioned rooms for the birds.”

  “Yes,” said Jamal. “And they also give the birds passports when they leave, declaring them healed or cured of whatever problem they had. I am glad to say Fil-Fil has never had to go there for any reason.”

  Now Aref wanted to go there, just to see it. What would it feel like to be able to spring into the air and soar with your own body, no airplane beneath you, nothing? He knew that even the loss of a single feather could destabilize a falcon—sometimes, at the bird hospital, a falcon who was missing a feather or two had to have some other feathers stuck or sewn back into its wings, so it could regain flying balance again. They had talked about all this in his science class, studying birds and animals of the region. He wished his whole class were here right now.

  Fil-Fil dove dramatically. He swooped around and zoomed into the sky for two more wide circles. Aref, staring up, realized he was panting.

  “Raise your arm!” Jamal instructed. Aref gulped and lifted his arm. Fil-Fil swooped toward him and landed cleanly, as if they had been practicing for weeks.

  “I love it!” Aref said.

  “My heart is pounding,” Sidi said.

  Then with little murmurs, Jamal coaxed Fil-Fil onto his own arm, bowed to Sidi and Aref, and carried him to the side of the patio, to a falcon roost Aref hadn’t even noticed the night before. He put the hood back on Fil-Fil’s head, and attached his leg to a large ring on the roost, with a clip-on leash.

  Naveed came out from his own small tent and started clearing the rest of the breakfast dishes away, as if nothing unusual had just happened.

  “Thank you, Jamal!” Aref said. “That was really fun!”

  “We do thank you, friend,” Sidi added. “Meeting you and your bird was a big surprise.”

  Jamal placed both his hands together in the Indian greeting way, though he was an Arab speaking Arabic, and bowed again. “I am going to take a nap,” he said. “Since we were up all night, Fil-Fil and I.”

  “I’m stronger now,” said Sidi, who hadn’t said much at all for at least ten minutes. “That falcon gave me strength. Poor guy, staying up all night to learn his lessons. Let’s walk out into the desert a little ways. I feel warmed up.”

  They headed toward the dunes, on a reddish path of gravel and sand. Sidi kept his hand on Aref’s shoulder for balance. The growing heat of the desert seemed round and full.

  More black-and-white birds darted down from the tent rafters and sailed along beside them. Aref wondered if they were scared of falcons. Maybe they had been hiding. The camels had completely disappeared. Aref wished they would come back. Sidi kept sniffing and urging Aref to smell the air and breathe deeply. “That way, your body will carry the desert back to the city,” he said. Aref gulped and held his breath.

  When they turned around and starting walking back to the Night of a Thousand Stars camp, Aref stared at the whole picture before them—small tents, purple pom-pom doorways, brown stucco bathroom, painted green stools, metal tables, and one tired sleeping falcon. Everything glistened, an oasis in the sun. He ran circles around Sidi, saying, “I love this place! I think it might be my favorite place!”

  “You will be like my falcon,” said Sidi. “You will fly away and come back. Just as he did. That was beautiful.”

  One More Star

  Falcons Take Naps Too

  1. I was a little scared when Fil-Fil was going to land on my arm. But he was nice to me.

  2. Maybe I could train my own falcon someday. I forgot to ask how people learn to train falcons. Where do you get the information? Do you just watch other people?

  3. I also forgot to ask if Fil-Fil ever pecked Jamal.

  After pausing to watch some gigantic desert ants with huge eyes crawling into a round hole in the sand, Sidi and Aref spotted two new cars approaching, raising dust. Sidi opened his arms wide. “Welcome, lucky new guests. What a wonderful morning! We need to get our bags and make room in paradise for those people. I could stay for a week!”

  “I could stay for three years!” yelled Aref.

  Naveed had already rolled up their sheets and swept the floor of their tent. They gathered their things and headed out to say good-bye to him. Sidi reached into his deep dishdasha pocket, extracted a tight little roll of money and handed it over. “Here you go, with respect for your delicious food and hospitality! Alif Shukran.”

  Naveed bowed. “Thank you, Alif Shukran Ammi, please come back again.”

  They all bowed and nodded and smiled to one another. Fil-Fil on his perch seemed to be sound asleep under his hood. His perfect feathers weren’t even quivering.

  Between the cook tent and Monsieur, Sidi stopped and stared down at the sand at his feet. He bent his knees and stooped, groaning a little, stirring the sand with his fingers. “Did you hear my bones creak?” he asked, plucking up a black-and-brown speckled stone, which reminded Aref of the falcon’s feathers and the little birds’ feathers all at once. “Aha!” he said. “I felt it through the sole of my sandal!” He handed the stone to Aref. “Do you have one exactly like this? I’m not sure what they call it. Here is your reminder to fly away and come back again.”

  Aref stared at him and popped the stone into his pocket. “Thanks, Sidi,” he said.

  They walked to Monsieur with their bags and climbed in.

  Sidi turned the key. The engine coughed and chugged. He paused and turned the key again. Aref patted the dashboard and said, “Come on, Monsieur, you can do it.”

  “There must be sand in the engine,” Sidi said. But Monsieur finally woke up.

  As they were passing under the arched NIGHT OF A THOUSAND STARS sign at the camp’s gateway, Aref said, “So, Sidi, did you see a thousand stars last night?”

  “Ah, now you remember to ask! No, I only saw nine hundred and ninety-nine. So we will have to keep our eyes open for that last one. What about you?”

  Aref just laughed.

  Homeward, with Turtles

  Driving out of the desert across the hills and gullies of sand was as difficult as driving in. Sometimes the wheels spun and the jeep made a whirring sound. Sidi wrestled with the steering wheel. “I thought I’d be in practice from yesterday,” he said, “but today, the sand seems even shiftier. Doesn’t it?”

  Aref felt happy. Getting stuck was a real possibility.

  “Did you hear the wind blowing last night?” asked Sidi. “Whoooooooooo—say, where DID our tracks go? Do you see any? I thought the road would be clearer in the light. And what about those people who just drove in—where are their tracks? I don’t see any tracks at all! And what happened to those English birdwatchers? Maybe the camels picked them up and will give them a ride far, far away. Think of it—people traveling across deserts for centuries, finding their way by the sun and the moon and the stars. People staring up at the constellations for guidance—now that was smart.”

  “I wish we lived back then,” said Aref. “Not now. I wish we still lived without cars and airplanes.”

  “Really? Then we couldn’t move around as easily.”

  “Exactly.”

  Finally they found a paved road. Sidi wasn’t positive it was the same one they’d been on yesterday. The sun was rising higher in the sky. Aref pulled his sweatshirt off. The sun was cooking him through the window.

  “Sidi, do you ever get hypnotized staring at sand?” he asked. The brown tones of the hills and dunes were mixing and mingling in his eyes.

  “Yes, I always get hypnotized. But I am still a good driver when hypnotized.” Sidi laughed.

  They were the only ones on the road. Aref liked the swishing of the jeep tires
and the creak of the axle when the jeep hit a dip. Finally another vehicle went by. A white government truck, heading west, carrying—what? Hammers and nails? Fish food? Goat milk?

  A school bus with a leaping gazelle on its side passed by. More summer school students on a field trip, maybe? Some of them waved at the jeep. Aref waved back, proud to be on a private excursion with his grandpa, but wondering what they were all talking about inside the bus.

  Sidi pulled up in front of a crooked shop. Tangerines were piled in a pyramid shape on a display table out front. “Let’s get tangerines!” he said.

  Aref felt hungry too. “Do you think they have pumpkin seeds?” He wanted something salty.

  Yes! The old man inside the shop poured a scoop of pumpkin seeds onto an ancient scale with balancing weights, then funneled them into a paper cone. Aref was licking his lips. The man added a few more and smiled at Aref. He did not have many teeth. He offered them fresh pomegranates from a wooden bowl. He asked Sidi if they could stay for lunch or have a cup of tea.

  “Not today, uncle. We’re on the long trip back to Muscat and this boy has to leave to America soon.”

  “Allah bless you,” the old man said. “Come again!”

  Sidi asked Aref to peel him three tangerines while he drove. “They stink,” said Aref. “But I will.” He wiped his hands on a dishtowel Sidi kept folded in the compartment between their seats. Aref really did not like the smell of tangerines.

  A little farther down the road, an extremely old lady was sitting in front of a house. Next to her was a large wooden wagon piled high with yellow melons. Aref could see a melon field full of leafy vines stretching behind the house. How did she water it? Did she have a long hose? This didn’t look like a place with running water. But wait a minute—there had been running water at the camp and it was more remote than this. Did she carry a bucket? She didn’t look strong enough to carry a bucket. Maybe she had a deep well, like the camp must have.

  Sidi parked near the wagon. “Let’s ask if she has running water, Sidi,” said Aref. “She looks even older than Ummi Salwa.” He hopped out.