The Turtle of Oman (9 page)

No Missing Feathers

W
hen 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 arm 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

D
riving 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.

Sidi climbed out of the driver's seat very slowly. He groaned. “Oh my, I thought I had stretched, but I am really too stiff. I am turning into a tree trunk.” He pressed on one side of his back and bent to the left, to ease his muscles.

“Buy ten melons!” the ancient lady called out. “If you buy ten, you can have them very cheap!” She giggled as if what she had said was very funny.

“I am sure of that!” Sidi said, laughing too. “But no one needs ten,
hajja
! Only two—one for my grandson and one for me. We will pay the price!”

“Ten is better!”

“Two are enough! Say, where do you get your water for watering your fields?” He had begun selecting his two melons.

“I have a well that is older than the prophet's beard,” she said.

Sidi poured some coins into her skinny hand. Aref noticed three cats peering out the door of her small hut, as if they hoped a fresh food delivery had arrived.

The lady stood up with great difficulty and hobbled over to the jeep. Aref worried that she was going to try to get in.

Sidi placed the two melons carefully on the backseat. He arranged their backpacks on either side. “We don't want them to roll around,” he said. She peered into the jeep with interest.

“Can you stay for lunch? Would you like some tea?” the lady asked.

“Thank you,” Sidi said, “but my boy here has to get to America and I am going to drive him. This jeep grows fins and swims when it needs to.”

“I would like to see that!” she said. Now she coughed into her hand and squealed like a cat with its tail caught in a cabinet door.

Aref stared at Sidi.

“Allah bless you on your journey!” the lady said. She seemed full of energy.

“And you forever, kind grower of melons and teller of tales.”

When they were back on the road, Aref said, “You talked silly to her.”

“She needed it.”

“Does anyone buy ten melons?”

“Only if they have ten children. Or can't count.”

“Or are having a party. Or want to serve melons to the whole class.”

Leaning with the curves of the road, they ate all the salty pumpkin seeds, cupping them in their hands. Sidi was careful not to go too fast. “I am driving more slowly because of snacking,” he said.

Aref felt his feelings about juicy tangerines might be changing—when he peeled two more for Sidi, he felt inspired to eat one himself. It was a perfect combination snack. His cheeks and hands felt sticky and salty at once.

The day grew bright and hot. Sidi asked Aref to get his sunglasses out of his pack. “Now I am James Bond,” he said when he put them on.

They passed three hikers wearing orange baseball hats, carrying orange backpacks. Everyone waved. “See how people love our country? They come here just to hike around,” said Sidi. “It is exciting to them. You will feel like that in America.”

They passed a broken-down wooden boat with no paint on it, abandoned next to the road. “How did it get here, do you think? Not even beside the water?” asked Aref.

“I think it had a hole, and someone dumped it.”

“Maybe it is a famous boat from history waiting to be discovered.”

“Noah's Ark?”

“Was that a real boat or just a story?”

“Or maybe this sad boat belongs to that wild donkey tribe and the donkeys have gone off to find a boat craftsman to repair its holes.”

Sidi had just seen some donkeys in the distance. Now they were part of his tale. “Look! Look at that swirl of dust in front of the striped cliff! It's an oryx running! We are very lucky today!”

Aref leaned forward to see the oryx leaping out of sight. “Maybe the oryx and donkeys are living together over in a cave.”

“They have started a secret society.”

“Sidi, do you think geckos have a private language?”

“I do. I think everything has a private language.”

“Even a tree?”

“Especially a tree.” They were passing some bending palm trees at that moment. “And those big ants we saw in the sand? For sure they were communicating.”

Talking with Sidi felt like a sky of floating words. You could say anything. Words blended together like paint on paper when you brushed a streak of watercolor orange onto a page, blew on it and thin rivers of color spread out, touching other colors to make a new one. Blue and red to purple, yellow and blue to green, drip and slide and shiver and BING, a new color. Just the way the sea looked, off in the distance now, shimmering like a full paintbox of deepest greens and blues.

Suddenly Sidi turned right off the road onto a flat spot of land and stopped the jeep. He clicked off the engine. There, spread wide before their eyes, a vast white beach. A few giant turtles sunning in the sand. Their backs were as big as small tables.

Sidi hadn't forgotten. “Ras al Hadd,” Aref whispered. “The nesting grounds.” Although he hadn't mentioned the turtles even once today, Sidi had taken a special detour to check on them.

A turtle was crawling out of the water just then. “Is that a Loggerhead? A Green? A Hawksbill?” Aref knew their names, but couldn't always tell them apart.

“I don't think it's an Olive Ridley. It's too big,” said Sidi.

If it were midnight during nesting season, there might be hundreds out there. If the babies were hatching, there would be countless tiny turtles scrambling around covered with sand. Aref knew that the Green Turtle would return to the exact same beach for egg-laying for
decades.
Turtles had invisible maps inside their shells.

“I think there's a better viewing spot up that little hilltop,” Sidi said. “Come on.”

Aref kept staring at the sleeping turtles on the beach as they climbed. Turtles weren't just cold-blooded reptiles. They were miracles.