The Moon of Masarrah Page 8

  “It’s beautiful here,” Zahra said. “So natural and peaceful. I wonder why more people aren’t here.”

  “I guess people prefer to go to the beaches,” Adam said. “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why,” he added in a peeved tone. “It’s because they can swim there. I suggested to Grandpa that we go one day but he nixed the idea. He said he didn’t want us swimming in the bay. Honestly, he’s too paranoid.”

  “I guess he’s afraid of the dangerous undertow,” Zaid said. “He didn’t have any problem with us using the Ahmeds’ pool.”

  “Well, let’s eat,” Layla said. “I’m starving.”

  Pulling out a checkered blue and white tablecloth from one of the baskets, she handed it to the youths to spread on the ground. Soon, all the food was out of the baskets and laid out invitingly on the cloth. There was a chickpea and olive appetizer with cheese balls, marinated chicken stuffed in pita bread, spicy shish kebabs and date-filled cookies with juicy purple grapes for dessert. In addition to the food, there was cinnamon tea in a flask, bottled water and mango juice.

  Zaid knew that food always tasted better outdoors, and this time was no exception. They ate slowly, conversing about their school life, books and television programs. Gul got its fair share of food, with no worms or bugs materializing so far. Zaid was amused by the way the bird guarded its territory like a watchdog. When a few gulls, attracted by the smell of their food, descended upon them, Gul promptly chased them off by making threatening noises and flapping its wings menacingly.

  “He’s a greedy bird, is what he is,” Layla said, throwing a grape to it. “He’s afraid if we feed the other birds, there won’t be enough food for him.” Gul immediately speared the grape with its bill and downed it with a quick swallow. Then it turned to Layla and let out a series of squawks.

  “It’s like he understood what you said,” Zahra said in amusement.

  “That bird is giving me the heebie-jeebies,” Layla said with a theatrical shudder. “He’s too smart for his own good.”

  After they had eaten, Zaid sprawled full-length on the grass, watching from the corner of his eye as Hassan and Hakeem chased after the butterflies. Those two can never sit still, he thought. Gul had flown off as soon as it realized there was no more food to be had. Probably gone to join his feathered friends, Zaid thought. Or maybe he went looking for those worms and bugs for his dessert. The bird seemed to have a huge appetite, giving new meaning to the idiom eat like a bird.

  With much regret, the teenagers and twins mounted the bikes to return home. Goodbye, little meadow, Zaid said silently. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.

  The ride back home was at a much brisker pace. Adam was in the lead and as he turned the corner at a tree-lined crossroad, he nearly collided with another biker, who swerved swiftly to the side. Unfortunately, the biker bounced over a deep rut, depositing both him and his bike into the thick shrubbery. Horrified, they all came to a stop and watched anxiously as the fallen rider got to his feet. Zaid’s eyes widened in astonishment. Of all the rotten luck, it was Mir. He and Adam really seemed to have a nasty penchant for literally running into each other.

  “Are you alright?” Adam called out as Mir set his bike to rights.

  “I should have known it was you,” Mir scowled at him. “Are you always this careless?”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam apologized. “I didn’t see you coming.”

  “You probably wouldn’t see a herd of camels coming until they’re about to trample you,” Mir said nastily. “I guess I should count myself lucky that you’re not driving a car.”

  Adam flushed angrily as Mir hopped on his bicycle and rode off. “What a jerk! He’s got some nerve putting all the blame on me.”

  Layla hooted with laughter and Adam turned to glare at her.

  “Sorry,” she gasped. “It’s just too funny.”

  It was funny and Zaid had to suppress a chuckle so as not to further offend his friend.

  “Mir seems to be everywhere,” Zahra said. “I guess he’s not planning to return to Crescent City anytime soon.”

  “If he’s trying to scare us away and look for the Moon himself, he’ll probably stick around for as long as he can,” Adam said. “But if he thinks it’s going to be that easy, he’s got another thing coming.”

  That evening, the teenagers gathered in the turret again to continue the search. They dug through boxes, gingerly taking out one dusty item after another. Adam peered at an old magazine in his hand and read, “How to Preserve Fruits and Vegetables. This must have belonged to Grandma Khadijah or Step-Grandma Asma. Grandma Khadijah died when Dad was very young,” he reminisced. “Dad hardly remembers her. Step-Grandma Asma was very nice though. She and Grandpa visited us eight years ago. Poor Grandpa became a widower for the second time after she died three years ago.”

  Layla held up a book. “Look, I’ve found Aunt Hanifa’s journal. I’m going to keep it to read.”

  “Are we supposed to read someone else’s journal?” Adam asked doubtfully.

  “It’s a journal, not a private diary,” Layla clutched the book protectively to her chest, as if she expected Adam to snatch it away. “I don’t think Aunt Hanifa would mind her great-niece reading it.”

  “Suit yourself,” Adam shrugged.

  Half an hour later, they called it quits.

  “Nothing so far,” Zaid said glumly. “But thankfully, we only have a few more boxes to finish off.”

  Zaid was glad to get into bed that night. His muscles were a bit sore from the bike ride. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position on the bed. At one point, he heard the faint thrum of an engine through his open window and got out of bed to look outside. The dark shape of a boat was maneuvering its way into the mouth of the cove. It was a bit larger than the last one he had seen. Just like before, it melted into the cliffs and disappeared from sight. He stared for a bit longer but there was no further movement. Returning to his bed, he fell asleep within minutes.

  Chapter Nine:

  The Mariners’ Museum

  Up in her room, Zahra opened the door to her closet and heard a slight rustling sound. She froze in her tracks. It must be a mouse, she thought nervously. I hate mice. The rustling sound came again, louder this time and with a startled squeal, she banged the door shut and stood in the middle of the room, trembling with nervousness. She needed her clothes to get dressed and go down to breakfast but the thought of a mouse rushing out at her made her quake in her bedroom slippers. What was she to do? She could not go down in her pajamas. Maybe Layla could lend her something to wear until the mouse was caught. She only hoped that the other girl was still in her room.

  Knocking on the door, she was relieved when Layla opened it.

  “There’s a mouse in my closet,” Zahra burst out. “I’m afraid to get my clothes out. Can you lend me something to wear for breakfast?”

  “A mouse?” Layla said incredulously. “Was it a large one?”

  “I didn’t see it,” Zahra confessed sheepishly. “I just heard it.”

  “Well, there’s only one thing to do,” Layla said matter-of-factly.

  “You’ll tell Grandpa to bring in Pest Control?” Zahra asked.

  “No, silly,” Layla chuckled. “I’ll go take a look.”

  Zahra led the way back to her room. She admired Layla’s courage. Mice! Ugh! She wished that she was not so scared of the little critters.

  Layla opened the door of the closet and went down on hands and knees as she peered around inside. Zahra held her breath, expecting the fearsome creature to spring out at any moment.

  “No mouse there,” Layla announced cheerfully as she stood up. “The sound must have come from elsewhere. I don’t think there are any mice in the house.”

  Zahra still felt nervous. The rustling sound had come from the closet, she was sure of it. Maybe the mouse had run
down a hole.

  “Thank you, Layla,” she said as she quickly pulled an outfit off the rack. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

  “You’re welcome,” Layla grinned. “I was just being a mice girl…I mean nice girl.”

  Zaid was in the living room when Adam turned on the television so the twins could watch one of their favorite cartoon shows. Breaking news was in progress of another act of piracy in the Bayan Strait. A male reporter dressed in suit and tie was interviewing someone who looked to be a high-ranking official of the Midan Coast Guard and they caught the tail end of his question.

  “…so difficult to catch them? It’s been almost two years without any breakthroughs. How can the Coast Guard justify this lack of progress? And is it true that you have created a joint task force with the Tri-Country Bureau of Inquiries?”

  The official, a trim beardless man wearing a naval uniform and hat, replied, “As we’ve stated numerous times in the past two years, this is a very sophisticated operation at work. They are knowledgeable and cunning, they usually have the element of surprise on their side and they operate out of a large body of water with many islands where they can lie beneath the radar. Since these waters are also shared by Ghassan and Wijdan, this necessitated the intervention of the TCBI, hence our collaboration.”

  “Do you anticipate a breakthrough soon?”

  “With the TCBI now on board, we certainly hope so.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Abdi. We wish you and your team success.”

  As the television channel segued back to the cartoon, Adam remarked, “They’re bringing in the big guns, huh? I hope the TCBI nails these pirates soon.”

  Zaid stared thoughtfully into space, a frown on his face.

  Adam nudged him. “What’s up? You look as if your longtime pet just died.”

  “I saw another boat come into Bayan Cove last night with its lights off. I was wondering if they’re connected to the pirates in any way. Both times I’ve heard them, the window was open. I’ll leave it open from now on to see if there’s a pattern.”

  “Well, keep your window, your eyes and your ears open,” Adam grinned. “And wake me up the next time you hear one. I would like to see it myself.”

  Later that morning, the teenagers met in Moss Haven, leaving the door open to guard against any eavesdroppers.

  “Well,” Adam said, “we’ve certainly reached an exciting point in the search. We’ve found out that we’re not the only ones looking for the Moon, and our most likely suspects are Abbas and Mir. They’re probably searching in the nights when we’re asleep. I suggest that we speed up the search, so they don’t find the Moon before us.”

  “We could be spending days searching in all the wrong places,” Zaid pointed out, “when it might just take them an hour in the right place.”

  “Well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” Adam replied. “We’re in a free-for-all, winner-takes-all competition, whether we like it or not.”

  That afternoon, as they sifted through boxes of magazines and old newspapers in the turret, Zahra asked, “Did you start reading Aunt Hanifa’s journal yet, Layla?”

  “Yeah, I’ve read quite a bit of it. She sounded like a normal young girl at times and very grown up at other times.”

  “Did she say anything about the Captain’s death?” Zaid asked.

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet. It will probably be much later in the journal. She mentions the Captain’s ship a lot. I wonder if we can go to the Mariners’ Museum tomorrow after Jumu’ah and take a look at the model.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Adam said. “We can ask Grandpa at dinner.”

  An hour later, they came to a stop. The search had proven disappointing yet again. No diamond was to be found in any of the boxes. The only items of interest unearthed were two photo albums, which they spent a few minutes looking at. Some of the pictures were in black and white and quite old. They were mostly of the Captain, his wife and their three children. Zaid thought that Mr. Horani looked a lot like his father. They had seemed like a close-knitted family. Until the Captain was murdered, Zaid thought sadly. That must have brought their happy world crashing down.

  “Okay, that’s it for the turret,” Adam said, dusting off his clothes. “We will move on to the next place on our list, which is to go around searching the walls for any hidden nooks.”

  At dinner, Layla broached the subject of their visit to the Mariners’ Museum.

  “Excellent idea,” Mr. Horani nodded in approval. “After Jumu’ah, we will have lunch at a nearby restaurant and then I will drop you off at the museum, insha’Allah. Luqman can come and pick you up at five when the museum closes. Hassan and Hakeem might find it too wearisome, so they had better remain with me.”

  “Is there is fee?” Adam asked.

  “There is no entry fee but there is a box for donations. Hud Tabibi is the founder and curator. He is a good man and very much dedicated to the museum. He has been in rather low spirits ever since his wife died earlier this year. His father Nuh used to be a crewman on the Yuhanza. He helped Hud to run the museum until illness overcame him. He’s got Alzheimer’s, I am afraid. His behavior can be quite erratic at times. Give Hud my regards when you see him.”

  The next day, they again boarded the Toyota Land Cruiser and headed into the city. After attending the Jumu’ah prayer at a mosque in the vicinity of the Mariners’ Museum, they went over to an Afghan restaurant for lunch. Replete from a rice and kebab meal, they set off for the museum, Zaid eagerly looking forward to their visit. He liked browsing among historical artifacts, an interest cultivated by his father. Professor Alkurdi was never more in his element than when he was among antiquities of any kind. Zaid had often observed the way his father’s eyes would light up, and his face become animated whenever he was among his precious relics. He understood some of his father’s enthusiasm now as they came to a stop in front of the museum.

  The Mariners’ Museum was located at the end of a quiet street next to a medical practice. It was a long, single story building with a small courtyard for parking. At the center of the courtyard was a shady date palm under which were two wooden benches. Zaid noted that there was just one car in the parking lot. That meant that they would pretty much have the place to themselves.

  Wide mahogany doors opened into a tiled foyer with a large ship’s wheel inlaid in the middle. To the left was a half-moon reception desk with a slot for donations and several stacks of brochures. A staircase going down to the lower level was to their right. Through a glass enclosed office beyond the reception desk, they saw a bespectacled man sitting at a desk, working on a computer.

  As Adam placed the bills his grandfather had given him into the donation slot, the man looked up and saw them. Rising from his desk, he came towards them. After greetings were exchanged, he said, “Welcome to the Mariners’ Museum. I’m Hud Tabibi, the Curator. Can I be of assistance?”

  Zaid studied the man whom Mr. Horani had spoken so well of. He was tall and thin, with slightly stooping shoulders and a scholarly demeanor. His hair and beard were sprinkled with gray and there was a quiet sadness on his face, no doubt due to the recent loss of his wife.

  Adam replied, “We’re here to see the exhibitions. Oh, by the way, my grandfather sends his regards to you.”

  “Er…that’s very nice of him,” the curator said absent-mindedly. The teenagers looked at each other in amusement. It was apparent that Hud was being polite and did not have the faintest idea who the grandfather was.

  “Can you tell us where we can find the model of the Yuhanza?” Layla asked.

  That got Hud’s attention. “You know of the Yuhanza?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Adam’s eyes twinkled in amusement at the surprise he was about to spring on the curator. “Our great-grandfather was Captain Red Rafiq.”

  Hud looked at them in surprise. “Allah be praised,” he exclaim
ed. “You must be Yusuf’s grandchildren from America.”

  Adam gestured to Layla and said, “This is my sister, Layla. Zaid and Zahra are our friends.”

  “I’m happy to meet you,” Hud said. “Ah, the Yuhanza,” he went on enthusiastically. “It was a magnificent ship. My father was a longtime crewman on it.”

  “So you knew the Captain?” Adam asked.

  Hud nodded. “Oh yes. He was a fine man. A fine man indeed. I was a young boy then, but I remember his flaming red hair and booming voice. A pity you didn’t inherit that red mane of his,” he looked almost accusingly at Adam.

  “My twin brothers did,” Adam smiled. “You won’t be disappointed if you see them.”

  “Excellent,” Hud looked pleased. “Well, go ahead and look at the Yuhanza and her memorabilia. It’s located in one of the chambers at the very back.”

  After thanking the curator, they proceeded down the aisle into the vast hall, which was crowded with marine artifacts in glass cases. The air was thick with the scent of furniture polish and dust mite neutralizer, mingling with the aura of history that emanated from old hourglasses, compasses and lamps. Zaid studied an old kamal, a navigational device that in bygone days had allowed sailors to determine latitude by measuring how far the Pole Star was above the horizon.

  Finally, they came to the chamber housing the replica of the Yuhanza and her memorabilia. The model ship was about ten feet tall and had the look of the traditional deep-sea dhow with prominent prow, square stern and three triangular sails. Across the hull, The Yuhanza was emblazoned in bold script. On a metal plate at the foot of the replica was inscribed the names of the ten crewmen. The only ones the teenagers were familiar with were Nuh Tabibi and Qasim Ahmed, Basim’s great-grandfather.