The Moon of Masarrah

by Farah Zaman

  Before he headed down to breakfast the next morning, Zaid looked down into the cove to see if the boat he had heard last night was still there. But the cove was empty and there was no sign of it. It must have left sometime during the night. Perhaps Adam would be able to shed some light on what it had been doing there.

  The two youths were the first ones down for breakfast. As they sat eating in the dining room, Zaid said, “By the way, I saw a boat come into Bayan Cove last night.”

  “A boat?” Adam echoed. “What did it look like?”

  “I couldn’t really see much of it, but it looked like a small outboard motor. I thought it might have been in trouble because it had it lights off. When I looked out this morning, there was no sign of it.”

  “It was probably someone out for a joy ride,” Adam replied without much interest. “From what I hear, Bayan Bay has its share of madcaps.”

  After finishing their meal, the youths made for the living room where Adam turned on the television. As he flipped the channels for an appropriate program, Zaid’s ears pricked up as he heard the word pirates.

  “Go back to the last channel,” he told Adam.

  Adam obligingly went back and they listened to the news about a ring of modern-day pirates plundering a ship in the Bayan Strait the previous day.

  “Oh no, it’s the pirates again,” Zaid said in dismay.

  “What’s that about?” Adam asked.

  “The modern-day pirates have been attacking and robbing ships in the Bayan Strait since we came to live here two years ago. It’s been all over the news in Midan.”

  “That’s a shame,” Adam said. “I hope they’re caught soon.”

  Later that morning, to Zaid and Zahra’s delight, they received a phone call from their parents in Ghassan City. Mr. Horani picked up the call in his study and after escorting them there, he discreetly left. This was the first time they were seeing his inner sanctum. It was a spacious carpeted room, with a row of shaded windows facing the courtyard. In the room was a file cabinet, a large oak desk and a leather swivel chair in the center. The desk held a computer, a stack of notepads and a caddy containing pens and pencils. The room was neat and scrupulously clean, proclaiming its occupant to be a man of fastidious habits. Of the memoirs he was writing, there was no sign and Zaid guessed that he must be either typing them into a computer file or had locked them away in the drawers.

  Zaid put the phone on speaker before he and Zahra greeted their parents.

  “How are you children doing?” Mrs. Alkurdi asked. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes, we’re doing great,” Zaid said.

  “It’s beautiful here,” Zahra said. “Layla, Adam and the twins are a lot of fun.”

  “How about you?” Adam asked. “How’s the tour coming along?”

  “Just fine,” Professor Alkurdi replied. “All the conferences have been well attended. We can’t ask for better than that.”

  “We’ve finally met Shaykh Sulaiman ibn Al-Khalili, the sponsor of our tour,” Mrs. Alkurdi told them. “He’s such a humble man, even though he’s so wealthy.”

  “Guess where he is right now?” Professor Alkurdi chuckled.

  “Where?” Zahra asked obligingly.

  “In Midan,” Professor Alkurdi replied. “He said he had a matter of importance to take care of there and apologized to us for leaving.”

  “Well then, we might even run into him,” joked Zaid. They chatted for a few more minutes before Professor and Mrs. Alkurdi ended the call.

  After tea on the patio that afternoon, the teenagers sat conversing while Hassan and Hakeem went to play with Gul in the courtyard. Soon after, Gul swooped onto the patio, mewling loudly before perching itself on the back of a chair. The bird had a small piece of paper tied to its leg, and they stared at this unusual sight.

  “What on earth is that on Gul’s leg?” Adam asked.

  “Hassan and Hakeem must have put it there,” Layla said. “Watch, they’ll be giving him clothes to wear next.”

  Zahra giggled. “How do you know Gul’s a he and not a she?”

  “Hassan and Hakeem just assume the bird is a he,” Layla grinned. “We’re just going along with them.”

  The bird began pecking at the scrap of paper on its leg. It then looked up and gave a loud squawk.

  “Noisy bird,” Layla covered her ears.

  “He wants the paper off his leg,” Zahra said. “It must be irritating him.”

  “Well, let’s put him out of his misery,” Adam said. Cautiously, he walked up to the bird, which stared at him with its great beady eyes but stayed put as Adam gently untied the string, releasing the paper. He glanced casually at it and then did a double take.

  “It has Hassan and Hakeem written on it,” he chuckled in amusement. “They must be training Gul to be a carrier pigeon. Here boy,” he told the bird. “Go to Hassan and Hakeem. Go to Hassan and Hakeem, boy!”

  To their delight, Gul let out a piercing shriek, lifted its wings majestically in the air and disappeared over the roofline of the house.

  “Gul is so smart,” Zahra said admiringly.

  “Yeah, he’s got real bird brains,” Layla quipped.

  Minutes later, the twins came racing around the corner of the house and up to the patio, Gul in their wake.

  “It worked! It worked!” Hakeem chortled.

  “Woohoo, it worked!” Hassan raised a fist triumphantly in the air.

  “Did you send us a message with Brainy Big Bird here?” Layla asked.

  “Yes, we did!” Hassan replied gleefully.

  “Do you intend to turn Gul into a carrier pigeon?” Adam asked.

  “What’s a carrier pigeon?” Hakeem asked.

  “It’s a pigeon that’s trained to take messages,” Adam replied. “In the old days, they were used a lot.”

  “Yes, we’ll teach Gul to be just like that,” Hassan vowed.

  “What makes you think that a seagull will want to be like a pigeon?” Layla asked teasingly.

  “Well, they’re cousins, aren’t they?” Hassan said.

  “How do you know they’re cousins?” Zahra asked.

  “Anyone can tell they’re cousins,” Hakeem scoffed, “cause they look like each other a lot.”

  The teenagers burst into merry laughter at Hakeem’s childish wisdom.

  After the twins and their pet disappeared once again, Adam said, “Everyone ready for the search in the turret this afternoon?”

  “Oh yes,” Zahra said eagerly. “I’m quite ready.”

  “I just can’t get excited about poking into dusty old boxes,” Layla said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, “but I’m ready to tackle it too.”

  “It will be easy with four of us doing it,” Zaid said optimistically.

  That afternoon, they gathered in the turret and discussed how best to conduct a methodical search. They came up with a plan to divide the area into four portions, with each of them being assigned one. They would then search every trunk, box, nook and cranny of the broken furniture.

  As Layla started to unpack a box, clouds of dust rose up, causing her to sneeze. “Alhamdulilah,” she said automatically before grumbling, “This is going to be my least favorite place to search. There’s enough dust here to keep us in sneezes for the rest of our lives.”

  Zaid’s portion was close to the window that had a view of the Bayan Woods. As he pushed a broken chair out of the way, he glanced out of the window and into the shadowy woods. A sudden movement caught his eye and he stared at the spot, wondering what it was. After a minute of looking, he decided that whatever it was had moved away.

  “I just saw something move in Bayan Woods,” he called out to the others. “But it’s gone now.”

  “What did it look like?” Layla asked.

  “I couldn’t tell. It was just a dark shape moving.�
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  “Maybe it’s a jinn or a vampire bat,” Adam joked and they all chuckled.

  After that diversion, they turned their full attention to the search. There were sporadic bursts of conversation amid rustling papers and dragging of furniture. At one point, Layla held up a bunch of rolled-up posters. Each had a large black and white drawing of skull and crossbones. Other than that, the search yielded nothing else of interest.

  Zaid was ravenous by the time they sat down to a dinner of baked chicken served with an eggplant and chili pepper salad.

  “Where’s Aunt Hafza?” Zahra asked, noticing that Mr. Horani’s twin was missing from the table.

  Mr. Horani sighed. “I am afraid her arthritis is flaring up again. I will take her to see Dr. Qazi after Jumu’ah on Friday. We will be going to the largest masjid in Bayan Bay, insha’Allah.”

  “Cool,” Adam said. “There must be some really beautiful masjids in the city.”

  “Yes, there are several. You should be able to see most of them before you leave.”

  As they ate, Layla regaled their grandfather with the story of Hassan and Hakeem giving Gul a message to carry.

  “Very good, boys,” Mr. Horani said, his usually stern face breaking into a smile.

  “We’re going to have a party for him,” Hassan blurted out.

  “A party?” Mr. Horani raised his eyebrows. “What for?”

  “So Gul’s family and friends can see how smart he is,” Hakeem said excitedly.

  “Yes, we’ll ask Maymun to make lots of cookies for them,” Hassan said.

  “How will you get Gul’s family and friends to come to the party?” Layla asked, her green eyes dancing with amusement.

  “We’ll send them an…an information,” Hakeem declared.

  “You mean invitation,” Adam grinned. “And how will you send the invitation?”

  “That’s easy,” Hassan said scornfully. “We’ll write it and tie it on Gul’s leg.”

  “And then he’ll take it to his family and friends,” Hakeem concluded triumphantly.

  In the kitchen, Maymun heard the burst of laughter from the dining room as she cleaned up. “Children’s laughter,” she muttered to herself. “That’s what this house has been missing for too long.”

  Chapter Four:

  The Shaykh’s Story

  To Zaid and Zahra’s amazement, the most amazing coincidence occurred the next day after lunch. After the meal ended, the twins were shepherded upstairs by Mr. Horani, and Maymun and Luqman retired to their quarters, leaving the teenagers to their task of washing and putting away the lunch dishes. They were halfway through their task when the doorbell rang. They all looked at one another in surprise. It was unusual for visitors to pay a call at this time of day.

  “I’ll go see who it is,” Adam said, carefully setting down the plate he had been drying.

  They soon heard the faint sound of voices in the great hall. Minutes went by but Adam did not reappear. Finished with their chore by this time, Zaid and the girls headed to the great hall and stopped short in surprise when they saw two men seated there. One of them was in his early thirties and had the build of a professional boxer. The other was a thin, older man in his mid-seventies. Both of them were wearing the traditional robe and headdress of the region.

  At that moment, Adam and his grandfather descended the stairs. Mr. Horani greeted the newcomers pleasantly before asking, “How can I help you?”

  “You will pardon us for disturbing your rest,” the older man spoke in a soft but surprisingly commanding voice. “But we’re in Midan for only a short time. I’m Sulaiman ibn Al-Khalili from Ghassan and this is Mustapha,” he gestured to the younger man. “I am here to speak with you regarding a certain matter.”

  Zaid and Zahra’s jaws dropped open in amazement when they heard who the older man was.

  “You’re Shaykh Sulaiman ibn Al-Khalili?” Zaid said incredulously. The next moment, he turned red with embarrassment at his uncouth behavior. Thankfully the Shaykh did not seem offended as he replied with twinkling eyes, “Indeed, I am he.”

  “Our parents told us about you,” Zahra said bashfully.

  “They met you over in Ghassan City,” Zaid explained. “They’re Professor and Mrs. Alkurdi.”

  “Professor and Mrs. Alkurdi,” the Shaykh exclaimed. “Allah be praised. What a marvelous coincidence. I’m delighted to meet you.”

  “Professor Alkurdi and my son are dear friends,” Mr. Horani explained. “Their children are meeting here for the first time.”

  “Ah, I see,” the Shaykh nodded his head approvingly. “That is most excellent.”

  To think, Zaid marveled, that I had joked to Mom and Dad about running into the Shaykh and here he is.

  “We will get you some refreshments,” Mr. Horani offered.

  “No, please,” the Shaykh held up a hand. “We had lunch at the hotel, so don’t go to the trouble.”

  “You will have something to drink at least,” Mr. Horani said firmly.

  “As you wish,” the Shaykh acquiesced.

  “Adam and I will get it,” Layla offered.

  The Shaykh chatted about Professor Alkurdi’s lecture tour until Adam and Layla returned with a jug of lemonade and a tray with two glasses. After the beverage was poured and the men had taken a few sips, Mr. Horani asked, “So, what do you wish to speak with me about?”

  Shaykh Sulaiman’s pleasant smile faded as he said, “I will convey to you my story and at the end of it, you can tell me if I’m in the right place or not.”

  “Do you want to speak with me privately?” Mr. Horani asked.

  “No, no, that’s not necessary,” the Shaykh replied. “The young ones will find the story most fascinating, I’m sure. I don’t wish to deprive them of it. To begin, I will tell you a little about myself. Ours has been an old and respected family in Ghassan for many generations. Allah has bestowed on us much wealth and property within the last several decades. As head of the family, I assure you that it’s a trust which I do not take very lightly. I tell you this not as a matter of pride, but that you should understand the circumstances which has brought me here today.”

  “Of course, I understand,” Mr. Horani said respectfully.

  The Shaykh continued, “My story began fifty-eight years ago when my younger sister got lost in the desert. Most fortunately, she was found unharmed by a Bedouin tribe who quickly returned her to us. So grateful and thankful was my father that he offered the chieftains of the tribe whatever reward they desired. Not surprisingly, they asked for a well-known heirloom which had been in our family for two generations. I must point out to you that my father didn’t protest or hesitate in the least to accede to this request. He agreed wholeheartedly to it and the date was fixed when it would be handed over to the chieftains.”

  “That was very generous of him,” Mr. Horani remarked.

  “That might have been so,” the Shaykh replied, “but it was the bargain he willingly made. Alas, when that date arrived, to his great shock, my father discovered that the heirloom had been stolen. You can imagine the state he was in when the chieftains arrived to claim their prize, only to be told that there was no prize. They were angry and offended and out of wounded pride, refused any other compensation. Believing that my father had faked the theft in order to renege on his promise, they uttered many accusations and recriminations before they left. My father, who had been a man of great honor and integrity, was utterly cast down by their bitter words. So distressed was he by this turn of events that there was an immediate decline in his health. As he lay on his sickbed, he took a solemn pledge from me that I should trace the whereabouts of the heirloom and turn it over to the chieftains. He returned to Allah soon afterwards, and ever since his death, I have been on the quest to find the heirloom. My ardent wish is to do so before I die.”

  The teenagers sat with wide eyes after this comp
elling tale until Mr. Horani asked, “What heirloom was this?”

  “It was a diamond called the Moon of Masarrah. Upon its discovery in India, it became one of the most celebrated gems of the world. After it was stolen, the newspapers made a great sensation of it. I have followed many leads over the years but without any success. It is only quite recently that the knowledge has come to me that it may have left Ghassan on a ship called the Yuhanza, captained by the famous Red Rafiq, who I believe was your father.”

  The teenagers exchanged startled looks at this piece of information.

  “Are you saying that my father stole this Moon of Masarrah?” Mr. Horani’s face had gone pale.

  “Never, never, as Allah is my witness,” the Shaykh replied fervently. “I know who stole the Moon. Alas, it was treachery from within the House of Al-Khalili. Certain things came to light upon the death of my uncle last year.” A sad tiredness came upon the Shaykh’s face. “I do not like to air the dirty clothes in public…”

  “Laundry,” Adam said helpfully.

  “Thank you,” the Shaykh nodded graciously before continuing, “I do not like to air the dirty laundry in public, but you see, my uncle revealed on his deathbed that he masterminded the theft of the Moon and gave it to an underground fence to sell. The plan was to wait a year until the hue and cry had died down before attempting to sell it. Just before the year was up, the fence’s cousin broke into his safe and stole the gem, having no idea of its identity and value. When confronted, the cousin admitted to stealing it and selling it to get rid of his debts. His account of this deed was that he took the gem and stood by a jewelry store, looking for someone to buy it. He dared not attempt selling it to any place of business for fear they would discover that he had stolen it. When he saw a man about to enter the jewelry store, he stopped him and showed him the gem, telling him that his family was in dire straits and he needed to sell a family possession so they wouldn’t starve. The cousin said that the man seemed convinced of his sincerity for he looked at the gem and being impressed with its cut and quality, he was willing to purchase it. But he didn’t have enough money on him to pay the price that the cousin asked, so he told him to bring the gem that evening to the ship, the Yuhanza, and he would purchase it then. And apparently, he did.”