by Farah Zaman
“What a lovely layout,” Zahra said, her eyes moving all around. “No wonder the store is so popular.”
“Goodness, there’s thousands of books here,” Layla said in awe.
Zaid, who was particularly fond of reading, said, “You might have a hard time getting me out of here.”
“Let’s speak to Mr. Alkhalaf first,” Adam said. “Then you can browse to your heart’s content.”
He hailed one of the store’s employees who was carrying a small cart of books. “Excuse me, we’re looking for Mr. Alkhalaf. Do you know where we can find him?”
“He’s in his office,” the man replied. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, we don’t,” Zaid said. “But we would like to see him if we can.”
Giving them a dubious look, the man said, “I’ll let him know. It might be a few minutes before he’s available.”
“Shukran,” Layla said. Looking at the plaque on the nearest stall, she added, “Please tell him we’ll be waiting in the World History section.”
The man nodded and left. While the teenagers waited, they flipped through the books. Some of them were onerous texts with impressive titles such as National Geographic Almanac of World History, A People’s History of the World and The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World. Adam picked up The Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World and sat in an armchair in the stall to skim through it. He was up to the Battle of Waterloo when a tall, heavyset man wearing glasses and a gray robe came up to them.
“Salaams. I’m Mr. Alkhalaf. Are you the youngsters looking for me?”
“Yes, but we thought you’d be older,” Zahra blurted out. The man was in his thirties, not the eighties they had been expecting.
The man’s lips twitched with amusement. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Realizing how impolite she sounded, Zahra turned red with embarrassment.
Zaid said, “Mr. Alkhalaf, a friend told us about this bookstore and said it’s run by a man in his eighties. Perhaps there’s another Mr. Alkhalaf?”
The man smiled and nodded. “Na’am, that’s my grandfather, Omar Alkhalaf. He used to run the store, but he’s retired now. I’m Uthman. How can I help you?”
“We’re looking for a book called The Hour of the Oryx,” Layla said. “The original language is Persian, but we wanted to know if you have an Arabic translation of it.”
“The Hour of the Oryx,” Uthman repeated, a contemplative expression on his face. “I’m afraid the title is not familiar to me. But you can check our catalogue at one of the computer stations and see if we carry it. If not, my grandfather will be here after Jumu’ah. You can ask him about it. He likes nothing better than a nice chat about books.”
“Thank you,” Adam said. “Whether we find the book or not, we’ll love to speak with your grandfather.”
“Alright, I’ll let him know you’ll be stopping by,” Uthman said. “You can come straight to my office at the back of the store.”
After he left, the teenagers checked the store’s catalogue, but no book of that title popped up. “Let’s hope the older Mr. Alkhalaf has heard of it,” Zahra said. “It will be so disappointing if we learn nothing.”
“Let’s have an early lunch and come back right after Jumu’ah,” Adam said.
When the teenagers returned to the bookstore, they followed signs to the office in the back. They knocked on the door and a voice told them to enter. They found Uthman and an old man in a white robe reclining on a couch in the sitting area.
“Salaams,” Adam said. “We’re back.”
Rising up from the sofa, Uthman said, “This is my grandfather, Omar Alkhalaf. I’ll leave you to introduce yourselves to him.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Omar gestured to the couches and said in a quavery voice, “Ta’al. Come, sit down and tell me your names.” Adam seated himself next to the old man, breathing in the woodsy scent of oud that emanated from him.
After they had introduced themselves, Omar said, “My grandson told me you were looking for a book on the oryx. Were you able to find one to your liking?” He peered at them through thick glasses, a blue-veined hand clutching a sturdy walking stick.
“We’re actually looking for a book called The Hour of the Oryx,” Adam corrected. “It’s a book of Persian poetry.”
Omar’s brows furrowed. They were white like his hair and long beard. “Hmm, a book of Persian poetry. Do you speak Persian then?”
“No, we don’t,” Layla said. “We thought you might have an Arabic version but we didn’t find any. Have you heard of the book?”
“La. I’m afraid not,” Omar said. “Do you know who wrote it?”
“No, all we know are a few lines at the beginning of it,” Zaid said.
“What does it say?” Omar leaned forward. Once upon a time, he must have been as strapping as his grandson, but now his body was bent with age.
Zahra said, “It says, ‘For ye who seek the shining sun, ye shall find him within these pages. He will be thine to command and the treasures of the world will be at thy feet.’”
Omar’s eyes widened. “I believe the book you’re seeking is a grimoire.”
“A grimoire?” Layla asked. “What’s that?”
Omar looked at them with grave eyes. “It’s a magician’s manual for summoning the jinn.”
“A magician’s manual?” Adam exclaimed. “How can you tell?”
“That verse you quoted can only be referring to the Legend of Mehrshad.”
“The Legend of Mehrshad?” Zaid said. “What’s that about?”
“In Persian, Mehrshad means the shining sun. According to the legend, Mehrshad is an evil jinn who guards a cave filled with the treasures of the world. That verse is saying that whoever wishes to summon Mehrshad should recite the incantations in the book. Once they succeed, the jinn will reveal the cave of treasure to them. Hence, the treasures of the world will be at their feet.”
“It sounds like a story from the Arabian Nights,” Layla said, a bemused look on her face.
“Quite true,” Omar agreed. “When I was a child, we had an old Persian nursemaid who used to tell us interesting stories. The tales of Mehrshad were our favorite ones. We used to make Fairuza tell them to us over and over again. When I got older, I did some research on the legend. It was out of academic interest, mind you, and not because I had any interest in the dark arts. I was surprised to learn that in some circles, the legend is taken very seriously.”
“The Hour of the Oryx sounds so innocent for a book of magic,” Zahra said.
“I daresay the oryx holds some special significance in the incantations,” Omar said. “It’s a noble animal. In fact, it’s the national animal of several countries. How did you come to seek this book?”
“Someone found it and gave it to our friend’s uncle,” Adam said. “The uncle thought it was a book of poetry. He knew some Persian, so he took it home to translate it. He was murdered that very night and the book stolen.”
Omar’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “There’s devilry afoot, mark my words. The murderer must have found out the true nature of the book. That’s why he stole it.”
“But could the legend really be true?” Zaid said. “How can the murderer be sure it will work?”
Omar shrugged. “He obviously means to give it a try. If the book is authentic and he follows the incantations correctly, he’ll get a response. Whether it will be from Mehrshad, I have no idea. But you can be sure some jinn or another will respond. The evil jinns are only too happy to work hand in hand with evil men. The Holy Book tells us that men who seek help from the jinn only increase in sin and disbelief. You know why?”
“It’s because the jinn will want something in return,” Layla said.
“That’s correct,” Omar said. “In return for their protection, the jinn demand all manner of unho
ly and sacrilegious acts. The man who succeeds in harnessing the power of the jinn shall destroy his soul in the end. The stories of Mehrshad are dark tales that demonstrate this. Whenever we heard a story about Mehrshad, we would cower in our beds, afraid of our own shadows. He was said to be an ifrit, a very strong and powerful jinn as large as a mountain and with great wings. Whenever men had evil work to be done, Mehrshad was the jinn for the job.”
“Do you remember any of the stories your nursemaid told you about him?” Zaid said.
“Hmm, let me see.” Omar thought for a few moments. “The first story that comes to mind is the one about the two wealthy merchants who lived at the edge of the city. One of them had a lake that was filled with clear water, pretty-colored fish and graceful swans. The other had a lake that was foul-smelling, with poisonous snakes living in it. One day, the merchant with the beautiful lake discovered a diamond lode in it. Because of this, his wealth grew and grew until he built a palace where his house once stood. He held many great gatherings there, inviting dignitaries from all over the country. The merchant with the foul lake was so eaten up with envy that he was determined to destroy the other merchant’s lake. So he sold his soul to Mehrshad to destroy the lake of diamonds. In minutes, the jinn filled up the lake with sand from the desert until there was nothing left to show that a lake had ever been there. When it was time for the envious merchant to pay Mehrshad’s price, he refused. The jinn caused the foul lake to overflow, sending the poisonous snakes into the merchant’s house and killing everyone who lived there.”
“Oh my, the envious merchant certainly paid for his evil deed,” Zahra said.
“That he did,” Omar said. “There’s another story similar to that one. It’s about a greedy king who worshipped wealth. Every day, he would sit in his treasure house, counting his hordes of gold and silver. One day, he heard there was a ship in the sea carrying a great cargo of treasure. He wanted it all for himself, so he summoned Mehrshad to capture it. The jinn’s price was that the king must willingly hand over his firstborn son when the child reached five years of age. The king had no intention of marrying, so he agreed to the bargain without hesitation. Mehrshad caught the ship in the palm of a hand and brought it to the king, who rejoiced in his newfound riches.
“The jinn vanished after that and the king forgot about him. A few years later, the king met a beautiful woman and fell in love with her. He married her and she soon bore him a son. When the boy was five, Mehrshad returned to claim his prize. The king refused to hand his son over. Mehrshad was furious. Since the bargain was that the child must be handed over willingly, the jinn could not seize him. So, he plotted his revenge. One day, when the boy was playing in the gardens, Mehrshad turned himself into a serpent and stung the boy to death. The queen fell sick with grief and died. Mehrshad then turned all the king’s treasures to piles of ashes. Grief-stricken at the loss of his family and his treasure, the king threw himself out of the highest window in his palace.”
“What a terrible story,” Layla said. “It sounds a bit like Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Na’am, some of our stories are similar to the fairy tales of the west,” Omar said, leaning back against the couch, his eyes drowsy.
Realizing that the old man must be tired after so much talking, Adam got to his feet and said, “We have to go now. Thank you so much for seeing us and sharing your stories, Mr. Alkhalaf.”
“It was a pleasure, young man,” Omar said. “You’ve brought back some fond memories of my childhood days. If you ever need my help again, give me a call. I’ll give you my phone number.”
“Go ahead,” Zaid said. “I’ll store it in my phone.”
After Zaid had taken the number, they bade goodbye to the old man and headed to the book stalls. In a little sitting area, two women were watching the news on the television up on the wall.
Adam’s ears pricked when a male newscaster said, “The theft occurred sometime last night. The local chapter of the Wildlife Society of Wijdan has spoken out against it and is advocating for more stringent protection of endangered species.”
“What was stolen?” Adam asked one of the women.
“An oryx from Al-Adawiya Zoo,” she replied.
Chapter Twelve:
The Stolen Oryx
“An oryx?” Zahra said. “How strange.”
“Isn’t Al-Adawiya the zoo where your parents and the twins went?” Zaid asked.
“It sure is,” Adam said. “They’ve probably heard about the stolen oryx.”
“Why would anyone want to steal an oryx?” Layla asked.
“For its horns,” Zaid said. “That’s why it’s an endangered species in these parts.”
“It’s a weird coincidence,” Adam said. “Here we are trying to find out about The Hour of the Oryx and now an oryx gets stolen.”
“It’s kind of creepy,” Layla agreed.
When the bus came to pick up the teenagers shortly after, Hassan immediately sang out, “Someone stole an oryx from the zoo.”
“Her name is Mazooma,” Hakeem said. “We went to see the cage she used to live in.”
Hassan said, “The father oryx and the babies looked so sad when we saw them.”
“Yes, the babies were crying because their mommy was gone,” Hakeem said.
Hassan said, “The father oryx hugged them and made sure they ate their food.”
“Did he change their diapers too?” Layla said, amused at the twins’ exaggeration.
The twins giggled and Hakeem said, “You’re silly. Animals don’t wear diapers.”
“They pee and poop on the ground,” Hassan said. “All the animals at the zoo do that.”
“Sheesh,” Layla said. “Spare us the details.”
“When we saw the news, I wondered if you boys had anything to do with the missing oryx,” Adam said. “You might have decided you wanted it for a pet.”
“No, we wanted to bring back one of the monkeys for Muk-Muk to play with,” Hakeem said. “But Dad told us the zoo wouldn’t allow us.”
Hassan said, “Muk-Muk wouldn’t have been able to understand the monkeys from the zoo anyway. They’re from different countries.”
The teenagers burst into laughter.
“I thought monkey language was universal,” Zahra chortled. “I guess I was wrong.”
The next morning, Jawad drove them into the village. It was an unspoiled, pretty place that hardly seemed to have been touched by the hands of technology. In the center of it was a small commercial district comprised of stores, souks, banks and schools. Scattered around it like planets around the sun were the homesteads of the local population.
The visitors spent a pleasant morning checking out the stores and souks. The villagers were warm and welcoming and there were many bargains to be made on the local merchandise. They ate lunch at an outdoor restaurant, shaded by date palms and surrounded by pots of pungent herbs. The teenagers sat on one side of the table while their parents and the twins were on the other side.
Adam was enjoying his roasted chicken, seasoned rice and soft bread when Layla whispered, “Look, there’s Ms. Yusra.”
Adam looked behind his parents’ heads and saw the teacher heading to one of the tables a little farther away. He hardly recognized her in a blouse and flowing skirt, a wide-brimmed hat over her scarf and a pair of sunglasses on her nose. She sat at a table where they had a good view of her though she could not see them. Taking off her hat and sunglasses, she scrolled through her cell phone.
She was soon joined by a square-jawed man with slicked-back hair. Dressed in jeans and a black cotton shirt, his bulging biceps were on display. They conversed with a lot of hand gestures, only pausing when they were served with tall glasses of juice. After that, the conversation took a turn for the worse. Ms. Yusra’s eyes flashed as she spoke while the man grimaced and scowled.
He downed the rest of his drink, shoved back
his chair and stalked off. Ms. Yusra closed her eyes and massaged her temples, her lips tight. Sitting up, she took a deep breath, her chest rising. Then she donned the hat and sunglasses, slung her black pocketbook over her arm and strode away from sight.
“Well, that was interesting,” Adam said, taking a sip of lemonade.
His mother heard him and asked, “What’s interesting?”
As Adam grappled for what to say, Layla came to his rescue and said, “This meal. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten chicken so delicious.”
As his parents reminisced about the merits and demerits of the meats they had eaten in different places, Zaid whispered, “I wonder who that man was and what they were talking about.”
“They were having an argument by the looks of it,” Zahra said.
“Maybe Umm Kifah will know who he is,” Layla said. “We should ask her when she comes to Villa Wadha later.”
“We also have to ask her about that feud between Ms. Mahveen and Ms. Yusra,” Zaid reminded them.
By the time the meal ended, the sun had passed its zenith and their shadows on the ground were equal to their height, heralding the onset of the midday prayer. They offered it in an old mosque before returning home. While the adults and twins went to rest, the teenagers went for a swim.
The water felt wonderful as Adam immersed his sweat-soaked body in the cool depths. He did several brisk freestyle laps from one end to the other, before slowing down to a leisurely backstroke. After frolicking around for an hour, they returned inside to find Umm Kifah in the kitchen. In a burgundy scarf and a flowing multi-colored dress, she was as colorful as the flowers on the front lawn.
“Salaams. Enjoyed your swim?” she asked as she unloaded the dishwasher.
“Oh yes,” Layla said. “I could have stayed in the water the whole day.”
“Is that our dinner?” Zahra sniffed the food containers on the island. “It smells delicious.”
“Na’am, I just have to make some salad and you’ll be all set.”