by Farah Zaman
“What is it?” Adam shared an anxious look with the others.
“Unfortunately, the House of Al-Khalili has suffered a tragic loss. Sulaiman’s son, Rashid, died in the desert a month ago. As a result, my cousin became ill and had a stroke. Fortunately, it was a mild one. He’s able to speak but is still weak and finds it difficult to move.”
“Oh no,” said Layla, her eyes wide with dismay. “That’s awful.”
“Why didn’t someone tell us?” said Zaid. “We could have canceled our trip.”
“Sulaiman wouldn’t hear of it. He said you had been looking forward to this visit for almost a year and would be very disappointed if it was called off. Because of the circumstances, the tragedy wasn’t publicized. Only the family and trusted employees know of it.”
“Poor Shaykh Sulaiman,” said Zahra. “Will we be able to visit him?”
“Yes, he has requested you visit him in the morning after breakfast. The meal is served from seven to ten in the sunroom. As for the other meals, lunch is at twelve and dinner at seven. Both are served in the dining room where you just ate. For dinner, we take extra care to dress our best. You must remember that. Now, Nura will take you up to your rooms. I’ll see you all in the morning.”
The maid took them up a stairway and through a maze of hallways. She opened a door which led into another long hallway.
“These are the Ghaf Suites,” she told them. “They’re named after the grove of ghaf trees outside your windows.”
“What’s a ghaf tree?” asked Adam.
“The ghaf is an evergreen tree that grows well in deserts. If there should be a fire, the nearest stairway is down the hallway and leads to the ghaf grove. The stairway only opens from inside and is locked on the outside. You can use it to go out, but you won’t be able to get in unless you prop it open. But we don’t keep doors propped open in these parts. Small creatures can get inside and cause havoc. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”
They all nodded, and the maid continued, “Four suites have been prepared for you. You can choose which one you’d like. They’re all the same. The other suites in this wing will be made ready for your family when they come. You’ll be the only ones here for now. If you need to get in touch with me, all the rooms have an intercom hooked up to the servants’ lounge. You can leave a message there. Masah al-khair.”
Layla heaved a sigh after the maid left. “I wish we’d come at a better time.”
“We’ll just have to make the best of things,” said Zahra. “Let’s choose our suites. I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
Later that night, as Layla lay on the verge of sleep, she recalled Ghazala’s words: “Because of the circumstances, the tragedy wasn’t publicized.” What had she meant by “circumstances?” It seemed strange to keep someone’s death a secret. I guess we’ll soon find out what it is. Her thoughts came to a halt as she fell asleep.
It seemed to Layla she had just closed her eyes when she was awakened by a bone-chilling scream.
Chapter Two:
The House of Al-Khalili
It was a long drawn out wail of deep anguish that seem to go on forever. Layla stared at the darkness around her, her heart pounding and shivers running up and down her spine as the frightful sound vibrated on the air. After the last note faded away, her heartbeat returned to normal. What in the world was that? It had sounded like someone in pain. But it could not have been. It must have been a wild animal from the desert, wandering outside the castle walls. Convinced this was what she had heard, Layla turned on her side and fell asleep once more.
The next morning, Layla looked around with pleasure at her suite. Zahra had chosen the first one, Zaid the second, Adam the third, and Layla the last one. Her suite was painted a soft tangerine color, with blue and white Moroccan tiles in the bathroom. The single window at the back was hung with opulent, grayish red curtains that Layla recognized as damask. They had a couch at home with the same covering. She pulled the drapes aside, eager to see her surroundings in the light of day. Behind the meshed window screen, she saw the limbs of a tree. It must be one of those ghaf trees the maid told us about. So much for a room with a view.
Before they headed down to breakfast, Adam asked, “Did anyone hear a scream last night?”
“Yes, I did,” said Layla.
Zaid nodded. “I heard it too”
“And so did I,” said Zahra.
“It must have been an animal,” said Layla.
“It sounded like a woman screaming to me,” said Adam.
“Some animals sound very human,” said Zaid. “It must have been a jackal or a hyena.”
“It was too close for comfort,” said Layla. “I’m glad there’s a wall around the castle to keep those wild animals out.”
When they descended the stairway to the first floor, Layla could not help thinking how creepy the inside of the castle was. The narrow windows hardly let in enough light and the place was simply humongous. The ceilings seemed to soar a mile high and the hallways were wide and long.
They ran into Dhul Fikar, the butler from last night, who escorted them to the sunroom.
“Oh, how nice,” said Layla, looking with delight at the room.
The outside wall was made of glass, with vines and climbing plants running across the surface. Morning sunlight streamed through gaps in the foliage, casting dancing sunbeams onto the ceramic floor tiles. Like the dining room, a long table stood in the center. On both sides of the room were sideboards, one holding a microwave, toaster and beverage urns while the other had fruits and steaming platters of food. Ghazala and another woman were the only ones there.
“There you are,” said Ghazala. This morning she wore a green floral scarf and a black gown that flowed loosely over her pudgy body. “I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Haddad, the tutor. Mariam, these are the young guests I was telling you about.”
Mrs. Haddad was in her mid-forties, with a long, gaunt face. Her dark hair was twisted into a knot at the back of her neck and there was a reserved expression on her face. Layla wondered who was being tutored by this rather stern-looking woman. We really have no idea who else lives here. I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Mrs. Haddad in English, with a crisp British accent. She did not seem big on breakfast and after pouring herself a mug of coffee, she left.
“Help yourselves to whatever you like,” said Ghazala. “At ten, Sulaiman’s personal assistant will be waiting for you in the domed hall to take you to see my cousin. You have a whole hour. There’s no need to rush. The rest of the family should be here soon.”
A youth came in while they were eating. He was about eighteen, tall and lanky of build. Unlike some tall teenagers who tended to slouch, he carried himself ramrod straight. He had chiseled features topped by thick, curly hair.
“This is Tariq, the Shaykh’s grandson,” said Ghazala. “In fact, he’s the Shaykh’s only grandchild.”
Really? I don’t know why I thought the Shaykh would have dozens of grandkids. Guess I was wrong.
“Welcome,” said Tariq. “We’re happy to have you here.”
Layla wondered if it was his father who had died. It would account for the sad expression in his eyes. A girl wearing jeans and a blue striped blouse walked into the room next. She was about fifteen, with flashing dark eyes and frizzy hair hanging loose below her shoulders. She would have been quite pretty if not for the discontented droop of her mouth.
“This is Hala,” said Ghazala. “Her father and stepmother are also cousins of Sulaiman. Where are they, Hala? I thought they would be here by now.”
The girl shrugged. “Abu went for a ride and Mama Suha has a headache.” Her voice was whiny, and she said “Mama Suha” with a scornful curl of her lips.
“I suppose our guests will meet them later,” said Ghazala. “That leaves only Faisal.”
&n
bsp; “I hear the sweet sound of my name,” said a pleasant baritone, and a man sauntered into the sunroom. The butter knife slipped out of Layla’s hand as she stared at the newcomer. Dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, he was strikingly handsome with hazel eyes, a smooth-shaven face and the same dark, curly hair as Tariq. He was in his late twenties and wore a brooding expression on his face, like some hero from a gothic novel. He seemed to fit right into the atmosphere of the castle.
As Layla picked up the knife again, she could not help being amused at herself when she recalled the story of Joseph in the Qur’an. The women of the city had been bowled over by his beauty when they saw him. They had ended up cutting their hands on the knives they had been peeling fruit with. I’m not so different from those women.
“This is Faisal,” said Ghazala. “He’s also Sulaiman’s cousin.”
Faisal studied them for a moment before saying, “Welcome. I hope you have fun running around this old pile of stones. If you should get bored, I’m sure Tariq will tell you of all the wonderful entertainments awaiting you in the desert.”
There was a slight sarcasm in his tone and Tariq’s lips tightened, though the youth remained silent. After getting her food, Hala seated herself next to Tariq, smiling at him and speaking to him in a low voice. Faisal took only coffee and toast, which he ate in moody silence.
Turning to the teenagers, Ghazala asked, “How do you like your rooms?”
After breakfast, the teenagers went to the domed hall to await the Shaykh’s personal assistant. A tall, trim man walked in a few minutes later. He was in his early forties, with tinges of gray at the temples and an olive tint to his skin. A long, intelligent face and deep, penetrating eyes gave him an air of quiet capability.
“I’m Kareem, Shaykh Sulaiman’s personal assistant,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Come, I’ll take you to the Shaykh’s suite.”
They followed him to a spacious chamber on the other side of the ground floor. In the sitting room, they were met by a man who wore a uniform of white pants and a white short-sleeved shirt.
“This is Qais, the Shaykh’s nurse,” said Kareem. “He’ll take you to see the Shaykh. I’ll see you later.”
Qais was unlike any nurse Layla had ever seen. She judged him somewhere in his forties. A large head and wide shoulders tapered down to a short, squat body and a pair of massive hands.
“Please come with me,” he said. His voice sounded like a low rumble of thunder. “The Shaykh is waiting for you.”
He led them into a cool and dim bedchamber. An overhead fan whirred gently above and white roman shades blocked out the brilliant sunlight at a long row of windows. Gesturing to the wide four-poster bed, Qais withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Shaykh Sulaiman was resting against the pillows, covered waist down by a white coverlet. His hands lay limply at the sides and he looked thin and frail. Sparse white hair was neatly combed while his beard and moustache were well-groomed. His bronze skin had a sickly, grayish cast to it.
He said in a slurred voice, “Marhaban. Welcome to my desert home. I’m very happy to see you all again. I’m a bit helpless at the moment, as you can see.”
“Shaykh Sulaiman, Auntie Ghazala told us about your son’s death,” said Layla. “We’re very sorry to hear about it.”
The Shaykh’s lips quivered, and his chest began to heave with silent sobs. Tears rolled down his sunken cheeks as he gave in to his grief. Adam and Zaid took hold of his wrinkled hands, offering comfort. A lump formed in Layla’s throat and she felt the burn of tears in her eyes as she watched the painful scene. At last, the Shaykh regained his composure.
“You must pardon me,” he said, reaching for a tissue and blotting his tears. “Nothing happens except by Allah’s will, but losing Rashid was a painful blow. I’m learning to accept it day by day. Unfortunately, I’m unable to join you for meals or other activities. But you must make yourselves at home. I wish you to become friends with my grandson, Tariq. His father was my eldest son, but he and his wife were killed in an accident a few years ago...” the Shaykh’s voice trailed away. He shook his head, as if to chase away an unpleasant memory. “Now my other son, Rashid, is gone too and I have no more children left. Tariq is my only remaining heir. He’s taken his uncle’s death hard, for they were very close. I hope your visit will cheer him up. We have a recreation area that you’ll find quite entertaining. You can use it anytime you wish. I want you to enjoy your stay here.”
“Don’t worry about us,” said Adam. “We’ll be fine.”
The teenagers spent the rest of the morning unpacking their suitcases and organizing their personal items for easy access. At lunch, they met Hala’s father, Miftah, and her stepmother, Suha. Miftah was in his early forties, beardless and broad of shoulders. A high forehead gave way to bushy eyebrows and a prominent nose. His close-fitting Polo shirt did nothing to disguise the roll of fat around his middle.
In a voice that had a gruff quality to it, he said, “Welcome to Dukhan Castle. I hope you enjoy your visit.”
In her mid-twenties, Suha was much younger than her husband. She wore a scarf and had sculpted features set in a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were fringed by the longest eyelashes Layla had ever seen.
“I hope you like it here,” she said. “We’ve never had such young guests before.”
Ghazala pointed to the side of the table that backed the windows and told the teenagers, “Sit on that side. The family will be on the other side. It will be easier to converse with you that way. Kareem and Mrs. Haddad dine with us in the evenings at my cousin’s request. We’ll be a larger group at dinner.”
It’s very considerate of the Shaykh to let the PA and tutor have dinner with the family.
After the family were seated, the two chairs at the head and foot of the table remained empty. Layla realized Shaykh Sulaiman must have sat at the head and his dead son, Rashid, at the foot. The sight of the empty chairs tugged at her heart. Life has the tendency to leave behind a lot of empty chairs.
As they were eating, Ghazala said to the family, “I received a phone call from Jumana earlier. She’ll be coming tomorrow. We’ll be having refreshments in the domed hall when she arrives.” Looking across at the teenagers she said, “You young people are welcome to join us.”
“Thank you,” said Layla. Who’s Jumana?
“I’m glad she’s coming,” said Tariq, his sad eyes lighting up. “It’s been too long since she was here.”
“She must be disappointed she’s no longer going to be the lady of the castle,” said Faisal, the handsome, moody cousin they’d met at breakfast.
“It’s a pity she didn’t get married before going abroad to university,” said Miftah. “Now look what’s happened. I wouldn’t let Hala wait so long. Girls need to marry young or they become old maids.”
Oh no, he didn’t say that. Some women would tear him to bits if they heard him.
“I hope you’re not going to marry Hala off before she finishes university,” said Faisal.
Miftah looked annoyed. “You’re the last person I would take advice from about marriage.”
Faisal threw his cousin a resentful look. “I might have known you’d bring that up.”
Bring what up?
“Then don’t act like you’re some marriage expert,” said Miftah. “What if Hala gets married before she finishes university? Is that a crime? Should I tell her no if she meets someone and doesn’t want to wait? Should I, Hala?”
A mysterious smile played on Hala’s lips. “Of course not, Abu.”
“See?” said Miftah. “Hala will make her own decision when she’s ready.”
“Fine,” said Faisal. “It’s her life.”
“Abu, Uncle Saad sent me a text earlier,” said Hala. “He wants to know when we’ll be going to Ghassan City. He promised to take me shopping.”
Suha was the one who answered her
stepdaughter. “Hala, we can’t go yet. Your uncle Sulaiman is still very ill.”
Hala’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
Suha’s face stiffened and she looked down at her plate, red spots on her cheeks.
Miftah turned to frown at his daughter. “Hala, you will apologize to Mama Suha.”
Hala scowled. “Why should I? She’s always jumping in when I’m speaking to you.”
Miftah’s face became red. “Hala, you will apologize to Mama Suha now or leave the table.”
“Why are you taking her side?” said Hala. “You care more for her than you care for me. I’m going to ask Uncle Saad to take me to live with him in Ghassan City. Then you’ll be sorry.”
With those words, she shoved back her chair and ran out of the room.
“Silly child,” said Ghazala. “As if that uncle of hers could be bothered.”
Faisal grinned, his teeth showing white against his golden tan. “Hala is such a brat. She reminds me of myself at that age. I was allowed to run wild just like her.”
Miftah coughed as he almost choked on a piece of chicken. “Allowed to run wild?” His eyebrows looked like thunderclouds. “What do you mean by that?”
“You’ve spoiled the girl, what else?”
“I have not.” Miftah’s voice was so forceful that flecks of food flew from his mouth. “It’s been hard for her, losing her mother at such a young age. She’s still grieving.”
“You need to take a firmer hand with her,” said Ghazala. “Her tantrums are getting worse.”
“It’s easy for you to say,” said Miftah. “You don’t have children of your own. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Khalas. Enough,” said Ghazala, her tone sharp. “Sulaiman will be angry if he hears of these disagreements at the table. You know what he’ll do if he becomes angry, don’t you?”