by Farah Zaman
“Do-gooders often get into trouble,” said Faisal. He looked like a male model in stone-colored chino pants and a black button-down shirt. “Be careful of treading on the wrong toes, Jum-Jum.”
Jumana threw him a cool look. “I guess I’ll have to watch my step, won’t I?”
“Uncle Rashid was a do-gooder too,” said Tariq, a pensive look on his face. “He was always concerned about the plight of people and animals. He wasn’t afraid of ruffling a few feathers to set things right.”
Jumana’s face lost its animation at the mention of her dead fiancé.
Faisal, who looked irritated with this turn of conversation, said, “You’re making Rashid sound like a saint now, Tariq. He wasn’t the paragon of virtue you make him out to be. He had his faults like everyone else. You were too blinded by hero-worship to see them.”
There were several indrawn breaths of shock around the table.
Tariq’s eyes kindled with anger. “I admired Uncle Rashid and I’m not ashamed to admit it. You were always jealous of him.”
“Jealous?” Faisal scoffed. “If anyone was jealous, it was him.”
“That’s a lie,” Tariq burst out. “Uncle Rashid had no reason to be jealous of you.”
“That’s what you think,” said Faisal. “But I can tell you….”
Jumana’s eyes flashed. “Stop it. Have you no respect for the dead?”
Ghazala said, “Your behavior is beyond the pale, Faisal. I’m shocked and horrified at your words.”
Faisal wiped his mouth with a napkin and threw it on the table. Then he stood up and said, “And I’m sick and tired of the pack of you and your holier-than-thou attitude. You’re nothing but a bunch of hypocrites.” Shoving back his chair, he stormed out of the room.
Layla let out a breath after Faisal left. He was such a mercurial person - charming and pleasant one moment and mean and insulting the next. It was exhausting being around someone like him. Without his presence, the meal went on peacefully and there ensued an animated discussion of the forthcoming race and an analysis of the local dromedary contestants expected to participate. Layla and Adam, ignorant of the sport, listened attentively.
When Layla went to bed that night, it was to dream of camels running across the desert under moonlit skies. The dream morphed into her riding Ayah, following a rider galloping towards a thick forest. The horse in front suddenly stopped and screamed in fear. Rearing up, it flung its rider to the ground before bolting into the forest. As Layla dismounted and ran to the aid of the fallen rider, she saw with horror that it was Tariq, lying as pale as death, blood seeping from a gash in his head and soaking into the ground around him.
A cloaked figure came out of the forest and said, “He was blinded by hero-worship. Now he’s dead. And you’re next.” Moonlight flashed on metal as the cloaked figure advanced towards Layla. She screamed and began to run but no sound came from her throat, nor did she seem to be moving. Layla whimpered as the weapon flashed closer and closer. Just as the blade was about to pierce her, she woke up.
When she realized it had all been a foul dream, she felt a great sense of relief. With no saliva leaving her mouth, she spat lightly to the left and recited in Arabic, I seek refuge in Allah from Satan, the accursed. As the familiar words left her tongue, she offered another prayer that the nightmare was just the devil’s ploy to cause distress and was not a forewarning of future events.
Chapter Eleven:
Race of the Camels
The next morning, they boarded Tariq’s Mercedes-Benz to go to the camel race in Khaldun. As they drove out of the gates, Tariq said, “I’m sorry about that scene last night. I shouldn’t have let Faisal make me lose my temper.”
“It’s alright,” said Zahra. “Faisal can be a pain sometimes.”
“He apologized to me this morning,” said Tariq. “And I apologized too. I don’t know how long our truce will last. Knowing Faisal, it won’t be for long. Well, sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Layla stared out at the dusty, arid countryside. “Tariq, where does Dukhan Castle gets its water from when it’s surrounded by desert?”
“We’re able to tap into an underground well to water all the plants and trees. Our indoor water supply is pumped in by underground pipes from Khaldun. That water comes from the sea and we desalinate it just like they do in the Emirates.”
They continued to converse until an hour later, at the top of the pass between two hills, they caught their first glimpse of Khaldun. It did not have as many skyscrapers and modern structures as Ghassan City, but it was charming, nevertheless. There were lots of congested apartment buildings surrounding places of businesses and numerous souks. Scattered here and there were flashy new villas among the older houses. Above walled courtyards rose the ever-present date palms.
After leaving the city precincts, they drove past groves of olives, citrus and figs, until they arrived at the great plain of the race track. In its midst stood the tent-like stadium. Adjoining it was a souk, a mosque, and a large building which Tariq told them housed a multitude of restrooms. After getting out of the car, Tariq opened the trunk and handed them a pair of binoculars each.
“These are for the races. There are television screens in the stadium, but you can use the binoculars for a closer look.” Glancing at his watch, he said, “The race is not due to start yet. Would you like to check out the souk in the meantime?”
“Oh, yes,” said Zahra, her eyes sparkling. She looked like a breath of fresh air in a burgundy tunic with a pink floral scarf and off-white pants.
The souk was smaller than the one in Ghassan City but just as packed and noisy. In one of the aisles, a gaggle of geese had escaped their cage. They ran honking and screeching, helter-skelter through the aisles, chased by their irate owner. It was a comical sight watching the man grabbing at air as the nimble geese evaded his grasping hands.
Above the din, they heard a mournful melody.
“What’s that sound?” Layla looked around.
“You’ve got to see this for yourselves,” said Tariq. “Come with me.”
They crisscrossed through the narrow aisles, leaving the shade of the souk. They emerged into a clearing encircled by date palms and tamarisk trees. A huge crowd had gathered around the source of the music. The teenagers edged forward until they had a clear view of the proceedings. Sitting cross-legged beneath a tamarisk tree, an Indian man wearing a turban was playing the music on a bamboo flute. Next to him was an ordinary looking basket. Goosebumps broke out on Layla’s skin as she sighted the large cobra slithering out from it.
Tariq said, “A few snake charmers came over from India after they were banned there.”
The cobra, finally free of the basket, stood still for a few moments on the ground, its hooded head up and staring at the spectators around. Then it began to sway as if in tune to the charmer’s flute. For several minutes it gyrated with sinuous grace as people threw money around it. When the last notes of the flute died away, the snake lowered itself to the ground, its hood returning to the normal shape. With deft hands, the snake charmer grasped the creature and returned it to the basket before collecting the money strewn around him.
“Yikes,” Layla muttered. “That cobra totally creeped me out.”
At that moment, there came a siren-like wail.
A smile spread across Tariq’s face. “The races are about to start. Let’s go.”
Inside the stadium, Layla peered through her binoculars at the racetrack. It was protected by iron railings on both sides. At the starting line, the jockeys were getting their camels into position, and at the finishing line, a television camera stood next to an ambulance. Camel owners had taken up positions outside the railings, looks of tense anticipation on their faces. Only the dromedaries seemed unmoved by the excitement, appearing calm and contemptuous in comparison to the humans around them.
Grinning, Tariq said, “Alright, pick which camel
you think will win.”
After observing the camels and their jockeys for a minute, they made their choices. Layla chose a camel wearing purple, her favorite color. The race began, and the camels took off with loping strides down the racetrack. Caught up in the excitement, Layla stood up with the others as they rooted for their favorite camels. Round and round the track the camels sped as the excitement reached fever pitch. Finally, to Zahra’s delight, her camel came in first and the stadium erupted into roars.
“If we were allowed to bet, I would have made a fortune,” she chortled.
After the first round of races ended, the boys went in search of snacks while the girls got up to stretch their legs.
Zahra clutched Layla’s hand. “Look, it’s the Mole Man. He’s here.”
“Where?”
“Over in the next aisle.”
Layla turned and saw the sinister man hurrying down the aisle. He was dressed in a dark-brown robe.
“I can’t believe he’s here,” she said. “I thought we’d never see him again.”
“Do you think he followed us here?” Zahra’s eyes looked huge in her face.
“There’s only one way to find out. We’re going to ask him.”
“Do you think it’s safe to go after him?”
“Yes, there are people everywhere. There’s not much he can do.”
The two girls took off after the Mole Man as he exited the stadium and headed towards the souk.
“He’s going to the souk,” said Zahra. “I don’t think we should go after him.”
“If we don’t, how else are we going to talk to him?”
“We don’t talk to him. We stay away from him.”
“No, we have to find out why he’s following us.”
Zahra came to a stop, a stubborn look on her face. “I think it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to go.”
Layla eyed her friend in irritation. “Look, why don’t you go find the boys and bring them to the souk? In the meantime, I’ll keep our man in sight.”
“You’re being pigheaded.” Zahra glowered at her.
“And you’re being unreasonable.”
“Fine, go then,” said Zahra, losing patience. “But for heaven’s sake, be careful. I’ll bring the boys over as soon as I find them.” She turned and ran back in the direction of the stadium.
Layla rolled her eyes and went after the Mole Man. She kept pace with him all the way into the souk. The place was practically deserted as most of the vendors had closed shop and gone to see the races. Those that remained either had their heads buried in newspapers or were napping. Ignoring the little voice of reason that told her to heed Zahra’s warning and go back to the stadium, Layla continued shadowing the Mole Man. He came to a large food court. It was empty of people but filled with tables and chairs. A series of restaurants were set in a semi-circle around it. Layla sniffed appreciatively at the delicious smell of food being prepared behind the scenes.
A small, nondescript man stood up to meet the Mole Man. The man was dressed in a crumpled beige robe and had darting eyes and a nervous manner. The Mole Man sat down next to him and after exchanging a few low words, the man handed the Mole Man a folded piece of paper. The latter glanced briefly at it before tucking it in a pocket of his robe.
Hoping Zahra and the boys would appear at any moment, Layla marched up to the two men. They swung around to look at her and she saw the light of recognition in the Mole Man’s eyes.
“Why have you been following me and my friends?” she demanded.
The Mole Man’s expression darkened in displeasure. He said a few words to his companion in a language Layla did not understand. Both men got up from the table and hurried out of the food court. The man in the beige robe slinked away to the right, while the Mole Man headed left. Layla gritted her teeth and took off after him.
“Wait,” she called out, almost running to keep up with his long strides. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Ignoring her, the Mole Man strode into an aisle containing ice buckets. As Layla followed, he kicked one of them towards her before striding away. Dodging the bucket, Layla continued after him. So much for me thinking he won’t try a dirty trick. He’s not going to get rid of me that easily. I’ll follow him until he goes down a hole or something. I hope Zahra and the boys show up soon.
The Mole Man turned back and saw Layla still on his heels. His eyes darted around, settling on a fruit and vegetable stall nearby. The owner was reclining on a cushioned chair, head thrown back and mouth open in what looked to be deep sleep. There was no one else nearby. As Layla looked warily at her quarry, he grabbed a fat tomato off the stall. Before she could deduce his intent, he threw it forcefully in her direction.
Layla tried to duck but the man’s aim was unerring. The soft, overripe tomato hit her in the middle of the forehead with a dull smack, bursting apart and spilling juice in her eyes and face. Startled and blinded for a moment, Layla came to a stop and wiped the juice from her eyes with the tail of her fuchsia scarf.
Seething with fury now and with her eyes smarting from the tomato juice, she took off after the Mole Man with even more determination. If he thought tossing a tomato at her would scare her, he would soon learn otherwise. He was now heading to the clearing at the back of the souk where the snake charmer’s cobra had danced earlier. Upon reaching the clearing, Layla saw the Indian man taking a nap under the tamarisk tree, his harmless-looking basket next to him. The Mole Man came to a stop beside the snake charmer and stared at Layla with a look of malevolence.
Refusing to be browbeaten by the brute, she squared her shoulders and moved towards him. He watched her like a wild animal eyeing its prey. Layla never imagined for a moment he would do what he did next. Bending swiftly, he picked up the snake charmer’s basket. Then with a look of gloating triumph on his face, he hurled it at her. Layla froze as the basket sailed through the air and landed in front of her. She screamed as it sprung open, ejecting the cobra inches from her feet.
Chapter Twelve:
Pieces of Paper
The Mole Man made good his escape as Layla stared petrified at the rearing, hissing cobra in front of her. She had seen enough of animal shows to know cobras could move with lighting swiftness at the slightest movement, sinking their venomous fangs into their hapless prey. She stood rooted to the spot, staring almost hypnotically into the obsidian eyes of the monstrous serpent as the blood in her veins alternated between hot and cold. Time ceased to matter as she was held in the grips of a mind-numbing fear such as she had never felt before. Her only thought in that stricken state was to be as still as a statue so the loathsome viper would not have cause to strike.
Had she dared to take her eyes off the cobra for a second, she would have seen the snake charmer creeping ludicrously on his hands and knees to grasp his empty basket. All she saw was the basket descending over the cobra’s head, breaking the hypnotic hold of the creature and freeing her from its ghastly spell. Layla sagged in relief and would have collapsed to the ground had Adam not materialized beside her and wrapped his arms around her nerveless body.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “Are you okay?”
She managed to say, “Yes. I guess today’s not my day to be cobra food.”
“That was horrible,” said Zahra, her chubby cheeks drained of color. “We were looking everywhere for you. Then we heard you scream and came here. I almost fainted when I saw that cobra in front of you.”
“You were right about the Mole Man,” said Layla. “I should have listened to you.”
“Tell us what happened,” said Zaid. “We already told Tariq about the Mole Man following us in Ghassan City.”
Layla told them what had transpired in the souk before they came on the scene.
Tariq listened with a dawning look of distress on his face. “I don’t know why this man is following you and trying to hurt you. Let’s go l
ook for him. Maybe he’ll talk when he sees all of us.”
“He’s probably gone by now,” said Layla. “I don’t think he’d stick around after his disgusting deed.” Now that she was over her fright, Layla was livid. She wished they could get their hands on the villain, so they could drag the truth out of him.
“Why in the world did you chase after that lunatic?” asked Adam. “That cobra could have killed you.”
A barrage of strange words came from the snake charmer, who was now sitting with his basket under a date palm a few feet away.
“What’s he saying?” asked Zaid.
“I’ll go ask him,” said Tariq.
After several minutes of back and forth with the snake charmer, Tariq returned.
“What did he say?” asked Zahra.
“He told me in really terrible Arabic that his cobra can’t harm anyone.”
“Oh, please,” said Adam. “A snake is a snake. What makes him think his cobra is any different?”
Tariq grinned. “Its poisonous fangs have been removed.”
“You mean I wouldn’t have died if it had bitten me?” asked Layla.
“No, it has no poison left,” said Zaid. “I’ve read about snake charmers defanging their cobras. No wonder our man doesn’t seem too concerned.”
The snake charmer must have heard and understood what they were saying. He let loose another stream of words in his native tongue. Tariq went over to speak to him again and after much hand gestures and low mumblings from the snake charmer, he returned. “Our man said his cobra is so frightened it might not dance for the rest of the day.”
“That hideous serpent is frightened?!” said Layla. “You could have fooled me. I still feel like a quivering hunk of jelly.”
“Let’s go back to the stadium and get you some juice,” said Adam.
Tariq looked at his watch. “The last race just ended. Everyone will be leaving. Let’s go see if we can find this Mole Man there. We’ll have lunch afterwards.”