by Farah Zaman
“Sounds good,” Adam said.
While the couple busied themselves in the treatment and storage rooms, the teenagers sat in the little waiting area to await their student guide.
Minutes later, a young woman wearing the now familiar uniform of dark blue gown and white scarf, entered. “Salaams.” She ran striking silver-gray eyes over them. “I’m Heba. Mr. Mazin sent me to show you around.”
“You speak English.” Layla smiled, her dimples peeping out.
“I’m still learning, so I may have to switch to Arabic sometimes.”
“Not a problem,” Adam said. “We’re all bilingual. I’m Adam, by the way.”
After the others introduced themselves, Heba said, “I’m happy to meet you all. Would you like to get started on the tour now?”
“Sure,” Zaid said. “We don’t mind where you start from.”
As they followed her back to the main corridor, Zahra asked, “How long have you been here, Heba?”
“I’ve been coming to school here for the past eight years. I only came to live here full-time three months ago, after my uncle died. He was a teacher here and we used to live in the village. I’ll be leaving soon since I’m already eighteen. I just help out in the meantime.”
“We’re sorry to hear about your uncle,” Zaid said. “Was he ill?”
“No, he died…suddenly.” Heba’s voice sounded choked. Adam glanced at her. Her face looked pinched and her eyes shadowed.
“That’s too bad,” Layla said. “Sudden deaths are the worst, I think.”
Heba nodded and took a deep breath. “To give you a brief history of the orphanage, it was built as a hospital in 1790 and named Dar-as-Shifa, the House of Cure. After more modern hospitals sprang up everywhere, it was converted into an orphanage and renamed Dar-as-Sakinah. With wars all over the Middle East, it’s been operating at full capacity for the longest while.”
A door to their left creaked open. Three rumpled youths of about age fifteen emerged, their eyes darting right and left. They scowled at Heba and the teenagers.
“Look, its Princess Heba showing the visitors around the palace,” said one of them, a heavyset youth with curly black hair.
“Are you going to show them our fancy rooms?” asked the second boy, a beanpole thin youth with a pronounced Adam’s apple.
“And our closets full of beautiful clothes?” said the third, a scrawny fellow with a sullen face.
“There’s no need to show off in front of our visitors,” Heba shot back. “They’ve seen how much you’ve got. Aren’t you late for class? You’d better hope Ms. Tubaa doesn’t catch you.”
The boy with the pronounced Adam’s apple made a face. “It will be just our luck if old camel-face catches us.”
Camel-face? I guess I’m not the only one who thinks Ms. Tubaa looks like a camel.
Grumbling, they hurried away.
Adam grinned. “Who’re they?”
Heba grimaced. “They’re troublemakers. Avoid them when you see them.”
After showing them the classrooms, the library, the student lounges and an event room, Heba said, “Let’s go outside now. There’s something I want you to see.”
She led them down several corridors to the back of the building. They exited the door and onto a paved pathway running towards a wooded area. The sun beat down upon the bricks, sending them hastening towards the shade of the trees.
A curving footpath took them through the woods. When they came to the end, they stared in astonishment at the sight that met their eyes. A lake lay cradled in the bosom of greenery on both sides, its brackish water lapping against the pebbly shore. A wooden boathouse stood to the right, its jetty jutting out into the water. Moored to it was a red, green and yellow canoe.
“Wow, a lake,” Adam said. “This is so cool.”
“I doubt it’s cool with the sun blazing down on it,” Layla said.
Heba smiled at their banter. “This is Lake Sakinah. Our own haunted lake.”
“Haunted?” Zahra said. “This sweet little lake?”
“Yes, story has it that after the orphanage was first opened, the students used to learn how to swim here. One night, two boys sneaked out for a dip. They returned almost insensible with fright, raving about glowing red eyes staring at them and hands pulling them under the water. For days afterwards, the orphanage was under the grips of hysteria, with whispers of jinn possession running rampant. The students didn’t want to swim here after that.”
Zaid said, “Besides the jinn theory, it could have been some chemical reaction in the water that caused those boys to hallucinate. Just like how divers get a sickness called the bends due to the decrease in water pressure.”
“Whatever it is, there have been more weird tales like that over the years,” Heba said. “Like huge fish bones found here and splashing sounds when no one was in the lake. The stories pass on from one student generation to the next, continuing the cycle of fear. The lake has now been off limits for swimming for the past twenty-five years. It’s only used for rowing.”
“That’s a pity,” Layla said. “Swimming is such a fun activity.”
“Can we take a look at the boathouse?” Zahra asked.
“Of course.” Heba led them across the narrow strip of shore. They climbed the rickety stairs and peered into the ramshackle building. Inside it were two damaged canoes lying upside down and a line hung with several orange life jackets.
Turning, Adam shaded his eyes and stared out into the lake. It disappeared around bends on both sides so he could not tell how long it was. On the other shore, there was a dark shape hidden among the trees.
“Is that a house over there?” Adam asked.
“Yes, that’s the lake house,” Heba said. “After the last tenant died, it’s been sitting empty. Some of the villagers say it’s been taken over by jinns.”
“That I can believe,” Zahra said.
“We should check it out,” Zaid said, a gleam in his eyes.
“Absolutely,” Layla said, her eyes sparkling.
“You think we can go over one day with the canoe, Heba?” Adam asked.
“If you wish. But aren’t you afraid?”
Adam chuckled. “No, we’ve seen our share of scary and creepy. An empty house is tame in comparison.”
Heba gave them a speculative look. “You seem to lead exciting lives.”
“Let’s just say that our last two vacations were very eventful,” Layla said. “We found ourselves in the middle of mystery and murder. Luckily, we were able to get to the bottom of them.”
Heba’s brows went up. “Murder? Are you some kind of wonder kids or what?”
“No, we’re just nosy kids,” Zahra said, and they all chuckled.
Heba looked thoughtful as she stared into space. She finally looked at them and said, “I know we’ve just met but I feel like I can talk to you all.”
“Of course, you can.” Layla gave the other girl a searching look. “Is something bothering you?”
Heba’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Yes. I have to tell you the truth about my uncle’s death. He was murdered.”
Chapter Two:
The Button in the Bushes
“Murdered?” Zahra said with wide eyes.
“Yes.” Heba’s eyes filled with tears. “He was stabbed to death during a robbery at our house.”
“How awful.” Layla put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “We’re so sorry.”
“Did the police catch the murderer?” Adam asked.
Heba’s face became bleak. “No. I don’t know if they ever will.”
“Investigations take time,” Zaid said. “I’m sure they’ll eventually find out who did it.”
Heba sighed. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But it’s been over three months already and I’ve heard nothing from the police.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not working on it,” Adam said. “One day out of the blue they might tell you they’ve caught the murderer.”
Nodding, Heba said, “We’d better head back now. I have to help pack the meal boxes for lunch.”
When they returned to the orphanage, Layla said, “Thanks for giving us the tour, Heba. We’ll see you another day.”
“Why don’t you come over tomorrow afternoon? We’ll be having snacks on the lawn at five o’clock. It’s our Monday afternoon ritual.”
“Sounds like fun,” Zahra said. “We’d love to come.”
The next afternoon, the teenagers - with Mouna and the twins in tow - set off for the orphanage. When they arrived, the lawn was teeming with uniform-clad students. The grassy square lay in the shade now that the sun was deep in its track towards the west. The teachers and childminders hovered in the midst, keeping an eye on their charges. Voices and laughter rose in the air, drawing a smile from Adam. Nothing brings more vibrancy to a place than the presence of children.
“Look, there’s Bishr and Burhaan on the slides.” Hakeem pointed to two boys in the playground. “We met them in the playroom yesterday.”
“They’re twins just like us,” Hassan said, his eyes lighting up. “They came from Sonalia.”
“Somalia,” Mouna corrected, pulling the shawl of her peach salwar kameez over her head.
“Can we go play with them?” Hakeem asked.
“Sure, you can,” Layla said.
The twins ran to join their cronies, Mouna on their heels.
Heba came up to them. With her high cheekbones and silvery eyes, she stood out from the rest of the crowd. “Salaams. It’s nice to see you again. Come, let’s get some snacks before this hungry horde eats everything up.” They followed her to the refreshment tables and collected cookies and juice before sitting down on the gray tarpaulin to eat.
“Look at that sweet baby girl.” Zahra pointed to a little cherub with a mop of light-brown curls, crawling among a group of toddlers. “She’s adorable.”
Heba’s face was sad as she watched the apple-cheeked baby. “That’s Lina. She came here six months ago from a war zone. She’s eleven months old. She was the only survivor found in the rubble of a house that was shelled.”
“Oh, that’s too sad,” Layla said, her eyes filled with pity.
Adam’s heart was heavy as he gazed at the students. They were a motley crew of Africans, Arabs, Indians and Asians. To see so many orphans living under one roof was a revelation. It was a side to life that many young people were oblivious of. He knew their visit would be an eye-opener in many ways and leave a deep mark in his memory.
Adam did a double take when a brown-skinned boy of about twelve passed by. A wizened monkey with hollow cheeks and thinning fur was perched on his shoulder. The little creature gazed around with bright, inquisitive eyes as it chattered in a high-pitched squeak.
“Isn’t that the cutest monkey you’ve ever seen?” Layla exclaimed.
Adam snorted. “Cute? He’s a hideous little thing.”
“Who’s that boy, Heba?” Zaid asked. His face had become leaner during the past year, lending his face a more mature look.
A smile came over Heba’s heart-shaped face. “That’s Mahmood. He’s mute. The monkey’s name is Muk-Muk. It’s the sound Mahmood makes when he calls his pet.”
“How come he has a monkey?” Zahra asked, her dark eyes following the boy.
“He came from India when he was five. His entire family died in a monsoon flood that almost wiped out their village. Story has it that Mahmood and Muk-Muk climbed up a tall mango tree to escape the water. The rescuers heard his flute, that’s how they found him and the monkey. Since then, he’s never spoken a word. His speech therapist said it’s called selective mutism.”
Mahmood was now passing by three youths playing a boisterous board game. Adam recognized them as the threesome they had run into the day before. When they saw Mahmood, looks of derision came over their faces. The heavyset one said something to Mahmood, and the three of them burst into raucous laughter. Mahmood’s face tightened and he hurried away. Adam frowned. Had they been mocking him? How cruel. He hoped it was not something they made a habit of.
Turning away, he looked towards the walkway. One of the female teachers and a group of students were heading out to the street.
“Where are those students going, Heba?” Adam asked.
“That’s the Science Club going for their weekly walk. Ms. Yusra is their adviser.”
“What other clubs do you have?” Zaid asked.
“We have the Book Club, the Gardening Club and the Craft Club. My uncle used to be the adviser for the Book Club. He loved books. There’s a whole roomful of them at the house where we used to live. I’ll have to give them away when I sell the house. I can’t take them all when I leave.”
“Are you leaving soon?” Zahra asked. She had grown several inches taller during the past year but still retained her plump cheeks.
“In a few months. I’m being sponsored by an older cousin to go live in Australia.”
“Australia? That’s exciting,” Layla said.
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” Heba’s expression lightened.
“Where are you originally from, Heba?” Adam said.
The light dimmed in Heba’s eyes. “From Syria. Uncle Issa, Aunt Sousan, and I came as refugees when I was nine. Now they’re both gone. I’m planning to leave in a few minutes to go visit their graves. I’ve already gotten permission from Ms. Tubaa. Afterwards, I’ll swing by the house to pick up a few things. If you’re not squeamish about going to the cemetery, you can come with me if you’d like. It’s not too far.”
“We’d love to,” Zaid said. “It’s a beautiful afternoon for a walk.”
“Let’s make a move then.” Heba stood up and brushed crumbs off her scarf.
“I’ll go tell Mouna,” Adam said. “Be back in a minute.”
When he rejoined them, Heba said, “We’ll take the shortcut to the cemetery. It’s faster than going by the main road.”
She led them into the trees at the side of the orphanage and veered left onto a path that brought them alongside the lake. The shore was wilder here, with long weeds and wildflowers rimming the edge. Sunlight glinted on the water, burnishing it to gold. It was hard to believe that such an idyllic little spot was a source of fear.
“I’ll pick some flowers to put on the graves,” Heba said, her cheeks pink from the heat of the sun.
“We’ll help you,” Zahra offered.
They gathered a small pile of the white and yellow flowers and continued on their way. The lake receded from sight and trees hemmed the pathway on all sides. The shortcut came to an end and the main road lay before them. No vehicles drove by nor were there any buildings to be seen. After walking for several minutes, they came to a sign on the right that said, Al-Bustaan Cemetery. A short driveway took them into the graveyard.
“Peace be upon you, O inhabitants of the graves,” Zaid murmured as they entered the hallowed grounds.
Adam’s eyes swept around the space. He understood why it was named The Garden Cemetery. Shady trees enclosed the graveyard and lined the pathways leading to the resting places of the dead. Heba moved sure-footedly towards her uncle’s and aunt’s graves. They were buried next to each other. After laying the flowers on top, there was silence as they bent their heads in supplication.
Heba straightened up and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Please excuse me.” Her voice was thick with tears. “Uncle Issa’s death still hurts. He lived a good life, dedicated to teaching others. It grieves me when I think how senselessly he was murdered.”
“Can you tell us what happened?” Layla said.
“When we get to the house. I don’t want to spoil the peace here with my terrible tale.”
Leaving
the cemetery, they turned right onto the main road and proceeded to the village. Several scattered villas appeared one by one, all faded with age. Heba took them to a red brick one almost hidden by trees. She opened the front door and they followed her into a cozy living room that sweltered with heat.
“Have a seat.” She waved them towards the burgundy sofas. “I’ll go turn on the air and get us some water.”
Adam glanced around the little house. It was not a luxurious abode but there was beauty in the simplicity. The central air kicked in and he sighed with relief as a cool draft floated from the vent above. Heba came back into the living room with glasses of water on a tray. Setting it down on the coffee table she said, “Help yourselves.”
Zahra picked up a glass. “The house is very pretty, Heba. And the area is lovely.”
Heba sat down, a faraway expression on her face. “Yes, it reminds me of our home on the outskirts of Damascus. We were surrounded by fields of oranges and olives, stretching for miles around. From our balcony we could smell the fruits ripening on the trees and see the majestic mountains rising strong and proud in the distance. Maybe someday I’ll return when the turmoil is over. Uncle Issa was waiting for that day to come, but now he’ll never see it.” Tears shone in her eyes.
“Tell us what happened,” Adam said, moved by Heba’s words.
Wrapping slender fingers around her glass of water, Heba took a sip and said, “I woke up on the night of Uncle Issa’s murder when I heard him crying out. After that, there was a loud thud. Alarmed, I got up to go see what was going on. I looked in his room first, but he wasn’t there. So I went to his office. He had a habit of staying up late in the night because he couldn’t sleep. It started after the war. Sometimes he would leave the window open for fresh air and fall asleep at his desk. When I got there, he was lying on the ground and there was so much blood…,” her voice broke and she pressed her fingers over her lips.
“How was he killed?” Zaid asked.
“The murderer came through the window and stabbed him. The weapon wasn’t on Uncle Issa’s body when I got there. But he was still alive. Just before he died, he clutched my hand and said, ‘The Hour of the Oryx.’”
