The Hour of the Oryx

by Farah Zaman

  “The hour of the oryx,” Layla repeated. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a book. The housekeeping staff at the orphanage found it along with a huge stash of money in some clothes when they were clearing out one of the storage rooms. We get a lot of donations, so things tend to pile up. The staff turned in the cash to the administration and gave the book to Uncle Issa even though it was in a foreign language. He realized at once that the language was Persian…”

  “Was he Persian?” Zahra cut in.

  “No, but his maternal grandparents were. He’d picked up some of the language from them during vacations, but he wasn’t a fluent reader. The discovery of the money and the book was the talk of the orphanage that day. Everyone wondered where the cash had come from and what the book was about. Uncle Issa thought it looked like poetry and was looking forward to reading it. But he was murdered that very night and the book was stolen. The police questioned the staff but there were no specific suspects.”

  “If it was someone your uncle knew, I wonder why he told you the name of the book and not the name of the murderer,” Adam said.

  “The police think the murderer must have concealed his identity.”

  “That makes sense,” Layla said. “But if the book was in Persian, it could only have been stolen by someone who speaks that language.”

  “The police checked out that angle. We have a few students who are Persian, but they’re very young and don’t know the language. None of the staff are Persian.”

  “The person who stole the book probably knows Persian even though they may not be Persian,” Zahra said.

  “That’s what I believe,” Heba said.

  “Did you check the title on the internet?” Adam asked.

  “Yes, but I found nothing.”

  “What did the book look like?” Layla asked.

  “It was the size of a personal diary. The cover was dark blue, with a picture of an oryx and a clock. Etched around it were yellow moons and stars. Uncle Issa started to translate it the night he died. I found a page in his notebook with the title of the book and a few sentences beneath it. I can’t remember the words now, but they did sound poetic.”

  “Do you still have the notebook, or did the police take it?” Zaid asked.

  “I still have it. They didn’t think the words had any significance.”

  “Can we see it?” Zahra said.

  “Yes, let’s go to the office.”

  Heba led them to a room with built-in bookshelves and a single window at the back. Adam’s nose twitched as he caught an antiseptic odor. “What’s that smell?” he asked.

  Heba’s face tightened. “It’s the cleaner I used to remove Uncle Issa’s blood from the floor.” Adam could not repress a slight shiver. What a grisly task for a young woman to perform.

  Seating herself in the black leather chair, Heba rummaged through the drawers of the plain wooden desk. Moments later, she held up a green spiral notebook. “I’ve found it.”

  They crowded around the desk as she flipped it open. Written at the top of the page was, Translation of The Hour of the Oryx. In neat letters below, were the words, For all 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.

  “Sounds intriguing,” Layla said. “I wonder what it means.”

  Heba said, “I think it’s the introduction. I wondered if the book might have been one of the lesser known works of Rumi. Or even a part of the Shah Namah.”

  “What’s the Shah Namah?” Zahra asked.

  “It means ‘Book of Kings.’ It’s a long, epic poem that the Persian poet Firdausi took over thirty years to write.”

  After Heba returned the book to the drawer, Adam went over to the window. Drawing the sheer white curtains aside, he stared out. The backyard was enclosed by trees and was even more overgrown than the front yard. “Heba, did the police find any footprints outside?”

  “No, the ground was too dry. They did find trampled bushes beneath the trees. They think the murderer must have been hiding there, waiting for his chance to get in.”

  “They think it was a man?” Zaid asked.

  “Isn’t that more likely?” Heba sounded surprised.

  “Murderers can sometimes be women too,” Layla said.

  “I find it hard to believe a woman could have murdered Uncle Issa.”

  “Can we take a look outside?” Adam asked.

  “Of course.” Heba led them through the kitchen and out a door at the side. From there, a concrete walkway took them to the backyard. Skirting the low wall of weeds and grass, they were soon among the trees. The shady spot was humming with insects and redolent with the sweet scent of jasmine. The fallen flowers lay on the ground like scattered pieces of confetti.

  Layla picked up one of the white buds and sniffed it. “Hmm, heavenly.”

  “Oh look, there’s an ant dragging a piece of petal away,” Zahra said, pointing to the ground.

  Their eyes followed the course of the little creature.

  “It must be a worker ant,” Zaid said. “I’ve read that when they discover a source of food, they leave a chemical trail for other worker ants to follow. And they work in shifts to bring back food to the nest.”

  “This one must be going to the nest,” Adam said. As the ant disappeared under a clump of bushes, a colored object at the base of the greenery caught his eye. He bent and picked it up. It was a blue and white button, the size of an American quarter.

  “Look what I found.” He held it up.

  “It’s a button from our uniforms,” Heba said, a surprised expression on her face. Lifting her scarf, she showed them three identical buttons on her gown. “I wonder how it got here.”

  “Maybe it fell off from your uniform or your uncle’s,” Zahra said.

  Heba shook her head slowly. “Uncle Issa had allergies and avoided the trees, and I’m afraid of creepy-crawlies. This is the first time I’ve come all the way back here.”

  “What about visitors from the orphanage?” Zaid said.

  “None of them has ever been here. The only person who comes from time to time is the gardener who cuts the grass.”

  “Would he have buttons like these?” Adam asked.

  “No, he usually wears jeans and a T-shirt. Besides, these buttons are specially ordered from the company who makes our uniforms. I don’t think they’re very common.”

  They looked at one another.

  Adam put into words what they were all thinking. “Heba, if you or your uncle didn’t drop this button, you’ve never had visits from anyone at the orphanage, and the gardener doesn’t have buttons like these, you know what this means?”

  “Yes,” Heba said with a catch in her voice. “It must have dropped from the murderer’s uniform.”

  Chapter Three:

  At the Marzuqah Mall

  “Only the administration and students wear uniforms,” Zahra said, her brows rising high. “That means one of them is the murderer.”

  “I think we can rule out the students,” Layla said. “They’re too young to overpower a grown man.”

  “Not if they’re big and strong,” Zaid said. “But I don’t see a student committing murder for a book in a different language.”

  “That leaves the administration,” Adam said. “Mr. Mazin, Ms. Tubaa and the five teachers. That’s seven suspects in all.”

  Heba’s lips turned downwards. “I can’t believe it’s one of them.”

  “This button proves otherwise,” Layla said. “And it narrows down the list of suspects. Maybe you should tell the police about it.”

  Heba’s mouth drooped even more. “They’ll most likely think Uncle Issa or I dropped the button. And I wouldn’t be able to argue with that. Because I’m not a hundred percent sure Uncle Issa never came back here in his unif
orm. I can’t let suspicion fall on the administration if I’m not sure. I just can’t.” She blinked tears away.

  “What’s the alternative?” Zahra asked, her face filled with sympathy.

  Heba was silent, her brows furrowed. Then she looked at them with pleading eyes. “Can you help me find out if one of them murdered Uncle Issa? You’ve had experience with this sort of thing before.”

  Heba’s request was so unexpected that the teenagers exchanged a startled look.

  How can we refuse her plea for help?

  Taking a deep breath, Adam said, “It will be difficult, but we can give it a try.”

  “Thank you.” Heba gave them a grateful look. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up too high,” Zaid warned. “The trail is already cold. We might never find out who did it.”

  Heba nodded. “I understand. Whatever you need me to do, let me know.”

  “What exactly will we be doing?” Zahra asked.

  “We’ll have to keep an eye on the suspects and see what we can find out,” Adam said. “We’ll have to play it by ear. It won’t be easy.”

  “We can start on Wednesday since we’re going to Gilad tomorrow,” Zaid said.

  “It might be a good idea to volunteer for some chores,” Layla said. “It will give us the chance to be on the spot and poke around.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Heba said. “We’ll need help on Wednesday morning to set up the event room. The Dar-un-Nur Orphanage will be coming for their annual Solidarity Visit in the afternoon.”

  “How long does the visit last for?” Zaid asked.

  “Until the next day. You could spend the night if you like. It will be a lot of fun. The program doesn’t end until midnight. The student lounges will be set up with makeshift beds, so you don’t have to worry about where to sleep. And the best part is, there’s no classes the next day.”

  “It sounds great,” Layla said. “We’ll let Mom and Dad know.”

  As they headed back to the orphanage, Heba asked, “Do you all live in America?”

  “No, Zahra and I live in Midan,” Zaid said. “We moved there five years ago. We were born in the UK.”

  “Ah, that’s how you got the British accent. How did you all meet?”

  “Our fathers are from Midan,” Adam said. “They became friends at college in the US. Three years ago, we came to visit our grandfather who still lives in Midan. Our dad arranged for Zaid and Zahra to stay with us.”

  “How did you get here together?” Heba asked. In the afternoon sunlight, her eyes were like deep pools of gray.

  “On the way here, we stopped in Midan for a few days to visit our grandfather,” Layla said. “Zaid and Zahra joined us and we took the boat over here. It was lovely.”

  “We had no idea what Midan, Ghassan, and Wijdan were like,” Adam said. “Now we’ve visited all three of them.”

  “I would love to travel.” There was a look of longing on Heba’s face. “It must be exciting to see different places and cultures.”

  “My mom and dad go on a lecture tour to a different country every summer,” Zahra said. “They’re in South Africa right now.”

  “Dad is head of the history department at Crescent City University,” Zaid explained. “That’s how he gets sponsored for the tours.”

  “You said you had become mixed up with murder and mystery during your last two vacations,” Heba said. “How did that happen?”

  “Ah, it all began with our search for the Moon of Masarrah,” Layla said.

  “The Moon of Masarrah? What’s that?”

  The teenagers took turns telling her about that adventure until they reached the orphanage.

  “We’ll see you on Wednesday morning, Heba,” Zahra said.

  “Have a great time in Gilad. Make sure you check out the waterfront.”

  “Thanks, we will, insha Allah,” Zaid said.

  The Villa Wadha residents were relaxing on the soft brown sofas in the living room that evening when Dr. Horani turned on the humongous flat-screen television to catch the news.

  Adam looked up when a female newscaster said, “Now for an update on the kidnapping of sixteen-year old Danyal Hazni, son of prominent philanthropist Fatima Hazni and the late tycoon Aziz Hazni. As we have previously reported, Danyal was kidnapped two weeks ago in Gilad after leaving school that day. Three days later, his kidnapper demanded a ransom of two million dirhams in cryptocurrency. The kidnapper warned that if the ransom was not paid within two days, Danyal’s dead body would be returned to his family. According to Nidal Alawad, Danyal’s stepfather, the ransom has been paid but Danyal has not been returned. The case is now in the hands of the Tri-Country Bureau of Inquiries. Danyal’s family is offering a generous reward for any information on his whereabouts.”

  The photo of a dark-haired youth flashed across the screen, a phone number beneath it. Adam stared at the young man, startled.

  “He’s your spitting image, Adam,” Zaid said. “You could be twins.”

  “He’s the same age too,” Zahra said. “It’s freaky.”

  “I’ve heard of doppelgangers,” Layla said, “but it’s the first time I’m seeing an example with my own eyes.”

  “Poor boy,” Mrs. Horani said. “I can only imagine what his parents must be going through. I hope the kidnappers release him soon.”

  As Adam lay in bed later, he could not help thinking about the kidnapped youth who bore such a startling resemblance to him. What had befallen Danyal Hazni?

  His thoughts turned next to the formidable task they had undertaken. Would they be able to find out who murdered Heba’s uncle? He had his doubts, but he would make sure they did everything within their capacity to catch the murderer. If they did not succeed, it would not be for lack of trying.

  The next morning, Mouna watched as the teenagers and twins boarded the white minibus. The fifty-something year old nanny suffered from heel spurs and could not accompany them because of all the walking involved.

  “Goodbye, Auntie Mo.” Hassan waved to her. He was wearing a yellow T-shirt that said, This is the Best Day Ever.

  “See you later, Auntie Mo,” Hakeem called out next. His black T-shirt read, The Cool Kid Just Showed Up.

  Mouna’s face broke into a smile and she blew them a kiss as they clambered inside the vehicle. Jawad reversed out of the driveway, spun the wheel of the bus and zoomed down the street. Above the rumbling, he said, “Dr. Horani told me to drop you off at the waterfront and pick you up at nine in the evening from the Marzuqah Mall. Is that still the plan?”

  “Yes, it is,” Layla confirmed. Dressed in a cream scarf and brown tunic with jeans, she was raring to go for their jaunt into the city.

  An hour later, Jawad deposited them at the waterfront, waved goodbye and was gone quickly out of sight. The teenagers strolled along the boardwalk, taking in the scene and posing for photographs like the other tourists. Bordering the boardwalk were numerous shops and restaurants. In front of one, a glass case displayed live crabs.

  “Look, crabs,” Hakeem cried, his and his twin’s freckles standing out in the bright sun. “Can we go check them out?”

  “Sure,” Adam said, curious to take a closer look himself.

  As they stared at the crawling crustaceans, the tips of Adam’s ears tingled. He scanned the people shuffling past, but no one was looking at them. But, wait. There, across the boardwalk. Two men in faded jeans and tight-fitting T-shirts were leaning against the railing, staring in their direction. One of them had a bald head and the other, a pointed goatee. With their beefy arms and granite jaws, they looked like man-eating tigers on the prowl.

  They reminded Adam of the men who had tried to pick his pocket on the day of their arrival. Were they wharf rats? Adam had heard of such men, loafing around wharves, waiting for a chance to steal what they could. Foreigners were es
pecially fair game.

  Tightening his fingers on the wallet in his pocket, he said to the others, “What should we do first?”

  “Let’s go on a boat ride,” Zahra said. “I love being on the water.”

  The others agreed and after buying tickets at a booth, they boarded the boat. On the first deck, they bought popcorn and chips before climbing up to the shaded second deck and taking railing seats. They munched on their snacks as the boat chugged away, its wake frothy white and choppy.

  “Can we give Gul’s family some snacks?” Hassan pointed to the seabirds hovering above. Gul was the seagull the boys had made friends with during their first visit to their grandfather’s home in Bayan Bay. It brought back to Adam some fond - and some not so fond - memories of their adventures there.

  “Just a few pieces of popcorn,” Layla said with an impatient wave of her hand. “Otherwise, they’ll never leave us alone.”

  As they moved further into the sun dazzled waters, a crewman came around selling hot beverages. The scent of spiced tea mixed with oil fumes and the briny smell of the sea filled the air. Adam bought cardamom tea for everyone. Leaning against the railing, he sipped his brew as he watched an airplane create a long white streak above the receding city.

  After a while, Adam’s gaze came back to the deck. It was crowded now. His eyes fell upon two men across from them and he stiffened. They were the same two he had noticed on the boardwalk. He kept a wary eye on them. When all they did was stare out to sea like the other tourists, Adam relaxed his guard and returned to enjoying the ride.

  When they returned to port, they made their way along the boardwalk. The sun was a great golden disc in the sky, hurting eyes with its radiance. Sweat trickled down Adam’s back, plastering his blue checkered shirt to his skin.

  “Let’s have some ice cream,” Zahra said. The heat had turned her face as pink as the scarf she was wearing with her black tunic.

  “Yay, ice cream,” Hakeem cheered with a gap-toothed grin.

  The ice cream parlor they found had colorful names for their ice cream flavors. Adam asked the twins, “Do you want Crazy Coconut, Pink Paradise, Butterfly Blue, Sea Breeze or Camel’s Scoop?”