A Hen in the Wardrobe

by Wendy Meddour

  “What’s he doing?” asked Mum.

  “He’s thinking, Mum,” explained Ramzi.

  They waited.

  After a few minutes, the wise-man’s eyes suddenly flicked open. Slowly, he lifted three soil-stained fingers into the air. “There are three things you must do before you return to foreign shores,” he said. “At first light tomorrow, you must travel to the depths of the Sahara. Find The City of a Thousand Domes. Drive east and find a tribe of Tuareg. They will bury you in hot desert sand. This will cleanse your body of dark thoughts.

  “When you return, you must be wrapped in a cloth, drenched in powerful herbs, that will seep into the pores of your skin. A woman in your town will help you. Her name is Chelti Gamra. But remember this: do not remove the cloth until dawn! Whilst it is drawing out the nightmares, burn a snake’s skin outside your front door. Do as I say and all evil spirits and mischievous djinns will be banished from your body and mind!” He rubbed the black hair beneath his turban and lay down to rest on the bare ground.

  In a hushed voice, Dad explained what the wise-man had said.

  “Blimey!” exclaimed Mum.

  “Cool!” said Ramzi.

  “Should we pay him?” asked Mum.

  “He just wants me to say a prayer for him at the mosque,” replied Dad.

  “Is that all?” asked Mum. “Give him some money, love. He’s got nothing.”

  “No. He’ll be offended,” said Dad. “But I think I know what he’d like.” Dad took off his shoes and left them on the rickety wooden bench in front of the house.

  Uncle Kader was waiting in the car. They all got in and Uncle Kader started the engine. Dust swirled around the back wheels and followed them like a sandstorm as they disappeared over the blank horizon.

  The City of a Thousand Domes

  It was two days before they reached The City of a Thousand Domes. It bordered the Sahara Desert like a froth of bubbles at the edge of a sandy shore. Every house, every mosque, every shop had a perfectly curved roof.

  “This is like something out of a story book!” enthused Mum, as she snapped away on her camera.

  They drove up and down the busy streets until finally they found a hotel. It was the colour of sand and had a bright blue roof topped with six little domes.

  “Alhamdulillah,” said Dad. “This should do for the night.”

  They parked their yellow car at the back of the hotel and asked for a room. A man in a gold-trimmed robe welcomed them, and carried their bags down a cool white corridor.

  “Wow!” cried Ramzi. “This is brilliant!” He didn’t mind that it was hot any more. Not now he was being an explorer! A proper one who travelled to the Sahara. Just wait till his friends heard about this!

  The room in the hotel was like the inside of a cave. Its walls and ceilings were white and curved. Brightly patterned cushions were strewn along the floor and carved metal lanterns dangled from the ceiling. A low wooden table sat in the middle of the room, on top of which was some cold water and a bowl of fresh fruit. Dad gave Ramzi a big slice of water melon.

  “This tastes fantastic!” slurped Ramzi. Juice dribbled down his chin.

  Dad carried some out to Mum, who was busy sketching on the balcony. Ramzi went to join them.

  “What do you think of this, Ramzi?” asked Mum.

  The town spread out in front of them like a beautiful painting. Blue, orange and golden domes curved their way into the distance.

  “It’s totally cool! But where’s the desert?” asked Ramzi.

  Dad lifted Ramzi up. “Over there,” he said.

  Just behind the furthest dome, shimmering in the sunlight, Ramzi could see the tip of a single dune. “Can we go right now?” asked Ramzi.

  “Tomorrow,” smiled Dad.

  They walked to the market place and shared a huge pizza and some fizzy drinks by a fountain. Young men without helmets whizzed past on their motorbikes whilst families walked through arches, arm in arm. But as darkness fell, the Ramadans returned to their hotel. Sitting on the balcony, they listened to the sound of crickets and the soft rumble of cars.

  “Does anyone live in the desert, Dad, or is it empty?” asked Ramzi.

  “Of course people live there – haven’t I told you about the Bedouins and the Tuaregs?” asked Dad.

  “Tell us about them now, love,” said Mum.

  So Dad began. He told stories of men in blue turbans with black skin and sparkling blue eyes. He told them about bonfires crackling in the darkness and camel races at dawn. Then he told them about his childhood. About the Uncle who could carry a donkey on his back. About his cousins dancing with him naked in the storm. About the time when everyone called him ‘the boy with a thousand dreams’.

  And for the first time, they really understood. This was where Dad belonged!

  That night, as they stared out at the City of a Thousand Domes, they were all too excited to sleep. So they huddled together under the twinkling stars and listened to Dad’s stories until sunrise.

  But what of the Spider’s prophecy? Well, far away from the mountains – amongst the domes and the desert – it had faded like a long-forgotten dream. And Ramzi had only one thought: the wise-man would cure Dad now.

  Buried in the Desert

  “Are you sure you’re all right, love?” said Mum.

  Dad’s head was sitting on top of the desert sand like a football on the beach! His body was buried somewhere beneath.

  “I’m fine!” He smiled bravely.

  Mum reached into her bag for a bottle of sun-cream. “Well, at least let me put a bit of this on.” She smeared his nose and cheeks with big blobs of white cream. “The sun will be getting hot soon.”

  “That’s enough,” blushed Dad. “Look! I’m at the mercy of my wife today!” he shouted to a nearby Tuareg.

  The Tuareg laughed. He was flattening sand around another man’s head only feet away.

  When the Tuareg stood up to his full height, Ramzi gazed spellbound. He was tall, with deep-black skin and sparkling blue eyes, just like the ones in Dad’s stories. His bright blue robe stood out against the unending background of yellow sand dunes and empty turquoise sky. Ramzi had never seen anyone look so magnificent.

  “Are we going to just leave you here, love?” Mum asked Dad’s head.

  “Not all day, Ruby! I’d die from the heat!” said Dad.

  “Oh!” gasped Mum.

  “Just go and sit in the shade,” said Dad.

  Mum looked behind her. There was a tumble-down shelter made of palm leaves and branches, nestled into a dune. Another family were sipping mint tea under its cover.

  “But you’ve got sand in your beard,” fussed Mum. She patted Dad’s beard and put a sun cap on his head.

  Dad blushed again.

  “Come on, Mum,” said Ramzi. “Leave Dad alone.”

  Dad winked up at his son. Ramzi winked back. Then he yanked Mum’s arm and they walked towards the shade.

  That day, as the white glaring sun rose in the sky, the sand grew hotter and hotter! The other man was soon dug out. He dusted himself down and left with his family. But Mum and Ramzi waited. And waited.

  At last, they heard a distant voice croak, “Get me out of here!”

  It was Dad.

  The Tuareg picked up his robes and ran across the burning sand. Ramzi and Mum raced after him and they dug Dad out as fast as they could.

  ***

  “Arghhh!” groaned Dad. He was slumped in the back seat of the car, his eyes closed. His beard and hair were full of sand and he looked like a shipwrecked sailor.

  “Is Dad all right?” asked Ramzi.

  But Mum was busy looking at the map.

  “Mum,” exclaimed Ramzi. “It’s upside-down!”

  “Have a little faith, petal. Everything’s under control. I just need to find that City of a Thousand Domes!”

  Ramzi grabbed the map. “You’ve lost us, haven’t you, Mum?”

  “No, of course not!” said Mum, pushing her slipping headscar
f back off her forehead.

  “Arghhh,” groaned Dad again.

  A huge oil tanker thundered past. Mum gripped the steering wheel tight.

  “What does that mean?” asked Ramzi. He was pointing to a red triangular sign at the side of the road. It showed a little black car disappearing into a sand dune.

  “Nothing, poppet,” said Mum.

  “Does it mean that sand dunes might swallow up the car?” asked Ramzi nervously.

  “Only if we stop,” said Mum.

  “Blimey!” gulped Ramzi.

  “Arghhh,” groaned Dad.

  “Look,” said Mum, pointing at the horizon.

  Ramzi looked. A Bedouin and his young daughter were leading five camels along the top of a distant dune.

  Mum pulled over to the side of the road and scrabbled in her bag for her camera.“No wonder they’re called ships of the desert,” she sighed.

  “And look over there!” shouted Ramzi. He was pointing to a cluster of palm trees. Barely visible, just peeking out from behind their deep green leaves, was a sparkling white roof. At last, they’d found The City of a Thousand Domes!

  Ramzi sighed with relief.

  “I told you we weren’t lost,” smiled Mum.

  Back at the hotel, Mum and Ramzi helped Dad stumble into the shower. Dad washed the sand out of his ears and toes and scrubbed the grains out of his beard. Then he put on a white dressing-gown and drank seven glasses of ice-cold water.

  “Well done, Dad, you were completely brilliant today!” Ramzi said.

  Dad smiled. “Thanks, little warrior.”

  But Mum was looking red-faced and sad.

  “What up, Ruby?” asked Dad.

  “What’s up? I’m tired. I’m covered in sand. I’m sticky. I’m hot. My husband’s just been buried. And I nearly lost my family in the desert,” snapped Mum. There was a pause. “Mohamed, I want to go home,” she said.

  “Back to the damp grey skies of England?” Dad teased.

  “There’s nothing wrong with damp grey skies,” said Mum. “Besides, I want a proper cup of tea and some fish and chips.” Her voice was wobbly.

  Dad smiled at Ramzi. “If we’re not careful, your mother will be sleepwalking soon.”

  Ramzi tried to smile but he was missing home too.

  Mum blinked back her tears as Dad put his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry, love, you’re doing really well,” said Dad. “The heat of the desert drives some people mad. Why don’t you and Ramzi have a shower? They’ve got plenty of hot water here.”

  “Really?” Mum brightened.

  “Yes, but I’m afraid there’s no cold.” Dad grinned. “It’s a desert problem!”

  Mum laughed and bashed Dad on the shoulder. Ramzi wiped the dust from his face.

  ***

  When they’d all freshened up and eaten some freshly picked oranges, Ramzi remembered what the wise-man had said. Something about herbs and djinns. “Dad – do you have to be wrapped up in smelly stuff when we get back?”

  “That’s right, Ramzi,” nodded Dad.

  “You won’t be smelling sweet for long, then!” Mum smiled. “We’d better make the most of it.”

  Dad pulled the crisp, white towel from his head and threw it at Mum. She threw hers back. Ramzi picked up a cushion and launched it at Dad. Soon the hotel room was filled with flying cushions, screams and laughter.

  What a whiff!

  The next evening, Mum was wiping the tears from her eyes.

  “I think we’d best leave you to it,” she said.

  Dad was bound in a red-and-white cloth and was dripping with a pale green juice! Bits of leaves clung to his forehead and water sprang from his eyes! An old, hunched woman in a brightly patterned shawl picked up her potions and put them in her carpet bag.

  “Thank you, Chelti Gamra,” said Nanna. “Insha’Allah, your potion will help.”

  The old lady smiled. “Insha’Allah. And may your futures all be blessed,” she said. The heels of her shoes clattered down the stone staircase as Nanna showed her to the door.

  Mum swirled a sparkling yellow hijab round her hair and tied it under her chin. “Right,” she said, holding her nose. “Is dere anydig you want before we go out for sub fresh air?”

  Dad sneezed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he sighed.

  Ramzi went over to kiss Dad goodbye, but quickly changed his mind. “Dad! You stink!” he cried.

  “Just you wait!” shouted Dad.

  But Mum and Ramzi didn’t. They just ran out of the door!

  ***

  Nanna and Uncle Kader were sitting outside. There was an old tin bucket on the doorstep. Ramzi peered inside. Then he jumped back.

  “Do you want to set fire to it?” asked Uncle Kader.

  “OK,” said Ramzi.. “But is it already totally dead?”

  “It’s only the skin,” smiled Uncle Kader. He handed Ramzi a box of matches. Ramzi felt excited. He wasn’t allowed even to touch matches at home.

  As he dropped the burning flame into the bucket, a strange green smoke swirled into the air. The snake skin fizzled like a firework.

  “Wow!” exclaimed Ramzi.

  “That should scare away any evil spirits,” said Uncle Kader.

  Nanna nodded her head. She looked serious.

  “But will it work?” asked Ramzi.

  “If God wills it,” replied Nanna. “My brother used to burn a snake skin in the middle of our flock of sheep at sunset. It always kept the wolves away.”

  “Wow!” said Ramzi again.

  “Let’s hope it scares away Mohamed’s bad dreams,” laughed Mum. “Snake skins – who’d have thought. . .”

  “He doesn’t have bad dreams when he’s here with me,” snapped Nanna. She sounded cross. Picking up her cushion, she went back upstairs.

  “Oh dear,” sighed Mum. “I hope I haven’t upset… it’s just… well, you see, I’ve never burnt snake skins before and…”

  “Take no notice,” said Uncle Kader. “Yemma just misses Mohamed. He was always her favourite.”

  “But she’s right,” said Mum sadly. “He doesn’t have bad dreams when he’s here.”

  They all looked at the bucket in silence and listened to the snake skin crackle.

  ***

  When Ramzi went back upstairs, the sharp smell of herbs and onions made his eyes sting.

  “Has Uncle Kader burnt the snake skin yet?” asked Dad. His sweating head was resting against Nanna’s knee.

  “Yeh, Dad. It was completely brilliant! I set it on fire and the smoke was bright green!”

  Dad smiled. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were watering.

  Nanna took off her white shawl and arranged it carefully on Dad’s pillow. Then she stroked his forehead with her star-tattooed hand and began to tell Dad a story.

  “It is called The Keys of Destiny,” she began, “It is written, Oh Auspicious King….”

  Ramzi listened, spellbound, for what seemed like forever. He didn’t want the story to stop.

  But then Nanna said, “At that moment, Scheherazade saw the approach of the morning and discreetly fell silent.”

  “That was brilliant, Nanna,” sighed Ramzi. But something Nanna had said had made him feel uneasy . . . Scheherazade . . . Scheherazade . . . Suddenly, he remembered that night in the woods! The fire. The tisane. The prophecy. What if Boulelli was right? What if only Ramzi could help Dad? What if the wise-man’s remedies failed?

  “Dad,” Ramzi blurted out. “What if the wise-man’s cure doesn’t work?”

  “It will!” said Dad.

  “But…” began Ramzi.

  “But nothing!” snapped Dad. He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “God save us from the fire,” he muttered to himself.

  Suddenly, there were noises outside.

  BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, went the gunshots in the streets!

  “Ulo, ulo, ulo, ulo!” cried the women.

  BANG, BANG, BANG, went the drums.

  “It’s another
wedding,” smiled Nanna.

  As Ramzi looked at Dad resting on the pillow next to Nanna, an idea slowly formed in his mind.

  Sighs and Sadness

  During the last few days in the town that never slept, something strange happened to time. It began to speed up. At first, no one noticed. Nanna burnt her biscuits, Uncle Kader overslept and Mum missed some of her prayers. They couldn’t understand why.

  But Dad knew. “It’s the time!” he said. “It’s going too fast.” He tried standing still and staring at the clock. But that didn’t slow it down. Nothing could.

  On the last night, Ramzi was outside with Meccy and Amel. “I wish I’d had time to say goodbye to the Spider.”

  “Can you stay for another week?” asked Amel.

  Ramzi shrugged his shoulders.

  “I don’t want you to go,” cried Meccy. “I hate Cinnamon Grove. Stay here.”

  Amel put her arm around Meccy’s shoulders and wiped his eyes with her sleeve.

  “I’ll email. Dad’s got skype. It’ll be cool,” said Ramzi. His words sounded hollow. “You could visit? Maybe next year?”

  They nodded and smiled. But they weren’t real smiles. And Ramzi knew why. He’d heard Uncle Kader and Dad shouting downstairs.

  “England? It’s easier to get into Paradise!”

  But perhaps they’d get a visa, one day? The air was heavy with sighs and sadness and everyone looked glum.

  As night fell, a rickety truck turned into the street. Its juddering headlights flashed in the darkness and made Ramzi close his eyes and turn away. In the shadows, some figures bustled into Nanna Ramadan’s house.

  “Come on,” called Amel excitedly. “It’s the Zidanes. They’re hardly ever in town. They must have come to say goodbye.”

  “More cousins?” asked Ramzi. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeh,” grinned Meccy, skipping up the echoing staircase.

  Amel was right. The Zidanes had come to wish the Ramadans farewell. But Dad wasn’t ready to say goodbye and Mum hadn’t even packed. So whilst Mum gathered up crunchy socks from the moonlit sun terrace and faded towels from the balcony, everyone squeezed into the lounge to hear stories about Dad when he was a boy.