The Turtle of Oman

by Naomi Shihab Nye

  She took a bite. “Ummmm—juicy. You know, Aref—even Sultan Qaboos went away from Oman to go to school. He went to England. It was long ago . . . and he came home. In our country it is quite a tradition that people go away, then they come back home. We can be proud of it.”

  Mish-Mish pressed against his leg. He would miss her so much. No one else seemed properly worried about this. Mish-Mish might forget him. “Do cats have good memories?” he asked his mother.

  “I think so,” she said. “I think that a cat can walk a very long distance to find its way home, so it must remember things. Remember a few months ago when I told you about a cat that got lost in America when its family took it on a trip? Why you would take a cat on a trip, I still don’t know. The poor cat jumped out of the car at a rest stop and disappeared. It started walking on its own and unbelievably traveled safely across two hundred miles of Florida to find its old neighborhood. Can you imagine? All that way, and it ended up a mile or two from its house. It was gone two whole months! But don’t worry, Mish-Mish will like Hani and Shadi too.”

  This made Aref feel worse. What if Mish-Mish tried to walk to Michigan? She’d get lost in the desert. Also, he didn’t want to share his cat. Hani and Shadi, whom he used to enjoy playing with, were starting to seem like big trouble. “I hate them,” Aref said. He ran to his room. His head still felt hot.

  Aref’s mom followed him and said, “My darling, you need to change that thought. You know it is not true. We do not hate anybody. They are your cousins and you love them very much.”

  Aref shook his head. “I used to,” he said. “Now I only like them a tiny bit. Mish-Mish is my cat!”

  His mom was staring at him with her serious face.

  “Okay, I am sorry.” He shook his head.

  “That’s better,” she said. “You know Mish already likes more than one person in this house. She won’t hate us just because she likes them. She can have more than three friends!”

  He could smell the sun left over from his bike ride in his own swirling hair.

  And there it was, his suitcase, still open wide on the floor.

  His mom left the room and returned with some neat stacks of folded laundry. She placed them on his bed. “See,” she said. “Easy! Just start putting these in!”

  Aref wanted to kick something. He moaned in an odd way, like a faucet with a problem.

  His mom sat down on the bed. “Aref, it’s not a good time to be grouchy, you know. It’s a good time to accomplish our chores and feel excited.”

  Maybe if he didn’t pack, he wouldn’t really have to leave. He slumped around his room, in front of his mother. Sunlight poured through his large window. A giant palm frond from the tree outside waved up and down. The shadow was like an arm directing traffic on his rug.

  “You could pretend we are in a movie,” Aref’s mom said.

  That seemed a little interesting. “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t we seen movies in which people pack and get on airplanes and fly off above the sea and kiss the ground when they get to their special destination and everything is fun? Remember that movie about the flying bears? Didn’t they do a little dance when they got off the plane? Aren’t you excited about the airplane?”

  “Not really.” Aref remembered that movie. It was for babies.

  “But you’ve never been in an airplane.”

  He was thrilled about the airplane, actually.

  “Dad said there are movies in the backs of the seats and you can pick which one you want to watch. The remote control and the volume are in the handle of the seat—doesn’t that sound fun? There’s a whole list of movies, some especially for kids.”

  “Can I watch whatever I want to?”

  “Yes! If it’s for kids. And he said our apartment is perfect. It has a balcony that looks toward the swimming pool and a nice purple couch and striped chairs and our bedrooms have drawers built into the walls and it even has pans and a teapot in the kitchen. We weren’t expecting that. He is making a list of things we will need to buy—like new rugs for inside the door and more towels and a big pot for soup. It will be fun to go shopping when we get there.”

  Shopping was rarely fun. Aref suspected only grown-ups found it fun.

  His mother patted his head. But Aref wasn’t a baby anymore and he didn’t like it. “I still don’t want Hani and Shadi in my bedroom,” he moaned softly. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

  She laughed. “They will take care of it. Trust me. And maybe you will have two windows in your new room instead of just one, wouldn’t that be nice? You could do your reading for school out on the balcony, because there are chairs and a table out there, and it won’t be so hot, like here. And when the snow falls in winter, you will see something very unusual. The snow will be fresh and soft—you’ll be able to go outside and build in it. A snow person with a face and a hat! Maybe we’ll get to see those giant snowplows clearing the streets. In the summers, you’ll be able to walk right out our apartment door and dive into the swimming pool. You always wanted a swimming pool, right?”

  “But we won’t have the beach.”

  “No. We won’t have the beach. Not our beach, anyway. The Great Lakes have their own beaches. Lake beaches. I think the sand is different shades of color in different places. Maybe they don’t have waves, but in summer you can swim there too. It’s a little drive from Ann Arbor.”

  Aref shook his shaggy brown hair. “I don’t think they will have waves. And I still don’t think I will like it there, no no no, I don’t.”

  He liked “no” in English even better than he liked “la” in Arabic—they meant the same thing. But “la, la, la” sounded like a song and “no” felt stronger now. He was glad to be speaking English because he didn’t feel like singing.

  Get Me Out of Here

  Aref placed the folded laundry straight into his suitcase without looking at it. He figured, if he had been wearing these clothes lately, he must like them enough. They must be the right size. He opened a drawer and pulled out his brown swimming trunks with yellow and green turtles printed on them. Boom! Into the suitcase!

  He didn’t own a coat, but his mom said they’d get one in Michigan. Oman never got very cold. His dad had told him that Michigan was sometimes called “the Mitten State” because of the way it was shaped, but Aref didn’t own any gloves or mittens either. He didn’t have a warm hat or a scarf or boots.

  He packed his blue school sweatshirt with TAISM’s—The American International School of Muscat—eagle mascot on it. Then he took it out again. He might need it before they left. Yes, it was true. He already knew a lot of Americans because he had been going to the American International School from the beginning. So, why was he so worried? They were all nice to know. Till now, he had been welcoming them to his country. And he had never had two extra thoughts about it. You met new people, you made new friends. What had changed?

  He had been practicing drawing eagles in his notebook. He sat down and drew two more with a sharpened pencil, wings outstretched. One had fierce eyes and the other looked a little silly, like a comedy eagle. See, this was the problem with packing. You got distracted by the things you were trying to pack.

  For lunch he ate a peanut butter and honey and banana sandwich, and drank a tall, cool lemonade, then took a nap the size of Montana. He hadn’t really taken naps since he was about three, and he didn’t plan on falling asleep now—it just happened.

  His mother woke him up about an hour later. “What are you doing? Are you getting sick?”

  “I just got bored.” Mish-Mish was curled on the bed beside him, tucked in the circle of his arm. She was purring loudly, as if she were snoring.

  “Well, wash your face and wake up, Sidi is on his way.”

  So Aref washed his face and grabbed his rain stick and went to stand in the driveway and wait for Sidi.

  The temperature on the thermometer said one hundred and twelve degrees. This kind of heat made Aref feel strong. Heat was silent and huge.
No one could control it. People might cool their rooms, but they couldn’t banish heat outside. The mint leaves curled up in such intense heat—the metal on a car or bicycle would shimmer. Heat made Aref feel like a cookie baking—something inside his brain puffing up proudly and slowly.

  He banged the rain stick against his leg. In music class they had made instruments using regular household items. It was a fun day. He made the rain stick from a paper towel roll with dried white beans inside. He had tightly taped both ends of the tube with yellow duct tape and drawn blue birds with wide wings on the outside.

  And the power it had! Rattle, rattle, rattle against his leg and around the bend, magically appearing, the clackety green jeep that his Sidi called “Monsieur.” Aref could hear the jeep even before he saw it, since the engine was very loud with a distinctive grumbling sound. Sidi pulled into the driveway and stepped down from the high-up seat wearing his long white dishdasha and chunky brown sandals that he had made himself when he still ran his sandals shop. He was tall and he had a trimmed white beard and thick white hair combed back.

  Sidi opened his arms and announced in Arabic, “Ma-lish! As you wish! At your command!” He hugged Aref a little harder than usual, the white fabric of his robe surrounding Aref like wings. “How is my boy?”

  Aref usually spoke Arabic with Sidi. “Ana mish mabsoot! I’m not happy! Everything seems a little nasty right now, but—I am very happy to see you. So, I am a little happy.”

  “How’s your suitcase doing?” Sidi said. He looked around the front yard and raised his arms like an eagle. He loved stretching and bending.

  “It’s doing bad. I can’t fit any good things into it. Just stupid things, like underpants.”

  “Trust me, underpants are important,” said Sidi, looking serious. “What doesn’t fit?”

  “My friends, my school,” said Aref, even though at that moment he mostly wanted to say, “YOU.” “My blanket, the Mutrah Souq, the sea turtle beach, the caves.”

  Sidi listened closely. He put his hand on Aref’s head.

  “What I really need to take,” Aref continued, “I wouldn’t be able to close it.”

  “I’m going inside to say hi to your mom,” said Sidi. “Then let’s get out of here. Yallah.”

  Peace to All Sardines

  From the top of the hill where they turned off Aref’s street, they could view the sea gleaming, intensely turquoise-blue in the distance. The closer they got, the bigger it grew.

  Aref and his grandfather drove down to the beach without speaking much. Traffic was heavy around the LuLu Hypermarket grocery parking lot. “The whole city of Muscat must be hungry today,” said Sidi.

  They parked near some concrete benches and beds of orange flowers. Instantly, things felt better. From here the beach stretched to the right, speckled with white umbrellas and fancy hotels. To the left the sand was wide open and more empty. Some kids were pitching a red ball back and forth with their dad while their mom jiggled a baby. Sidi handed Aref a chilled bottle of water. Aref popped open the lid and took a huge drink. Sidi thought of everything.

  Aref placed the water in the cup holder for a moment and slipped off his tennis shoes. He stuck his socks inside them. “May I leave these in the jeep?”

  Sidi said, “Please do.” Aref decided to leave his rain stick in the jeep too.

  They started walking and passed the family with the ball. Sidi said something to the dad, like “Ahlein!” or “Beautiful weather” or “Blessings on your family.” He always talked to everyone. The sand felt compact, easy to walk on. It felt cool on Aref’s feet. Gulls were dipping and diving over the waves. Farther out, some bigger birds, maybe flesh-footed shearwaters, held their mighty wings aloft and coasted. Aref dashed ahead and jogged around Sidi, then came back to walk calmly beside him again.

  “I’m sorry about your hard day,” said Sidi.

  Aref didn’t answer.

  “We all have them. It will go away.”

  Aref still didn’t say anything. He was taking giant steps and gazing off to the water.

  “Did you know that our coastline is as long as California?” asked Sidi.

  “Where is California?”

  “Come on, even I know that one!”

  Breezes rolled onto the beach. They lifted Sidi’s dishdasha, which swirled around his ankles.

  “Hello!” Sidi talked to the air too. “Breezes of India, thanks for cooling us off over here!”

  “I wish we were going to India instead,” Aref said. “Don’t you? It’s closer.” He waved both hands to the side, toward India, like he was dancing.

  The sky loomed with a few delicate lines of wavery cloud, one under the other. It looked like another blue ocean over the watery blue sea. Aref took a deep breath and tried to hold all the blue inside his body, pretending for a moment he didn’t have to move away or say good-bye to anything or share his room and cat, none of it. He leaped into the air as high as he could, then did it twice again and ran in another wide circle. A cluster of sandpipers scuttled away from him.

  Fishermen waved at Sidi and Aref from small wooden boats. Some were paddling and others were pulling nets of shining sardines behind them. “Are those men your friends?” asked Aref, catching up with Sidi again. Sometimes he went with Sidi to the fish market farther down the beach and Sidi ended up talking forever with the men in the stalls. Aref wasn’t sure if these were the same fishermen or not.

  Sidi said what he always said: “Of course! Everyone is my friend!”

  Now Sidi called out to each boat, “Salaam! Peace!” They probably couldn’t even hear him from that far away. Aref laughed. He knew what Sidi would say next.

  “Peace to all people!” It was what he always said.

  Then Sidi turned to Aref. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t a sardine? The sardines have a scary time when those fishermen with their fancy nets get out there! Peace to all sardines!”

  Tourists walking in the other direction with picnic baskets and umbrellas stared at them now because Sidi was speaking very loudly like an announcer and waving his arm. Some men with red skins and blue swimming shorts passed them and tenderly lifted up their fried hands to say hello.

  Aref twirled in a circle, making a bird sound. It was not hard to impersonate a seagull, but gulls always knew the difference. He would try to sneak up to them but they would open their wings and fly away without even turning around.

  “If everyone is your friend, can we visit Sultan Qaboos before I leave?” he asked.

  “He would have to invite us.”

  Last year, when the Royal Oman Symphony Orchestra musicians were playing outdoors at Amerat Park, Sidi had pointed out Sultan Qaboos in the distance, in a high viewing balcony above the other seats, wearing a beautiful, shiny golden cloak and turban. This was the closest Aref had ever come to him. Sulima had seen him from a distance at the grand opening of the Royal Opera House too.

  “Promise me you will not go see him with my cousins when I am gone,” said Aref.

  “Don’t worry. They’re too bossy. I won’t take them,” said Sidi, laughing.

  Looking

  Puffy cottonball clouds floated over the beach. An airplane tipped one wing high in the distance, headed to Yemen or maybe Nairobi. Sidi walked slowly because his legs were antique. He looked around at everything with great, hungry interest, which made him walk even slower. He looked up and down and out. “There are turtles way out there that we can’t see,” said Aref.

  “I’m sure there are,” said Sidi.

  Then Sidi said, “I heard something very interesting. You know what happened long ago? When the sultan’s grandfather’s father was living, long before electricity? People attached thick candles to the backs of large turtles. I guess they stuck them on with melting wax, then they released the turtles to roam around in their gardens and patios. So at night the wandering turtles became roving lamps carrying little lights around. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Were the turtles scared when they did thi
s?” said Aref. “Could we try it?”

  “I don’t think it would be allowed anymore. We are protecting turtles these days, remember?”

  “But would it hurt them?”

  “It seems a little risky.”

  “I wish I could see it.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Aref closed his eyes and pictured reading a book from the light cast by a giant flickering candle stuck on the back of a turtle. The patio would be filled with slow-moving shadows.

  “It would be weird,” he said. “And dim.”

  “But amazing.”

  “Yes.”

  Aref and Sidi passed a deflated pink floaty ring with a dragon’s head. Sidi stared down at it. He picked it up and said he would throw it away. He veered off toward a big trash receptacle. Aref ran out into the shallow waves to cool off his feet. Far on the horizon, a sleek cruising ship with many windows lining its sides drifted silently. Who was in there? Where were they going?

  Sidi looked back to see what they had already passed. Sidi had taught Aref to do this too, when he was little. Look at something ahead of you in the distance, then look at it when you get right up next to it, then turn around and look at it again when it is behind you. Sidi said it was important to get all the different views.

  Possible Birds You Might See

  1. You might see Little Ringed Plovers dipping.

  2. Little Green Bee-eaters swooping.

  3. Pipits pipitting.

  4. Skylarks soaring.

  5. Red-rumped Swallows flashing.

  6. Flamingoes, geese, ducks, swans waddling around together looking for sardines.

  7. Indian rollers with their turquoise wings and heads making everyone say, “Oh!”

  8. Black-bellied storm petrels circling.

  9. Storks, spoonbills, herons, egrets, pelicans, grebes, ostriches, saying, “Hi Everybody.”