Chapter 12 #2
“Oh...” She still sounded slightly confused but motioned me forward. “I’m Nasteho. Please, come in. Make yourself at home.”
“She is not staying,” Majed said hotly. “There has been a misunderstanding.”
Nasteho shot him a look. “Of course she is staying. I will not have people speak poorly of my family’s hospitality.” She took
my arm in hers. “Come, sister. You can tell me if my husband was this rude as a child while I show you around.”
“God bless you, that would be wonderful!” Arm in arm, off we went together, to Majed’s horror.
Inventing a story about why I was there and Majed’s and my idyllic childhood in Kilwa—a place I did not step foot in until
I was twenty—was easy enough. And yet I could have held my tongue, for I was introduced to a barrage of people—children, in-laws,
traveling cousins, long-lost friends, and misplaced relatives—each chattier than the next. Nasteho’s family was from a local
tribe, but like many mercantile clans, they had intermarried widely, and I met spouses and neighbors hailing from Cairo to
Cambay, Malacca to Muscat, the courtyard a cacophony of different languages. There were children everywhere, some belonging
to the family and others who were fostered orphans. One uncle had a full class of youngsters practicing their letters, while
in another area, women and children packed meals for the poor.
It was all so wholesome and perfect that by the time I heard how Majed had personally saved a group of pilgrims on his third hajj, I would have started to suspect I was being conned—if not for the alarm Majed was barely concealing.
They pulled me into their Friday celebrations, and I was feted with blessings, rose water poured over my hands, and offered the choice pieces of stew.
The food alone was worth the trip: fine dishes of local vegetables, fish, chicken, and meat fried in ghee and served over spiced rice, green bananas simmered in milk, and a delicious concoction of sour dairy, ginger, mangoes, cured lemons, and chilis.
I hadn’t eaten this well since Mustafa’s wedding, and I thoroughly overindulged, to the point that when betel leaves and areca
nuts were being given around, I moaned, the prospect of anything else passing my lips unbearable.
Nasteho chuckled and patted my shoulder before pulling her daughter from my lap. The little girl had become fascinated with
my gold tooth, clambering over to try and touch it at every opportunity. “I will make a bed up for you,” she offered.
“Oh, that will not be necessary,” I assured her, staggering to my feet. I had eaten with the women but did not miss Majed
reappearing behind his wife’s shoulder like a worried ghost as though afeared I had spent the meal scandalizing the pious
souls around me with recollections of our misadventures.
“Then come. You two should speak properly.”
I followed them down a quiet corridor to a small room. It must have been Majed’s office; a low table was crowded with half-drawn
maps, scrolls and nautical calculations scattered everywhere. A drafting desk overlooked a large open window through which
the sea could be admired.
The office was not empty, however. Ahmad was lying on his belly upon a woven rug, his head buried in a book.
“Reading anything interesting?” I asked the boy.
He peeked up, kicking his feet in delight. “I’m learning about India. Did you know they have over three thousand different kinds of snakes there? Some have horns the length of a man and can fly between cities!”
I checked the name on the book and smiled. “I think the nakhudha al-Ramhormuzi may have slightly exaggerated. There are two
thousand kinds at most.”
Ahmad’s expression grew serious. “I will have to find out.”
“Ah, do you want to be an explorer like your father?”
“I do!” He grinned, his eyes crinkling with excitement. “He says I can take his maps and go anywhere I want.”
“I said you can take my maps if you pay attention in your lessons,” Majed corrected. “A good explorer needs all the cleverness they can get.”
“Ahmad, love, let’s give your father and his guest some space.” Nasteho ushered the boy out and then glanced back. “Perhaps
I can bring the children to see the Marawati tomorrow?”
I blinked in surprise. Well, I suppose Majed had not kept his wife entirely in the dark about his former life. “I would be
glad to have you.”
Finally Majed and I were alone. He shut the door, locked it, and then for good measure, shoved a trunk in front of it.
“No,” I deadpanned. “Nothing suspicious about that at all.”
He whirled on me. “I am going to cut out your heart and feed it to a shark.”
“Now, brother, does that sound like the language a proper triple hajji would use?” I wandered deeper into his office, studying
his effects. “And relax , all right? I did not travel all this way to get you in trouble with your extremely perfect family and law-abiding job. My
heart to God, I am happy to meet your children. They are beautiful, and your wife is quite the catch, mashallah. I like her
very much.”
His expression thawed just a bit. “God has blessed me.”
“It seems He has. She knows you are a pirate?”
“I am not a pirate,” Majed huffed. “I am a cartographer with a checkered past.”
“Yes. A checkered past of piracy.”
“A checkered past I have given up ,” he added more firmly. “In exchange for the straight path once again. Nasteho knows about the Marawati and my time with you, but no one else in her family does. And if you say anything—”
“Yes, yes, I know. The cutting out of my heart and feeding it to sharks. A perfectly normal threat for a cartographer to make.”
Majed crossed and uncrossed his arms, looking torn between throwing me through the window and continuing our chat. “And you?”
“Me?”
“You are... well ?” he asked, sounding the word out like it might bite him. “Tinbu said you retired with your family.”
Retired . How peaceful it sounded. I had fled from my past and hid like a roach. “Something like that. We are back in Oman. My brother
is married with a second child on the way and his business flourishing.”
“His business.” Majed sounded briefly nostalgic. “Mustafa seemed barely older than my Ahmad when last we met. And your mother?”
“Happier than I expected to have me returned. Healthy as well, God be praised. If anything, the years have only made her sharper.”
A semblance of a smile finally broke across his face; Majed had known my family long before I took over the Marawati . Indeed, it was he who started corresponding with my mother when I was first too ashamed to do so myself.
“I am glad to hear it,” he said sincerely. “So you’re truly out of the business, then? No smuggling?”
“None.”
“Drinking?”
“Not in ten years.”
“Gambling?”
“Life is a gamble, brother.”
His smile faded. “Tinbu told me you had a child. Is she... thriving?”
“Her name is Marjana,” I said, defensiveness bubbling up in my voice at the carefully phrased question. “And yes, she is thriving. She is the sweetest, kindest child I have ever known, a gift from God.”
“She sounds like a blessing. And is she...” Majed faltered. “Does he—”
“She’s my daughter,” I said fiercely. “That’s all that matters.”
Majed sighed, his expression softening. “Amina, we are misunderstanding each other as we do so often. I am asking if she is
safe . If he knows of her?”
“He is dead.”
Majed shook his head. “I was there. We don’t know that. Not for certain.”
“We watched the tide wash over the spot where we buried the chest. None could survive that.” I turned away and started rummaging
through his half-drawn maps. “Working on anything interesting?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Be glad for it. Unless you would prefer to speak of demons where we could be so easily overheard by your wife’s family?”
Majed gave me an annoyed look that I knew nonetheless signaled defeat. “New approaches to Madagascar to better handle the
currents and avoid the rocky coastline at Mahajanga,” he answered in an exaggerated professional tone.
I was intrigued. “How?”
He pointed to a small depression on the map. “There is a lagoon a bit farther north that cannot be seen from the sea. It is
accessible only a couple of nights during the highest tides, so very few people know of it and even fewer dare it, but with
the right map...”
I shook my head in bemusement. “I do not know how you find these places.”
“I read about it in a book and sailed past with your father.” He shrugged. “My mind has an inkling for storing these things.”
That was a mild way of putting it. Majed was never a natural sailor, but he has a talent for maps like no one else. When we were together, the routes we would plot might cause another nakhudha to faint with fright.
And yet... “Is it the rocks at Mahajanga or its customs fees that your clients are trying to avoid?”
“What people do with honestly obtained knowledge is not my concern.”
I snickered. “Bet that checkered past comes in handy.” Majed glared at me, and I raised my hands in a gesture of peace. “An
observation, not a judgment. Has your work taken you any place new?”
“No.” He returned the map to one of the narrow shelves that lined the wall. “I have not traveled farther than Mecca since
I departed the Marawati .”
“ What? ” I asked, unable to hide my astonishment. The Majed I knew was an explorer before anything else. He had been working his
way around the Indian Ocean since I was a child. “You have not gone anywhere else? What about China? That was your dream. When you left, I figured—”
“Dreams are for young men. And fools.” There was no bitterness in his voice, just a note of sad acceptance. “God has given
me a brilliant wife, healthy children, and mostly honest work. I ask for nothing else.”
“Amen.” I tried to crack a smile. “You certainly did better than me when it comes to spouses.”
I meant it as a joke to lighten the tension from our near spat about Marjana, but Majed flinched. I could not blame him. I
also wanted to flinch when thinking about my last husband.