The Turtle of Oman by Naomi Shihab Nye Page B

“but I knew you would want to see the historic landmark we are passing.”
    Aref sat up straight. There it was. Sidi’s funny old shop with the green and white awning and rows of brown sandals lined up on shelves behind the window. Aref knew how it smelled inside—smoky rich, like cut tanned leather. A man called Abu Pumpum was running the shop now, counting money, zipping it into a pouch. Pumpum was a nickname, not a real name. Sidi had sold the shop, complete with every single thing in it, to Abu Pumpum two years ago. Aref and his dad had gone with Sidi on the last day to say good-bye to the chairs and shelves and rulers for measuring feet and the candy bowl.
    Sidi, driving very slowly, pulled to the curb. A large shuttle van beeped and roared around them. “Do you need new sandals from Abu Pumpum before you go?” he asked.
    â€œNo,” said Aref. “But thanks. I wear mostly tennis shoes now. I will have to wear snow boots over in Michigan anyway.”
    â€œPeople wear sandals there too.”
    â€œThey do?”
    â€œI am sure of it.”
    Cars were beeping all around them. Sidi pulled out slowly into the crowded lane, Monsieur chugging and the air full of city noise again.
    â€œDo you miss running the shop?” Aref asked Sidi.
    â€œI do. But now I have more time to play around with you and work in my garden and take naps.”
    They passed the stately white Marine Science and Fisheries Centre. “The last time I went there with my class,” Aref said, “we saw turtle hatchlings scrambling around inside a big tank. The man said they were three days old. Soon they were going to be taken back to the ocean.”
    â€œSo you have seen them already!”
    â€œBut not on the beach.”
    A woman stood at a crosswalk with a wide basket filled with bananas on her head. “I’m glad people still carry baskets that way,” Sidi said. “I’m glad there are still donkeys in the souk .”
    They passed the sign pointing toward Sinkhole Park, which they had driven to more than once. “Remember when we climbed down those hundreds of stairs,” said Sidi, “and I was clinging on to the handrail, while you ran like an oryx to the pool of water at the bottom? That was a steep climb! And I was even younger then. It was gorgeous.”
    â€œYou want to go there again today?”
    â€œNext time.”
    They paused at a long red light. Crowds of lunchtime workers in dishdashas and dresses, suits and casual clothes, crossed the street. Sidi pointed out a new block of yellow villas being built. “Look how they are putting blue tiles over the doors. I like that.”
    They were gliding past the giant library where Aref used to crawl on the floor under the tables while his parents studied. He learned how to read shoes first. Then he learned how to read books.
    â€œHave you returned all your library books?” Sidi asked.
    â€œYes.”
    It felt cozy seeing what you recognized. Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye!

Ahhhhhhhhh

    W hen they walked back into Aref’s house, his mother said, “Now that’s what I like to see, people smiling! How was the desert, you travelers? You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve gotten done, both here and at the university. My colleagues gave me a little party and I became my own assistant and never stopped moving for a minute.” She hugged Aref while Mish-Mish nuzzled his ankles.
    â€œThe desert was deep, as always,” said Sidi. “And your whole house is smiling. It looks very fresh. We, on the other hand, are somewhat rumpled and smelly, but we had a great time.”
    Aref was jumping and teasing Mish. “It was wonderful!”
    â€œDid you see camels?”Aref’s mom asked. “Were you cold? Did Monsieur behave?”
    Mish-Mish ran in circles around them, sniffing the desert on their clothes.
    â€œEverything was perfect,” said Sidi. “We saw camels, yes.