The Zanzibar Wife

  “It’s not the potters.” Zayed smoothed back his hair. “It is that all of Bahla is supposedly filled with magic. They say it is the birthplace of the jinn.”

  “The who?”

  “The jinn. In English I think you use the word ‘genie’.”

  “Oh, right.” Like what Adil and Ariana had been talking about that day at the restaurant, she remembered, when they told her about using her left foot to enter a restroom. Or was it her right?

  “But the jinn,” Zayed continued, “they’re not at all like the genies they show in your Hollywood stories. They are said to be a whole species of intelligent beings—good and evil, ugly and beautiful—living here among us, but with powers that we humans do not possess.”

  “Is that so?” Rachel poked at the slivers of ice at the bottom of her glass. “Can they make people disappear?” She laughed to herself, having Ariana in mind.

  Zayed leaned forward and clasped his hands together, his elbows resting on the table. “Well, actually, it is said that they can fly through the air, and transport humans from place to place.”

  “Hence the magic carpet,” Rachel said.

  “Exactly. They can even become invisible, only to reappear out of nowhere.”

  “Well that sounds pretty awesome.”

  “Yes,” the man agreed. “I suppose it does.”

  Rachel was delighted to finally come across someone who spoke about more than the perfection of this place, as crazy a direction as this conversation seemed to be going in. “So what else can they do?” she asked.

  “Many things. For one, they are said to change shapes, sometimes disguising themselves as snakes or dogs or cats. But what makes it very difficult,” Zayed continued, “is that the jinn sometimes possess the bodies of actual humans, speaking and acting through them, or inflicting ill upon them.”

  Rachel nodded, her eyes focusing on a distant bird crossing the darkening sky. “Really. And why would they want to do that?”

  Zayed sat back in his chair. “Well, from what I was told when I was a child, it would happen if the jinn feels he has been wronged in some way, and is seeking to punish the human responsible. My mother would warn me that the jinn hide in drains and wells, places that are dark and damp and deep. And if a human by accident urinates on a jinn or pours hot water on him, the jinn might feel it was deliberate and he will look for revenge.”

  “Seriously?” she said, shifting forward in her chair. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that if I were to meet one of these things, and maybe even make it mad, I wouldn’t necessarily know?”

  “No, probably not. Like I said, it can be hard to tell. And to make it even more confusing, it is said that the jinn are even capable of speaking the many languages of those they meet.”

  The old woman with the goat flashed into Rachel’s mind, the thought leaving as quickly as it entered. She sat back and crossed her legs. “And so you believe in these things yourself?”

  The man shrugged, but nevertheless answered. “If you ask anybody, not just people from here, but all around the world, you will hear the same. These are stories passed down from generation to generation. It is in the Koran. But also, I think, in other religions as well. Have you not been taught of something like this in your belief?”

  Rachel was grateful for the sight of the waiter crossing the patio with a fresh glass of Scotch on a tray.

  “Everyone has a story to tell about the jinn,” Zayed continued. “But around here you will find that not many people will want to talk about such things. Watch,” he whispered as the waiter approached. “Excuse me, my brother. My friend here was curious about Bahla. Have you been there?”

  The young man nodded his head.

  “And do you think it is a nice place to visit?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “You are not afraid?”

  The waiter laughed. “Oh, you mean the jinn? That was a long time ago. Not now, mashallah.”

  Zayed looked at Rachel and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Besides,” the waiter said as he set down the drink, “it is said that if you are a good Muslim you can protect yourself. And if you need to, you can always go to a specialist.”

  “A specialist?” Rachel asked.

  “You know, a doctor, a healer. There are said to be many in Bahla.”

  “So you wouldn’t be afraid to go to Bahla?” Zayed asked.

  The waiter shook his head. “Not me. It is the Emiratis who are most afraid. The whole Gulf is. Everyone says bad things about Bahla, but the Omanis are not scared anymore. Thanks to God and His Majesty we are more educated now.” He picked up Rachel’s empty glass and took a rag to the moisture on the table.

  “So, wait, you’re saying there’s no such thing as jinns?” Rachel asked, confused.

  The waiter stopped mid-wipe. “I did not say that.”

  Zayed laughed as the young man scurried off to wait on another table. “You see?”

  “Wow,” Rachel said. What the hell was up with everyone?, she thought. Were they all delusional? She’d heard ghost stories her whole life too—who hadn’t? But that didn’t mean she actually believed in them.

  “Ah,” Zayed said as the doors from the lobby swung open and a tall man in a light blue dishdasha approached. “Here is someone who will talk, no matter what the subject. I can guarantee it.” He gestured toward the man. “Raheem, this is Rachel.” He turned to Rachel. “Raheem talks so much that I sometimes have to ask him to stop before my ears fall off. It is a good thing he has found a way to make money from all his talking. Raheem is a tour guide.” Zayed signaled for the waiter and pulled out a chair for Raheem to sit on.

  “Pleased to meet you, Rachel.” The tour guide smiled.

  “Likewise.”

  “Rachel is very interested in the jinn,” Zayed said.

  Raheem raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you have any stories for her?”

  Raheem hesitated, his eyes darting around the patio as if checking to see if anyone else was listening. “Of course I have stories.”

  “Well?” Zayed asked with an impish grin on his face.

  “Okay. Here is one. Let me tell you about my wife, Fatima. It is said she had a bad jinni. The story I was told came from when she was younger, before we were married. Someone sent the jinn to her to get revenge on her father, to hurt Fatima because she was her father’s favorite. When it began, she would enter the house and fall down and faint. She would scream for no reason. One day her father and brother started asking her questions. The jinn started to answer. It wasn’t Fatima’s voice. It said it would make her life difficult. So they took Fatima to a healer. The first time did not work. And the second time did not work either. But the third time it did, or so they tell me. And when it was done, my poor wife had marks on her back from the healer beating the jinn out of her with his stick.”

  “That’s how they do it?” Rachel coughed at a trickle of Scotch hitting her throat.

  “Actually,” the guide told her, “there are different ways they use.”

  “I heard of a healer who used a hot poker to brand someone’s neck in order to heal a bad back,” Zayed chimed in.

  Rachel remained silent, baffled by these two men with their ridiculous tales.

  “But you, you do not need to worry,” Raheem added, pointing to the fading blue compass emblazoned on her bare forearm. “The jinn will not possess a person with a tattoo.”

  “Well, there you go,” she said before taking a long sip of her drink. “So, I don’t get it. Do you two believe in this stuff or not?”

  The two men looked at each other, as if waiting for the other to answer. Finally Zayed was the one to speak. “It’s complicated. To not believe is almost considered like not believing in Islam. But really?” He signed his bill and stood from the table. “You must go to Bahla for your pictures. It is no more ‘haunted’ than anywhere else. The jinn,” he said as he waved his arm across the patio, “they are everywhere.”

  19
br />   The morning sun was streaming through the Lexus’s side windows, outlining Hani’s perfect silhouette in an aura of gold that lit him up like a shining star. In the back seat, behind him, Miza lay curled up like a beach ball, a pillow stuffed under her belly and her head resting against the door. Rachel was scrunched up on the other side, busily rearranging the contents of her backpack. Ariana sighed contentedly. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” she asked no one in particular before breaking into a whistle, a Katy Perry song from a few years back that she hadn’t been able to get out of her head since yesterday.

  “Ahem,” Rachel objected loudly from behind her. “Do you mind?”

  Rachel, apparently, was still mad. The woman had practically bit her head off when she and Hani returned from the wadi the night before. She’d tried her best to act normally when she spotted Rachel and Miza in the lobby, the two of them huddled together in a deep sofa like a pair of old aunties waiting up for a niece past curfew. She had worried that they might see something, as if she were wearing the afternoon’s episode like a badge on her chest. But when she approached, she saw they had been too busy talking to notice her entering, and even appeared somewhat surprised by the interruption. But Rachel’s anger was quick to surface. “Where the hell were you all afternoon?” she snapped, her eyes darting up and down Ariana’s body.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you, Rachel. I left you a note!”

  “But all afternoon? You didn’t even call or text. You just left me here to wait.”

  “I am truly sorry.” She squeezed herself onto the cushion next to Rachel and placed a hand on her knee. “But you were gone. I assumed you wanted to be on your own. And then there was my phone—it fell into the water. Honest. Hani is just now trying to get some rice, to help dry it out.” She couldn’t help but smile a little at the sound of his name on her lips.

  “Whatever, Ariana. It just sucks that you’re wasting my time with your fucking bullshit.”

  Ariana shot a look of embarrassed apology to Miza, but the woman seemed to be barely aware of the fuss around her. “I’ll make it up to you, Rachel, I swear. I’m all yours.” She held out her arms in an offering. “Whatever you need, I’m there.”

  “That’s supposed to be your job, Ariana,” Rachel snapped. “But don’t trouble yourself. I’ve already made my own arrangements for tomorrow.”

  “But I want to make things right! I’m so sorry. Really I am.”

  “What is going on?” Hani asked as he plopped a plastic bag filled with uncooked rice on Ariana’s lap. “Is everything all right?” He turned his gaze from Ariana to Rachel and back again. “Can I do anything to help?”

  “I was just telling your friend here,” Rachel said, jerking her head toward Ariana, “that I’ve made plans for tomorrow. I’m going to see the potters, the ones in Bahla.”

  Hani nodded slowly. “That is a good idea.”

  “I’ll set up a driver.” Ariana hopped up eagerly from the sofa.

  “Don’t bother,” Rachel said. “I’ve already hired one. And no need for you to come,” she added. “Miza has already asked. We’ll go together.”

  Ariana was speechless. It was Hani who stepped in for her. “Why go with a strange driver? I will take you all. It would be my pleasure.”

  “Thanks, Hani, but that’s okay. I can manage on my own.” Rachel stood from the sofa and offered a hand to Miza.

  “No, I insist. We will make a day of it,” he said as his dark eyes shifted to meet Ariana’s.

  Rachel had finally given in to Hani’s plan. And she hadn’t seemed quite as angry in the morning as they gathered in the breakfast room for coffee before hitting the road. But Ariana had picked up a vibe from the two women that made her feel a little like the kid left without a seat in a game of musical chairs. Perhaps her happiness was too obvious. She’d have to try to ratchet that down a bit. Nobody likes a girl whose head is stuck on cloud nine. Even if she couldn’t stop thinking about Hani, there was no need for the others to know that. “Everything all right back there?” she called toward the rear of the car.

  “It’s all good,” Rachel responded flatly.

  Ariana leaned back against the leather headrest, her mind returning to the wadi. She could feel the skin on her arms tingling at the mere thought of Hani’s lips, soft and cool in the water’s flow. How she wished those moments could have lasted forever, the two of them stuck in some fairy tale where time stood still. But she was lucky enough, she knew, to have yet another day to spend with him. She’d worry about tomorrow, well, tomorrow. Tomorrow! Ariana sat up with a start. Tomorrow was Friday, and that would mean nearly seven days had passed without talking to her parents. She dug for her phone, only to remember that it was still sitting, useless, inside a bag of rice. She turned around to Rachel. “Can I trouble you to borrow your mobile? I just need to check in at home. A quick hello. Won’t be long.”

  Rachel tossed the phone into the front seat. “Be my guest.”

  The phone conversation started out just fine. Of course there was no way Ariana could even mention Hani to her parents, especially with him sitting right there next to her. She asked them about their day; they inquired about her job—the one she no longer had—happy that she claimed it was going well. It was when they asked exactly where she was at the moment that all hell broke loose.

  “You’re headed where?” her mother asked after a pause so long Ariana thought they had been disconnected.

  “Bahla,” Ariana repeated. “I’m on my way to Bahla.”

  “Oh, no you are not. You must turn around right away and go back to where you came from.”

  Ariana laughed. “What are you talking about, Ami? Are you all right?”

  “It is not safe. Do not go near it. We have the experience.”

  “Please, Ami, put Abu on the phone.”

  Ariana heard the muffled sounds of her mother’s voice as she handed the phone to her husband. “You must listen to your mother. I am serious.”

  “And hello to you too, Dad. Are you enjoying your day?”

  “This is not a joke, Ariana. You must stay away from Bahla.”

  “Have you two gone mad? What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You don’t remember the accident?”

  “Of course I do.” Ariana would never forget that phone call telling her that her mother was in hospital, severely injured, after her parents’ car had mysteriously spun off the road. “But that was in Saudi Arabia. You were on pilgrimage, to Medina, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. And I also remember that the accident happened in the Valley of the Jinn.”

  “Oh.” Ariana paused for a second. “I see. So you’re saying that Bahla is the same?”

  “I know this place,” her father insisted. “It is full of jinn. If you go there, you are asking for trouble. It is like going to someone’s house without an invitation.”

  “Please, Abu, I know what you’re saying. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.”

  “What you will promise is that you will stay away from Bahla!” her father snapped with a sternness she hadn’t heard since she was a child in trouble.

  “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Love you!” she chirped a little too brightly before hanging up. She slumped back in her seat. If she were on her own, Ariana knew damn well she’d turn the car right around and head back. Why upset her parents? And really, why take the risk? But this was a job. And one she’d so far not been so great at. She couldn’t very well run out on it. That would be totally unprofessional of her, and she knew how easily word got around in Dubai. And, she thought as she glanced to her left, that would also mean a day spent without Hani. Her parents were probably—hopefully—just overreacting.

  “Is everything okay?” Hani asked, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  “Yes. It’s fine.” Ariana smoothed her hair back, hooking it behind her ears. “It’s just that my parents are a little bit worried about me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, actu
ally, it’s Bahla they’re worried about. I had no idea it had the reputation it does.”

  “You mean the whole jinn thing?” came Rachel’s voice from the back seat.

  Ariana twisted around to face her. “You knew about that? Why am I the only person who doesn’t seem to be aware of this?” She sat back in her seat and began to tap frantically on the phone. “Bahla,” she read aloud from the screen. “Also known in Oman as Madinat Al Sehr—City of Magic—due to its long association with jinn and sorcerers. Even Wiki knows about it!” she squealed as she continued to search. “Oh my god. Listen to this. Here’s a story about a guy who lives there, whose cement house burst into flames out of nowhere. Then,” she read, “there’s the matter of the awful cackling he heard echoing within the flames—and the pale woman in rags who stood atop his wispy sidr tree just before the blaze, who vanished as quickly as she had appeared … blah blah blah … outside—hidden among the endless sand and shrub—the evil demons that plague the desert town of Bahla, Oman, are almost certainly listening.” Ariana gulped. “Today, stories of jinn sightings in Bahla still range from”—here Ariana slowed her pace and raised her volume—“disquieting to downright bone-chilling. Do you hear that? Disquieting to downright bone-chilling!”

  Miza moaned and shifted in her sleep.

  “There are tons of stories here,” Ariana continued, her thumbs tapping frantically on the screen. “Mounds of rocks appearing out of nowhere, people hearing someone moaning but nobody’s there. And listen to this—a group of farmers talk of the jinn they have heard haunting the palm oases dotting the town, preying on them after dusk by calling their names across the valley until they are dangerously lost and bitterly cold.”

  “We get it, Ariana,” Rachel said impatiently. “There are lots of jinn stories in Bahla.”

  “Seriously, you guys?” Ariana’s voice rose an octave. “I think my parents might be right.”

  Hani laughed a little. “But surely you have known about the jinn.”