Page 26 of Under the Arabian Sky

“So, it’s been pointed out to me.” I noticed the absence of Tariq’s father. “Where’s Mr. Hassan?”

Zahra rolled her eyes as she poured me one of her Arabic coffees. “He’s in his prayer room… hiding.”

“Hiding from what?”

“Hiding from his duties as a gracious host.” She finished pouring the coffee, its captivating aroma drifting through the air before she began pouring the cloudy white drink into a tall glass in front of me.

“I hope Mr. Hassan isn’t hiding from me. Did I do something to make him uncomfortable?”

“No, of course not,” Zahra said. “Mr. Hassan is more than capable of making himself feel uncomfortable. Unfortunately, that can have a ripple effect on everyone else in the room. Best to leave him be. At least it will give us the chance to have a civilised conversation. Now please, drink.”

I picked up the glass in front of me. “Is this…?”

“Camel’s milk,” Zahra smiled. “It’s good for you. Full of vitamins.”

I looked at the glass. The liquid was watery, nothing like the consistency of cow’s milk. It appeared more like a diluted pear juice than anything else. I took a sniff. It had the distinct scent of rose petals.

“Drink,” Zahra encouraged. “It’s not going to bite you.”

I took a sip.

The milk tasted exactly how it smelled, fragrant and refreshing. “It’s… it’s delicious.”

“But of course,” Zahra smiled. “Camels are gifts from Allah, they provide for us in more ways than most people know. They guide us through the desert, they nourish us with their milk…”

“And when they’re in a bad mood they spit on us,” smirked Tariq.

Zahra looked at him indignantly. “Tariq! Don’t speak ill of our camels like that.”

“Oh Mother, please. You know all too well what it’s like to bear the brunt of Huda’s wrath.”

“Huda has never given me attitude. It’s her baby Habibi who dishes out the punishments.”

“Mother, Habibi is barely a baby anymore.”

Zahra sniffed a little, like a parent saddened by the swift passage of time. “Do you remember when Huda gave birth? You had just started veterinary school and insisted on helping the vet deliver her. My, how the years pass by.”

I was trying to piece the conversation together. “Habibi’s a camel… correct?”

Tariq nodded. “Huda is Habibi’s mother. She’s been in the family longer than me.”

“Mr. Hassan purchased her to try to impress my father,” Zahra explained to me. “Camels are worth everything to an Omani family. They are more valuable than cars and more useful than jewels. They are the heartbeat of all Arab nations.”

“Did it work?” I asked. “Was your father impressed?”

Zahra gave a shrug. “He blessed our marriage, so I dare say I owe Huda a debt of gratitude… either that, or she has a lot to answer for.” With a snap of a napkin, Zahra served herself some fruit and changed the subject. “So, tell me, Arthur. Where is it you’re from?”

“Oxford… in England.”

“Ah, you’re a learned man. I’ve always believed that learned men are men of the world.”

“I’m learned, yes. A man of the world… no, unfortunately.”

“Well, you are now. Oman is a corner of the world that is… how shall I say… less travelled. At least it is these days. What brings you to the Middle East? You mentioned last night you had a room at the old university dormitory… what on earth for? That place is a zoo.”

“It was my colleague’s office… and home. I’ve come to take over his research.”

“Research? What kind of research?”

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