Page 51 of Under the Arabian Sky

I heard a vulnerability, a sense of fear in his tone.

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight. “He’ll be okay. Your father’s a strong man…”

“He’s a stubborn man.”

“Yes, he’s that too. But his strength and stubbornness are what he needs to get through this. Now go… go take care of him.”

Tariq nodded, then quickly left the clinic before the tears had a chance to well in his eyes.

The moment the door shut behind him, I suddenly felt alone.

Apart from the occasional curiouskack-kack-kackfrom one of the falcons in the infirmary, the place seemed awfully quiet and empty without Tariq’s larger-than-life presence filling the space.

“Well… I suppose I’d better get some work done,” I mumbled to myself.

As though seconding the idea, one of the birds let out a loud squawk.

I wasn’t sure how this was going to go, working in a clinic full of falcons, but without Tariq there to consume every ounce of my attention, now was the perfect time to pull out Cavendish’s notes and charts and make a start of things. I went into my room and began sifting through all my work.

I opened several books that Cavendish had kept and made notes of the passages he’d circled or highlighted regarding the principles of uniformitarianism, stratigraphy and palaeontology in the region. I rearranged maps on the floor and tried to decipher my colleague’s scribbles about mineralogy and the chemical compound reports he’d kept. I flicked through folders, pulling out the most important pages of Cavendish’s research and making piles based on what I needed to prioritise. That was about the time that thoughts of Tariq began to distract me from my work.

I labelled the backs of photographs and put them in date order… and thought about the way Tariq had approached the sick falcon in Mahir’s stable, inching forward calmly and confidently, his mind set on nurturing the bird back to health.

I taped small sachets of sand samples to matching density readings… and let the song of his prayers outside the old Portuguese fort echo through my mind.

I paperclipped diagrams to the pages of textbooks… and daydreamed about Tariq’s naked body as he led me into the cool waters of Wadi Sirun.

I sharpened a dozen pencils… and pictured Tariq laying beside me as we watched the glimmer of stars in the heavens above the Sharqiya Sands.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realised that the three hours since Tariq had left had been a struggle.

The fact of the matter was, I missed him.

It wasn’t even midday and I missed the hell out of him.

I tried to stay focused on work by picking up my phone and calling Professor Henderson. I realised he was probably out of range, but the sound of his voice message greeting might be enough to sharpen my concentration and get a few productive tasks completed.

As I suspected, the call went to message bank. “Hello, you’ve reached Professor Henderson. I’m currently on expedition in the Sahara and will endeavour to return your call as soon as possible.”

After the tone, I successfully managed to leave one of the most rambling messages of my life. “Oh hi, Professor Henderson… it’s Arthur. Just calling to let you know that things are going well here in Oman. As a matter of fact, things are somewhat better than expected. Much better. I’ve met a few locals and I’ve been out to explore the terrain. I say, it’s a real hidden gem, this place. The heat is rather intense, I’ll give it that, but it beats the cold and the constant rain, and the desert itself… well… it’s nothing short of breath-taking. So much so, that if you can’t find that replacement you’ve been looking for, I’m quite happy to stay… for the time being… or maybe indefinitely… who knows? Anyway, I just thought I’d ring and check in with you, let you know how I’m going. I hope all as well in North Africa. I’ll try calling again next week. Cheerio.”

I hung up the phone and set it down beside me…

Instantly the vision of Tariq popped into my head once again.

I picked up my phone and looked up another number in my address book, desperate to distract myself from thoughts of my handsome falcon doctor. “Hello?” came a voice down the line.

“Mrs. Abbott… it’s me, Arthur… from down the hall.”

“Arthur, is everything all right? Good heavens, I hope you’re not calling to tell me you’ve been kidnapped by terrorists, have you? Blink three times if it’s a ‘yes’.”

“Mrs. Abbott I’m fine. And even if I had been kidnapped, I’m not entirely sure what good blinking into a telephone would do.”

“Oh yes. Good point. So, you’re not in any sort of trouble, then?”

“No, I’m fine. In fact, I’m doing great.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, dear. Oh, by the way, I’ve moved your orchid and the fiddleleaf fig into my flat. There’s more light in the afternoon in my living room. They seem much happier. I hope you don’t mind.”

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