Layover in Dubai

went a few hundred yards more until he stopped at a small walled lot behind the house that belonged to his brother, Abdullah. That seemed especially odd, because Uncle Abdullah had died only a week earlier, and the family was still in mourning. He climbed over the mud wall and moved toward a palm tree in the middle of the lot. Then he turned to face the creek—I had to duck behind the wall—and he took several careful steps straight toward me before stopping. He then turned directly to his right and made five more strides, counting them as he moved. Then he stopped again.

“I saw then that he was carrying something, one of those small folding shovels like the British soldiers used to have. He must have picked it up surplus, or maybe he stole it off one of their trucks. But he began to dig, right there by the light of the moon, and in only a minute or two he struck something. It sounded like metal hitting a clay pot, and at that moment I knew what he was doing, and what he had found, and I was scandalized.”

“What was it?” Laleh said.

Sam, just as eager to find out, leaned forward from the backseat.

“Well, in those days, especially if you made your money from pearling, no one ever put their money into banks. You collected your savings in old silver coins called Maria Theresas. You’d put them into a big clay pot, stopper the top, and bury it somewhere handy, in a secret place that only you knew. And this pot my father had dug up must have belonged to Uncle Abdullah, because I had heard his wife at the funeral only days earlier, complaining to the other women that her husband had died before telling anyone where their fortune was buried. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence then, especially when men were lost at sea. Their families were left with nothing unless someone could find the pot. But apparently my father, whether by sneaking around, or threats, or whatever means, had known the location all along. And he had waited until the first full moon to go and dig it up.

“There must have been a lot of coins, because the pot was very heavy. He could barely carry it, especially with the little shovel tucked beneath his arm. But he made it home without anyone seeing him, and when he reached our garden he dumped the contents into a sack. He broke the pot into little pieces and took them out to the creek, where he scattered them on the water. Then he made a fire and put the coins into a cooking pot with water and dried lemons. People did that to remove the tarnish, because the dampness underground always made the coins turn green.

“The following week my father bought three new boats to add to the one small pearling boat he already owned. Then he bought new engines for all four. That summer he needed so many new crewmen that he had to put me to work, and he hired the two older boys who became my friends, Ali and Mansour. Two of the new boats were even seaworthy enough to make the crossing to India, so he was also able to enter the gold-smuggling trade as well, once the pearling season was over. It made his fortune. And of course his wealth was then passed down to me, and, in turn, to you and your brothers. All of it accomplished by an act of theft against his own brother’s family.

“He took care of them in his way, buying them things from time to time, and making sure they were never wanting for necessities. And of course he let them think of him as a kind and magnanimous man. But I always knew the truth, and always hated him for it. And that is when I decided that I would do something in my life—as a lawyer, a policeman, whatever the world offered—to make sure that people like him would always be found out and punished.”

“Is that all?” Laleh asked, as if expecting some further revelation.

“What do you mean, ‘Is that all?’ Is that not enough?”

“Well, yes, it’s terrible. Inexcusable. But it was your father, not you.”

“It was a matter of our family’s honor, Laleh. Or its utter dishonor. Maybe some of those grasping people you work with would simply see it as the clever act of an opportunist, so why not make the best of it? But he stole from his own flesh and blood. It was a shame upon all of us, and by keeping his secret I became a part of that. With every tutor his money bought, I was tainted even more.”

“Your father’s right,” Sam said before he could stop himself. “I understand completely.”

Sam also understood that the age-old conflict between the values of the old and the young was playing out on the seat in front of him, here in a land where the new got newer by the minute. Not that Laleh wasn’t appalled by her grandfather’s actions. She simply didn’t see it as a binding stain upon later generations, or even her father. And while Sharaf had undoubtedly spoken too harshly of the people she worked among in Media City, she probably had grown a bit jaded from the ambition so often on display in the workplace. Sam certainly had, even if he had realized that only during the past few days.

Laleh was silent for a few moments more. Then she nodded.

“All right, then,” she said. “I understand why you have to continue. I also understand—finally—why you built our cousins a house on the family lot, so maybe you should tell Mom as well. But if, as you believe, our entire family shares this shame, then shouldn’t I also share the burden of removing it, if only by driving you to your next destination, maybe? Or making inquiries in places where you or Mr. Keller would be recognized?”

Sharaf rapidly shook his head.

“You see?” he said to Sam. “This is the folly of revealing family secrets, even to those you love. Now she will always have a wedge to involve herself. And she—”

The phone rang before he could say more, and when Sharaf saw the number he answered immediately. The conversation was in Arabic, but Sam could tell from the tone that it was welcome news. By the time Sharaf hung up, his mood was transformed.

“Laleh, I have a bargain to offer you.” He snapped the phone shut. “If I were to tell you that I know how to guarantee Mr. Keller’s safety for the rest of his stay in Dubai, and that you could even play a role in this action, would you agree to let me take the wheel?”

She tilted her head, as if trying to determine if this was a trick.

“All right. I’ll agree to that.”

“Good. In forty minutes, my old friend Mansour from the Maritime Police will be stopping by our house. I will drop you off a few blocks away so that you can be there to meet him, because I cannot afford to be seen there myself. If you then follow my instructions, by this evening he will be able to announce to the world that Mr. Keller here has been found dead in the waters of Dubai Creek. Mansour will even have a body to prove it, complete with Mr. Keller’s clothing and all the proper identification.”

“But—”

“Just say that you agree.”