The bathroom door opened moments later. I heard Mother say something but couldn’t make it out. I resisted the urge to run out to them. I wanted him to come to my room. I wanted him to see how much he’d scared me, to sit down on my bed and talk to me, tell me what was wrong. I lay on my bed and stared at the door handle in the hope that he’d press it down and walk in. If he did, I’d quickly turn to face the wall so that he’d only see my back and would have to ask me how I was. But he never came. I heard two sets of footsteps heading for my parents’ bedroom, and Mother speaking again. She sounded very upset. Soon after that, I heard their door opening and Father coming out. Mother stayed behind.
This time I couldn’t resist. I darted out of my room and tugged him on the sleeve. He had changed into brown trousers and a check shirt, and smelled of shampoo and soap.
I whispered so that Mother wouldn’t hear. “Is Grandmother sick?”
He shook me off.
“Not now, Samir. Not just now …”
I wasn’t giving up. I tugged at his sleeve again.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing, Samir. I had a fall. It was nothing serious.”
He took a few steps but I clung to his sleeve.
“But it looked serious.”
“Listen, habibi. Go back to your room, please. Get into bed.”
“But why?” I fought back tears of rage. I was sick of it, sick of trying to figure out what the point of his weird behaviour was. I wanted him to be himself again, immediately.
Father blinked nervously but his voice was calm and almost affectionate. “So that I can come to your room later and tell you the story.”
He was standing in a semi-circle of light, silhouetted by the hall light behind him.
“Abu Youssef?”
“Yes. The next episode is ready.”
He looked me in the eye, for the first time in ages. His gaze was unfathomable, alternating between sheer exhaustion and firm resolve.
“Can’t you tell me the story right now?”
“Later, Samir. There’s something I have to do first.”
“What?”
“I need to see Hakim. To tell him he needn’t worry and to apologise if I gave him a fright.”
I nodded. Hakim and Yasmin had been very puzzled leaving our flat. She’d held his hand and kept looking back at me. Still, I held on to my father’s sleeve and looked up at him.
“But you’ll come back, won’t you?”
He took a deep breath.
“Yes, Samir. I’ll only be down with Hakim for a few minutes, then I’ll come to your room.”
I let go of his sleeve.
“Can I come with you?”
“No. I won’t be long.”
“Promise?”
“I promise. You get yourself ready to hear the story. It’s about Abu Youssef’s treasure.”
“His big secret?”
“Yes, his big secret.”
He swallowed.
“Go to your room and wait for me. I’ll be back in no time.”
I did what I was told, and I heard our front door open and close.
This time, though, I had no intention of letting him go alone. I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight. I knew in my heart that he hadn’t really been chased in the dark by sinister characters. It was just my imagination playing tricks. But what if it wasn’t my imagination? Then they’d be out there waiting for him. They might have followed him all the way into our building and be lying in wait in a dim corner of the stairwell. And if they were hiding there, he’d need my help. I decided to follow him.
As soon as he was gone, I sneaked to the front door in my slippers. I opened it a crack and saw him disappear at the turn of the landing. I darted into the stairwell and stood with my back to the old wallpaper. I could still hear his footsteps and counted them as he descended. Too many steps—he had gone past Hakim and Yasmin’s door. That meant he’d lied to me. My heart was thumping so loudly I feared it would give me away. But there was no time to lose. I had to catch him before he got away from me. This time, I wanted to be by his side if anything happened. I peered round the corner to see if the coast was clear. Then I tiptoed down the stairs, following the creaks of his footsteps. My heart was racing and I hardly dared to breathe. For a second I was sure I’d lost him because the sound of his footsteps suddenly died. I was at the front door of our building now, at the bottom of the stairs, but the door was shut. That only left the stairs to the basement, but there was no light coming from there. I don’t think there even was a light down there. Suddenly I heard a sound, a bit like the squeal of wet brakes. I recognised it; I’d heard it a lot when we moved in. Father had opened the door to the basement.
It made me think of Yasmin, of the pair of us flitting around the haunted labyrinths in our old complex, following the strange smells that wafted through the walls. I wished she was by my side right now. She was far better at creeping up on people than I was. There was no way I could follow Father into the basement. The squealing door would give me away. He’d want to know why I followed him, why I didn’t trust him. He might decide to punish me by not telling me the story. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, I had no great desire to go down into the dark, dank basement where you could easily trip on the loose flagstones. Undecided, I looked around. Where should I go? Back upstairs until I heard him leaving the basement? But what if he slipped out the front door instead? I had no jacket; it would be crazy to follow him outside. Should I nip upstairs and get my jacket? But what if he left the basement in that space of time? What if Mother saw me and stopped me? What was he looking for anyway? As far as I knew, all we had in the basement were flattened-out removal boxes and a few smaller boxes storing stuff we didn’t need all year round, like Christmas-tree baubles, straw angels, and old crockery. I decided to wait, trusting that I’d be quick enough to react according to the situation. The light in the stairwell timed out, and I was left waiting in the dark.
It didn’t take too long. Ten minutes maybe. Ten minutes of sitting anxiously near the front door while my eyes got used to the dark. Then I heard the squeal again and Father closing the basement door behind him. This time I even heard the key turn and the lock click. I was already on my feet. The light came on again; he had pressed the switch. Once I heard him make his way upstairs again, I was certain that he wasn’t going to leave the house, that he’d come back to our flat. So I withdrew quickly and silently. This time Father did stop outside Hakim’s flat. I heard him knocking on the door. I peered cautiously round the corner. He was standing beneath the weak light bulb waiting for someone to open the door. In his two hands he clasped a rectangular object wrapped in black cloth. I couldn’t see his face because he was looking down at what he had in his hands. I hadn’t the faintest idea what was under that cloth. A gift to apologise to Hakim maybe? He knocked again. I heard steps and saw the door opening. Hakim was in his pyjamas, looking like a ragged seabird that’s come through a storm. The two men exchanged a long look without saying a word. Then Hakim nodded silently and stepped aside.
If you sit in one spot for a long time, you see things you never noticed before. You wonder how this can possibly be, since you’ve passed this spot a thousand times. I noticed for the first time the fine structure of the wallpaper in our stairwell. It was made up of lots of little joined-up diamonds that looked like they’d been embroidered. I’d never noticed the big grey dust balls in the corner