Mackenzie, Lost and Found Page 10

  “I … I don’t know what that means,” I said, feeling kind of stupid.

  “It means that people are digging illegal holes into ancient sites just like the one you and I worked at. But instead of studying the artefacts, they’re selling them to dealers who turn around and sell them to collectors and tourists and naive shoppers like you and Marla. These people are stealing pieces of history — it’s one of the worst problems plaguing the Middle East right now.”

  “But … who are these people?” I asked, trying to remember something about the man who sold me the bowl. “Israelis? Palestinians?”

  He shook his head. “This is a huge international operation, Mack. Yes, the diggers are usually local and desperately poor. But the dealers come from all over the world. It’s an underground industry worth several billion dollars a year. They’re criminals, all of them — plundering this region’s cultural treasures like modern-day pirates.”

  He picked up the bowl and traced his fingers carefully over its clay surface. “This piece should be in a museum, not a private collection. And the man who sold it to you should be in jail.”

  That icky, tingly heat had now made its way up to my face and was creeping towards my ears. I reached up to scratch them, but that only made it worse.

  “I didn’t know that when I bought it, Dad,” I whispered, feeling my throat tighten up with emotion. I felt like crying.

  Now, normally I would try to pull myself together and stay strong, but a little part of me was wondering if maybe a few tears wouldn’t make Dad extend me just a little bit of sympathy. After all, I was an innocent victim here, wasn’t I?

  I decided to test out my theory and let a couple of tears escape and roll down my cheeks. Unfortunately, Dad seemed unmoved.

  “Listen, I’m sure you didn’t know it was illegal, Mack,” he said, “but that doesn’t make it all right. Now, I want you to take me back to the place where you bought this bowl and show me the criminal who sold it to you. I’ll handle it from there.”

  “Take you back?” I gulped, reaching for a napkin to wipe my eyes. “When?”

  “Today,” he said. “Right after breakfast. There’s no time to waste if we want to catch this guy.”

  “But … but what about school?”

  “You can miss a day of school. This is far more important.”

  “But don’t you have a class to teach?”

  “Not today — just paperwork and grading.”

  “But … but …”

  “No buts! Go get dressed!”

  Wow! He was really mad!

  Twenty minutes later we boarded a bus to the Old City. When we arrived, we started searching up and down the winding streets of the souk. Together, we examined every shop in the entire place. But it was like a maze in there. For the life of me, I couldn’t find where I’d bought the bowl.

  “What did the shop look like?” Dad asked over and over. “And the man who sold you the bowl, did he have any distinguishing features? Any scars? Any funny moles? Was he tall or short? Was he fat or thin? Was he alone, or did he have friends?”

  I answered as best as I could, but I swear, all the shops looked the same to me. And all I could remember about the seller were his perma-smile, his creepy, empty eyes, and his raspy voice. I scanned every face in the market that day, hoping to spot this guy and erase that look of disappointment on Dad’s face. But after five hours of searching my legs were tired, my feet were aching, and we were no closer to finding him.

  Exhausted and discouraged, I begged Dad to give up and let us go home.

  “Come on, he’s obviously not here,” I pleaded. “We can try again another day.”

  He agreed reluctantly, but didn’t say anything to me the entire way back. He didn’t have to — I knew exactly what he was thinking, ’cause I was thinking the same thing myself. I’d allowed myself to be duped by a common criminal, I’d personally embarrassed him, and, maybe worst of all, I’d ruined his fiftieth birthday.

  Way to go Mack!

  Chapter 23

  The very next day Dad turned the bowl over to the Israeli Antiquity Authorities and together we filed a report on the incident. I could only imagine what they were thinking when one of the world’s leading experts on archaeology showed up on their doorstep with a stolen artefact purchased by his very own daughter. Needless to say, it was a huge blow to Dad’s professional pride. I knew he would have felt much better if he could have handed over the thief as well. But to his credit, he didn’t try to make me feel any worse. I got the feeling he wanted to put the whole thing behind us as fast as possible. And that was fine with me! Given the choice, I’d happily never talk about it again — to him, or anybody else, for that matter. I wasn’t even going to tell Nasir. I just didn’t want him to know I’d been so stupid.

  It felt funny keeping a secret from him. I guess that sounds weird, huh? Considering our whole relationship was based on sneaking around. But maybe that’s the very reason why we’d been so honest with each other about everything else. Because I’d opened up to him about Mom and the horrible way she’d died, I think it made it easier for him to confide stuff in me, too. He told me about a time two summers ago when he and his cousin Ziyad had snuck off to the beach with a bottle of wine and what a risk that was, considering Muslims were forbidden to drink alcohol. And he told me how he had doubts about living out his life in the Middle East and how every now and then he dreamed of leaving everything behind and running off to Hollywood to be an actor.

  As cheesy as that sounds, I have to admit that it made me like him even more than ever. He was totally cute enough to be a movie star! And his accent probably wouldn’t be a problem — after all, look at what happened to Antonio Banderas!

  I told him if he ever ran away he’d have to take me with him. I think he liked that idea. We were definitely getting closer with each passing day. After being together for three months now, Nasir didn’t seem nearly as nervous when we were out in public together. And when he was working at the hole in the wall, he even spoke to me when other people were around — even though it was in a whisper.

  But he was still reluctant to introduce me to his family. I wanted that to change. If we were going to have a shot at a future together, I was going to have to meet them.

  So, okay, I have to admit that I fantasized about our wedding all the time. There were several different versions that I liked to play out in my head, but the basic theme went something like this:

  It was a clear summer day — not too humid or hot. I was dressed in a one-of-a-kind antique, ivory-lace dress with a ten-foot train behind me and a diamond-studded tiara poised gracefully on top of my head. Nasir looked great, too; he was so handsome in his dashing tuxedo and white bow tie.

  “I love you Muck-and-zee,” he said over and over all day, staring at me with adoring eyes that told me without a doubt that I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. All our friends and family were there, of course. Hailey, Steffi, and Christina had all flown over to be my bridesmaids. And Marla was my maid of honour who’d overcome her intense jealousy with many long hours of hypnotherapy.

  In the front row were our families. My dad, wearing a formal, black-satin version of his billowing cape, was seated with Aunt Louise, Uncle Matt, and Nana Pearl — who, as my wedding gift, had promised never to make me eat her disgusting English trifle again.

  Across the aisle from them was Nasir’s family. His sisters were all dressed in matching pink dresses and his mother and father (who now lovingly referred to me as their “fourth daughter”) were clasping each other’s hands and crying tears of joy at the sight of their only son getting married to such a wonderful young woman.

  It was a great daydream. There was only one fuzzy detail: I could never tell exactly where the wedding was taking place. A church? A mosque? That part was always too blurry to make out. But I did know for sure that we looked like one of the happiest couples I’d ever seen. And I just knew if his parents could meet me they’d be able to recognize that.<
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  One evening when Nasir and I were out for a walk I decided to press him on it. It was the middle of February, but the air was warm enough to stroll without a jacket. That never happened in Toronto.

  “Come on!” I urged in my sweetest, most beguiling voice. “Your parents will love me. I make a great first impression.”

  I smiled shyly, fluttered my eyelashes, and waited for his reply. It was amazing how good I’d become at flirting over the past few months. It’s like I was some-how channelling the spirit of Hailey Winthrop from all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. Surely Nasir couldn’t possibly resist me.

  Apparently, he could.

  “No, I’m sorry — they’re very traditional,” he said, shaking his head vigorously. “They would absolutely never approve.”

  I pouted for a while but he wouldn’t change his mind.

  “And what about you?” he asked, turning the tables back on me. “I’d love to meet your dad one of these days.”

  But now it was my turn to shake my head.

  “No way! You know that Dad doesn’t let me date yet. I swear, if he knew about you we’d both be toast!”

  “Toast?” he asked with a small frown of confusion. Actually, the way he said it sounded more like “tossed,” which was quite adorable. I couldn’t help smiling.

  “Yes, toast. You know, as in, ‘burned to a crisp’? As in, ‘raked over the coals’?”

  He stopped walking and spun me around to face him.

  “Come on! When are you going to tell him you’re old enough to do what you want?” he teased.

  I was shocked that he, of all people, could ask that question.

  “The same day you stand up to your parents and tell them about li’l ole me and my Christmas stocking,” I shot back.

  I was trying to be funny, but it didn’t work — he didn’t even smile.

  That was a whole month ago. Since then I’d dropped the topic of meeting his family and had pretty much given up the hopes that my daydream would ever come true.

  So you can imagine my shock when I finally got an invitation to go to his house. It happened after school one day in March when I was hanging out at his store, hoping to catch him on a break.

  “Good news!” he hissed over the cash register. “My family is out of town for a few days. I’ve got the apartment to myself!”

  My heart gave a little leap of joy.

  “Where’d they go?”

  “To visit my uncle and his family in Nazareth — they left this morning. I told them I couldn’t go with them because I had too much school work.”

  He gave me a shy look and added, “I, um, thought it would be a good chance for us to be … you know … alone.”

  My heart leaped again at the thought of getting a glimpse of his home life — even if his family wasn’t going to be there. We arranged to meet the following afternoon after school just outside the gates of the Arab souk. I raced back home, certain that the next day would be the most important one in our relationship so far. I’d never been alone in a boy’s apartment before and I really didn’t know what to expect. Would we talk, or would we just kiss the whole time? Or would we do more than kiss? Up until now, that’s all we’d done. Was I ready for more? Oh God! Just the thought of it unleashed a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I love Nasir … don’t I? I was pretty sure I did. But did he love me? I didn’t know if I wanted to take such a huge step yet. What exactly was he hoping would happen tomorrow? What would Hailey Winthrop do? I thought back to the advice she’d given us that day last spring after her date with Harrison Finch. Advice that her big sister had offered to her: Always leave a guy wanting more. Oh God! More what? I wanted — no, scratch that — I needed to talk to somebody about it. Against my better judgement, I called Marla.

  “He’s invited me over to his house! Isn’t that great? Don’t you think that’s a big step for us?”

  I felt kind of like a lawyer trying to sway the opinion of a cranky jury. But it didn’t work. Her disapproval came through loud and clear over the phone line.

  “I really wouldn’t go if I were you, Mack. It’s not exactly the safest of neighbourhoods for a girl on her own.”

  “I won’t be on my own — Nasir will be with me.”

  “I don’t know if that’s any better,” she snorted.

  “Ugh! Here we go again! You’re my best friend. Why can’t you be happy for me?”

  “Because I don’t agree with what you’re doing!” she replied. “I’ve told you before: the only way for this to end is badly!”

  Ooh! I could feel the beginnings of a hot, prickly anger starting to creep across my body!

  “You know Marla, not all interfaith relationships are doomed,” I lectured in my best know-it-all-professor’s-daughter voice.

  She just sighed wearily, like a parent exasperated with a rebellious child.

  “Listen, Mack: all I’m saying is that it’s a dangerous idea. I’m trying to look out for you, you know.”

  And that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I couldn’t control my anger anymore. All these months of negativity had brought me to my boiling point.

  “God! Why are you such a bigot?” I yelled into the phone.

  That did it. Now she was angry, too.

  “I’m not a bigot!” she yelled back. “Go ahead and do what you want when you get back to Canada, Mack. It’s just not the same here. We are at war with them! Don’t you get it?”

  “No, I don’t get it! I’m not at war with anyone!” I screamed, and I slammed the phone down.

  I sat there shaking with anger, wishing I hadn’t called at all. How dare she talk to me like that? How dare she let her jealousy taint our friendship? And how dare she imply that I should take sides? I absolutely refuse to let myself get roped into this “us and them” thing, no matter what Marla or anyone else says. There are people I care about on both sides of this “war.” How on earth can I choose between them? Why does everybody in this country have to be so freaking political? Why can’t we all just live our lives?

  For the next half hour I hung out in my room, waiting for her to call back and apologize. The phone didn’t ring.

  I went to the kitchen and started getting dinner ready, rehearsing my forgiveness speech while I tossed the salad. But the phone remained frustratingly silent. And it stayed that way for the rest of the evening. By the time I went to sleep later that night, there was only one thought on my mind:

  I might just need to find myself a new best friend.

  Chapter 24

  Nasir straightened the pillows on the couch and smoothed away the wrinkles in the fabric that were left over from his restless sleep.

  Oh, how long have those stains been there? he thought. And why haven’t I ever noticed those rips in the cushions before?

  He grabbed Mama’s crocheted blanket from the closet and threw it over the couch. Then he took a step back and tried to see his home as Mackenzie would in just a few short hours. Yes, the couch looked better, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about the rest of the apartment. It was so small — so plain.

  What’s she going to think of it? he wondered. She’ll know my family isn’t wealthy as soon as she arrives. Will it change her feelings for me?

  With a frown, he moved over to the kitchen, noticing for the first time its dingy appearance. He put away his breakfast dishes and then, for the first time in his life, picked up a scouring pad. He squeezed it slightly, feeling the gritty texture against his palm. Then he dropped it down onto the countertop and began scrubbing. It wasn’t that the counter was dirty — Mama was too careful a housekeeper for that. But it was dull and old and covered with tea stains, scratches, and Baba’s cigarette burns. There were too many to cover up — he had to clean it. But the harder he scrubbed, the duller it became. The call to prayer sounded in the distance. Nasir ignored it and leaned a little harder into the job.

  Mackenzie is coming today! Just a few more hours!

  Since the minute his famil
y had left town, she was all he’d been able to think about. Inviting her here was a risk, but he had to do it. This would be their first chance to be really alone. He wished he could talk to Ziyad. He’d have some good advice about girls.

  Nasir closed his eyes and pictured Mackenzie’s pretty face … her ocean eyes … her silky hair. He imagined her in his home … hearing her soft voice and her funny laugh … holding her hand … talking … kissing her strawberry mouth … making her blush and watching her pale cheeks change into warm roses.

  The phone rang. He stopped scrubbing and ran to his parents’ room to answer it. It was Mama, calling to see if he’d had a good sleep. He could hear Sameera and Amar chattering in the background and Rana babbling on their mother’s hip. Although he missed his sweet little sisters, it was a relief to be away from Baba and, at least for a few days, not have to worry about being dragged out to any late-night digs. Only once Nasir promised to call back after school did Mama let him hang the phone up. When he returned to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks and stared in shock at what he’d done.

  The top layer of the counter was completely worn away.

  Chapter 25

  After school, I met Nasir at the gates of the Old City. From there he told me it was only a short walk to his apartment. A growing sense of exhilaration took hold of me as we pushed our way through the busy streets of the market. I let Nasir lead the way through the crowds; my head was so dizzy with the prospect of finally being alone with him — really alone — that I could barely even pay attention to putting one foot in front of the other.

  After walking for about ten minutes, we turned down a small street, ducked under a low doorway, and walked up two flights of stairs to get to his apartment, which overlooked the market. The stairway was dusty and dark and smelled overwhelmingly like cat pee. Even though I tried to pretend that nothing was wrong I was a little grossed out. I had to breathe through my mouth until we got into his apartment — which took longer than it should have because Nasir couldn’t find his key. As he fumbled through his pockets, I noticed a pair of dishevelled children lingering in the doorway on the other side of the stairway. Their faces were covered in crumbs and their clothes were tattered and stained. They were staring at me with such intense curiosity that I felt immediately uncomfortable. Nasir noticed them, too.