The Treasure of Maria Mamoun (3 page)

“But what if something really does happen?” Maria had tried not to ask that, but her mother had asked it first.

Celeste hugged Maria though she was sopping wet. Maria couldn't help it: she suddenly started to cry. She cried great big racking sobs. She sobbed until her stomach hurt and the bathwater cooled. Her mom hugged her and waited. When she quieted, Celeste said, “
Qu'est-ce que c'est?
Tell me the truth.”

“Even when everything is okay,” Maria said, “I hate it here. I hate this building, those girls, and my school.” She hadn't realized it till she said it, but once she had, she knew it to be true. “And I never see you! You're never here! I'm always alone!”

“I know.” Celeste's voice sounded tight. “I'm sorry.”

“It's just…” Maria didn't want to upset her mother any more than she already had. “Do you remember that day we went to the beach? I loved that. Why can't we do that kind of thing more?”

Celeste stopped stroking Maria's wet hair. “It's not always so easy to find the time.”

Maria worried she'd gone too far.

“I'm okay now, Mama. I was just upset. And it won't happen again. I'm usually more careful. I just messed up.”

Celeste stared at her for a long time, as if she were thinking about something important.

“You didn't mess up,” Celeste finally said. “I messed up. You shouldn't have to be careful.”

“It's not your fault.”

“But it is.” Celeste looked grim and determined. “I'm the adult.”

“But what can you do about it?” Maria said.

“I don't know,
chérie
,” Celeste said. “But I'll think of something.”

Celeste didn't make Maria return to school the next day. And anyway, Maria didn't want to go back to school and face the Bad Barbies. She was pretty sure they'd be looking for revenge.

So Maria sat at the kitchen table, doing the schoolwork she was missing. Principal Toussainte had at least that much mercy—after Maria's mother called him to explain, he agreed to let Maria finish out the year at home.

Mostly, Maria spent her days listening. She listened for the Barbies coming back from school, roaming around the building, their hooting laughter, their mothers' hollers and slammed doors and stomped feet. She was scared all the time, though she pretended to be okay for her mother's sake.

But Celeste knew she wasn't okay. She knew, because she was watching her daughter closely. The day after the attack she quit both her jobs. So now she didn't go to work and she didn't leave Maria alone in the apartment except to go shopping for necessities.

Celeste spent her days on their ancient computer and on the phone, and her nights sorting and packing and making more phone calls. On the sixth day, Maria woke to an empty apartment. Everything was gone: to the curb as trash, to the building superintendent for donation, or stuffed into four large duffel bags.

“
Fais vite
,
chérie!
Our taxi is coming!” Celeste hovered in the bathroom door. “Wash your teeth quickly!”

“
Brush
your teeth, Mama.”

“You should brush your hair, too, but we don't have time.” Celeste snatched the toothbrush, still wet, from Maria's hand and shoved it in her purse. “Help with the bags.”

Celeste locked up the apartment and slipped the keys under the floor mat. The Bad Barbies were nowhere to be seen. Maria followed Celeste down the building stairs, and out the double doors one last time.

Tante Farida was waiting for them on the sidewalk. The old lady looked particularly tiny and her eyes were red and wet. She grabbed Celeste and gave her three quick kisses, right, left, right. Then she handed Maria a plastic bag filled with pistachio nougats and sesame treats.

“To fatten my string bean.” She patted Maria's cheek. She handed another bag to Celeste. “Grape leaves,
zeitoun
,
kibbe
, and breads for lunch.”

Their taxi pulled up. The cabbie threw their bags in the trunk. More kisses, more hugs, more Arabic whispers, more kisses again. The cabbie honked and they climbed in.

Tante waved until they turned the corner.

“But, Mama, where are we going?” Maria asked.

“To the beach,” Celeste told her. “To get some sun.”

 

4

F
ISHY
B
UTTER
AND
F
UNNY
A
CCENTS

They would be living on an island off the coast of New England called Martha's Vineyard.

“Who's Martha?” Maria asked.

“I don't know,” Celeste said. “Maybe we'll find out when we get there.”

Celeste explained that she was going to be taking care of an old man who owned an estate.

“What's an estate?” Maria asked.

“It's a big place with lots of land and buildings—”

“Like a town?”

“No, more like…” Celeste paused. “You know those TV shows about rich people in England in the olden days? Not knights-in-shining-armor old days, more like horses and carriages and butlers and maids?”

Maria tried to picture it. She imagined women in tight corsets and voluminous gowns drinking tea with their gloves on and their pinkies up, chattering in British accents. She couldn't see what that had to do with an island off the coast of New England. Unless New England was like Old England. She wondered if it was.

“He's some kind of billionaire,” Celeste said. “He's also very, very ill. That's why he needs a nurse twenty-four–seven. I just hope he's not dying anytime soon. It would be my luck to have him die just as soon as we get there. Then I'd be out of another job.”

Maria felt a sick tickle in her stomach. Her mom sounded worried and it was all Maria's fault. If she had been paying attention, she wouldn't have run into the Bad Barbies. If she hadn't run into the Barbies, her mother wouldn't have quit her jobs. And now they'd uprooted themselves because she'd been overly dramatic and said she hated everything.

Maria stared out the bus window. They had been traveling all day, it seemed: first the long taxi ride from their apartment to Port Authority, and then hours and hours on an interstate highway with nothing to look at but trees, trees, and more trees. It wasn't that she didn't like trees—she did. Especially at first. But after a while it became monotonous. Maria had never seen so many trees. Every so often the trees parted and she could see the backyards of houses near the highway. These suburban homes looked like the sort she saw on after-school TV shows, with patios and barbecues and swimming pools.

She remembered her own small but cozy bedroom. The flowered bedspread—her mom had put that in the donation bag because it was too big to pack—the yellow dresser with green knobs, also donated. Tears pricked her eyes. Why did she suddenly care about those worn-out things? She shook her head and closed her eyes. She would not care. She would not miss it, any of it.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Celeste said. “We're nearly there.”

Maria sat up. “How long was I asleep for?”

“Not long. Look—” Celeste pointed out the window.

The bus was pulling into a large parking lot filled with cars and people. At the far end of the lot stood a huge white building, and behind it was the ocean. Suddenly the front wall of the huge white building opened up, and an orderly line of cars began inching toward the open wall. People with suitcases and duffel bags walked up ramps and disappeared into a side door. Maria had never seen anything like this before. Not even on TV.

“That's our ferry,” Celeste said.

“Oh!” Maria readjusted her brain. The white building was
not
a building after all. It was a ferryboat. And they would take it to the billionaire's island.

The next few minutes were a blur of activity. Celeste hustled Maria out of the bus and told her to stay put while she monitored the transfer of the duffel bags from the bus to a little trailer loaded with passengers' luggage. Then she hustled her up the aluminum ramp and onto the gigantic boat. A man in a white nautical uniform took two paper tickets from Celeste and handed back two stubs.

“We'll keep these for a souvenir,” Celeste said, pocketing them. “Do you want to ride outside or inside? We can see the sunset from the top deck. And we can get something to eat from the cafeteria.”

“I want to sit outside. In front. I'll get seats while you get food,” Maria said.

She picked the two best seats at the front of the boat. The glowing sun hovered near the horizon, turning the sky a neon pink and the waves a molten gold. A loud horn blew, the engine rumbled, and then the ferry glided away from the dock so smoothly Maria could scarcely feel it. The ferry picked up speed, and the salty wind whipped Maria's hair across her face and chilled her. She liked the way the air smelled—damp and clean—like that day at the beach. A gull sailed along on the wind, hovering just off the rail.

The little town with the ferry terminal quickly receded, and soon they were on open water. Maria looked around for her mother and was surprised to see they were alone on deck, except for a few travelers with dogs.

“How come everyone's inside?” Maria asked Celeste. “I can't believe they'd want to miss this.” She tipped her chin toward the pink clouds.

“They're probably all Island natives. This is routine for them. It's still too early in the season for tourists.” Celeste handed Maria a cardboard tray with four cardboard cups. “Hot chocolate and clam chowder.”

“Have I ever had clam chowder before?” Maria spooned up the thick white liquid and watched it drop back into the cup.

“No. But I think we'll be eating a lot of it now,” Celeste said.

Maria sniffed her spoon. “It smells like fishy butter.”

“You should try it,” Celeste said. “It reminds me of a soup I ate in Paris, with cream and
moules
, how do you say it? Mussels.”

“No offense, Mama, but that sounds kind of gross.” Maria put the strange soup to one side and turned back to the view.

But now that the sun had set, there wasn't much view anymore. The ocean turned deep purple with silver shimmers. The shore had disappeared entirely, swallowed up by shadows. She'd never been anywhere so dark. The only lights came from their boat and the occasional buoy. And the stars. She'd never seen so many stars in real life. The city's lights had always blocked the stars. She marveled at how they filled the black sky.

“It's pretty,” Maria said.

“It is,” Celeste agreed.

“But kind of scary,” Maria said.

“How so?”

“Well, it's so empty.” Maria looked out over the black water. “And it feels like if you fell in, no one would notice.”

“Well then, don't fall in!” Celeste said. “But good thing you know how to swim.”

“I guess. But I still say that pool was crazy crowded,” Maria said. Two summers ago, her mother had made her take swimming lessons at the Crotona pool. Every Monday she'd joined a gaggle of loud, rough children in the overcrowded city pool because her mother had insisted she learn the basics.

“Well, now that we'll be living near a beach, you can swim in the not-crowded ocean,” Celeste said. “You should thank me for saving you from drowning, in advance.”

“Thanks for saving me from drowning in advance,” Maria said. She cupped her hands around her hot chocolate and settled back to enjoy the ride.

Nearly an hour later, a bell sounded and a man's voice anounced, “Vineyahd Haven, Vineyahd Haven.”

“Here we are.” Celeste patted Maria's knee.

“I thought we were going to Martha's Vineyard,” Maria said.

“It's a big island. There are more than a few towns. Vineyard Haven has a ferry terminal.”

“Oh. Vine
yard
Haven. I thought he said Vine
yahd
.”

The man told all
passenjahs
with
cahs
to go down to the
cah
deck, and all walk-off
passenjahs
to exit from the
stahbud
bow. Maria smiled and repeated the words in the strange accent to herself. She wondered if everyone here spoke like that.

The ferry was pulling into the brightly lit dock, bumping gently up against massive logs hung with old tires. A woman in a bright orange reflective vest caught a giant rope and looped it over something that looked like a metal hook lying on its side, and then she caught another. Meanwhile, two men climbed a series of ramps and began stretching a walkway toward the docking ferry. Beyond the ramp spread another ferry terminal, like the one they had left. But this one had no cars lined up, waiting to board. They had taken the last ferry. There would be no return trip that night. A handful of people in the parking lot below waited to pick up family members. A man stood at the base of the ramp with a cardboard sign that said
MAMOON
.

“There's someone waiting for us,” Maria said. “He spelled our name wrong.”

“I arranged for a taxi.” Celeste tossed their trash. “Come, we have to get the bags off the luggage cart.”

“Okay.” Maria took one last look. Just beyond the ferry terminal, she could make out the shadows of a small town, but there were few lights to see it by. Just a white dot here and there—possibly streetlights or porch lights. No colored lights, though. No traffic lights, no flashing
WALK/DON'T WALK
signs. No neon signs advertising
PIZZA
or
PUPUSAS
. So strange, that a town could just turn off its lights and go to bed.

“It's so dark,” Maria said.

“Wait till we get out of town. See that?” Celeste pointed to an even darker expanse beyond the terminal. “That's where we're going.”

 

5