Uru and Hannu

As soon as the tops of the trees caught the first rays of sunlight, Amaal rose and left the garden, eager to forget the terrible night and make her way back to the market. If she could just find Gader, she thought, surely, he would help her. She stood outside the iron gate. The city was already alive with preparations for the royal wedding. The passing faces appeared less innocent than they had the day before. She tucked her flute firmly under her arm and was about to ask for directions when she spotted the girl with the purple gloves walking briskly up the street. She doubted the girl would remember her, and even if she did, she might not be all that friendly, but Amaal needed directions back to the market, so she called out and waved. The girl spotted her and continued apace, gesturing for Amaal to come along. Reluctant to let go of her plan to return to the market, Amaal hesitated, but when the girl turned off the main street, she quickly followed. The girl led her down a long alleyway flanked by high, whitewashed walls until they came to a bright blue wooden door with an iron knocker. Amaal had no idea where she was, but she was sure they were far from the market square.

            “Is this your house?” she asked.

            The girl said nothing but pushed open the squeaky door. Much to Amaal’s surprise, inside lay a private courtyard, lush and cool in the dappled morning sunlight. Beyond the courtyard stood a stately home, its wrap-around porch decorated with colorful tiles and potted plants. The girl ushered Amaal into the courtyard, pointed her to a wooden table and bench, and disappeared into the house. Amaal sat on the bench, admiring the beautiful hidden estate. A minute later the girl returned carrying a tray. On it were flat bread smeared with olive oil and zaatar, a dish of pitted dates, a bowl of oranges, and three glasses of sweet mint tea. She put the tray on the table and gestured for Amaal to take some and eat. All at once, Amaal realized that the girl spoke not with words but with her hands—and that she wasn’t wearing gloves at all. The skin on her arms was a deep purple color! To avoid staring at the girl’s oddity, and because she was absolutely famished, Amaal helped herself to a piece of the bread and bit into it.

            “Hey, I know you!”

            A lanky boy stepped off the porch. He tied the sash of his tunic, ran his hand through his tousled curls and straightened the gold ring hanging on a leather cord around his neck. Amaal recognized him right away as the piper who had danced her into the city. He popped a date into his mouth and took a long slurp of tea. Through the sloppy mouthful, he asked, “How’d you get here?”

            “This girl brought me here,” Amaal replied, peeling an orange. “Is she your friend?”

            “Friend?! Ha! This is my cousin, Uru.”

            The girl interrupted with a flurry of purple-handed gestures.

            “Okay, okay, sorry!” The boy started signing the conversation.

            “But,” Amaal asked, “weren’t you traveling with the caravan?” She separated the sections of the orange, laid them out, and took several for herself, determined to make the most of free food.

            “My family is from Tyre, but my mother and I left when I was a baby. We came back for the royal wedding. Now, it turns out, my family wants me to stay in Tyre and take over the family business.” He helped himself to a piece of the orange.

            The girl asked him something.

            “No, Uru, I’m not going to stay in Tyre. I’m going on adventure—east to Mohenjo Daro or west to the tin markets. If I do settle someplace, it’ll be far from here and no time soon.”

            “Can I ask her a question?” Amaal asked.

            “Be my guest.”

            The boy signed as Amaal asked, “Why did you bring me here, to your house?”

            Uru’s reply made him laugh.

            “What’s so funny?” Amaal said.

            “She says you looked like a stray dog.”

             Uru said something more.

            “She wants to know your name,” the boy said.

            “Oh, I’m Amaal.”

            “Okay,” the boy said, “You can tell her yourself. Make an ‘A’ is like this…” He made a soft fist as though he might use it to knock on a closed door. “Now, you need an action to identify yourself. How about…playing your flute?”

            “How do you know I play the flute?”

            “Oh, word gets around.”

            Amaal stiffened, wondering if it had been this boy who’d wrested the flute from her as she slept in the garden. Then, she recalled the hulking shadow of a much bigger thief looming over her and let the thought go. Besides, this boy seemed friendly and fun. She made an “A” with both hands and pretended to play a flute.

            “How do I say Uru’s name?” Amaal asked.

            The boy held up two fingers on each hand and made a dipping gesture.

            “What’s that?” Amaal asked.

            “That’s how you say her name: Uru. She dips cloth in purple dye. That’s the family business.”

            “Oh, so, that’s how she got purple arms!”

            “Exactly. It’s the family trade, and one I do not wish to inherit. And I,” he said with a little bow, “…am Hannu.” He pointed at her with two fingers and drew a circle in the air. “The traveler.”

            Amaal repeated the gesture.

            “You’ve got it! And now, it’s time to rehearse for the wedding.”

            “The royal wedding?”

            “Of course! You should come and play with the musicians!”

            Amaal hesitated. “I’ll come along, but I’m not so sure about playing.”

            “Well, you can decide later. Let’s go…”

            “Isn’t Uru coming?”

            “No, she’s staying here. She has work to do.”

            Hannu led Amaal back to the marketplace, dodging delivery carts bumbling along the narrow streets. Amphorae of oil and wine, joints of lamb, firewood and tent poles, bunting, banners, and bouquets—it seemed as though everything in the city was being moved from one place to another in preparation for the wedding. They joined the musicians near the Temple of Melkart. Gader, master of ceremonies, was already explaining the ritual.

            “…the music must invoke the presence of the gods so that they smile down upon the bride and groom and bless the marriage. The dancers must move gracefully, with intent, to maintain the sacred balance between earth and sky.”

            The musical ensemble that had the previous afternoon entered the city with a riotous clamor now played in exquisite harmony, stopping now and then to correct some small error. Amaal listened in awe. This was nothing like the birdy little trill she had played for the sleepy travelers in the garden. These were bona fide musicians. Hannu gave her a vigorous nod, and Amaal assembled her flute, wiped the perspiration from her lip, raised the flute into position, and furtively found a note that complemented what the others were playing. She stayed with it and swayed to the music, pretending to be doing much more. She dared to find a second note. Much to her relief, it, too, worked well. Certain of those two, she toggled safely between them, much as she had done the night before but with no call of a nightingale to magically enhance the effect. Meanwhile, the other players sent their gifts of musical perfection to the ears of the gods.

            When rehearsal was over, Gader called Amaal aside. She had contributed next to nothing to the performance, and she was certain he would dismiss her from the ensemble, and she was eager to be excused.

            “Amaal, tomorrow you will play the Hymn to Ashtart. It comes at a critical point in the ceremony at the precise moment the bride and groom are joined in marriage.”

            Amaal sputtered a few words of resistance.

            “Oh, but you must! Your silver flute will make a unique appeal to the gods. Listen, the hymn goes like this…” He whistled the tune, softly clapping his hands to keep time. The simple melody consisted of no more than five notes. Amaal hummed along, but the pounding of her heart and her intense desire to run away made it difficult to concentrate.

            “You’re getting it!” he said.

            She placed her trembling fingers on the flute. After several tries, with Gader guiding every note, she played it through once without mistakes, then again, and, at his insistence, a third time.

            “Very good! Now, go and practice until you can play it without hesitation.”

            Amaal returned to where Hannu was sitting, afraid to let go of the melody humming in her head.

            “What did he say?” he asked.

             “He says I’m going to play the Hymn to Ashtart. Do you know it?”

            “Of course! Everybody knows the Hymn to Ashtart. What an honor! It’s going to be great! The whole city will hear you play!”

            Amaal felt a lump in her throat. Her hands shook as she cleaned her flute and put it back in its case. She felt totally incapable of playing the tune, but she didn’t know how to say no to Gader.

            Hannu tucked his pipes into his sash. “Come, I want to show you something!”

            Amaal slung her flute over her shoulder and followed him away from the center of the city, down a narrow, winding passageway, and up a long, steep flight of stone steps until the muscles in her legs started to burn. Much to Amaal’s amazement, the top step brought them out atop the city’s high defensive wall. Everything, the roads, the houses, even the tallest palm trees appeared in miniature far below them. The summit made her feel slightly light-headed, but she soon found her balance as she recognized the marketplace, the temples, and the garden where she’d camped the night before.

            Hannu stood on top of the wall as if he owned the place. He pointed out, “Not one harbor but two! One to the north and the other to the south. King Hiram built them back in—well, I don’t know when, exactly, but it was a long time ago. Pumayyaton the Hyena will never ever measure up to the great Hiram. Not in a thousand years!”

            “Did you just call the king a hyena?”

            “Pumayyaton is a hyena!” Hannu spat. “He’s vicious and greedy. Did you know that Acerbas has hidden the temple treasure from him?

            “I heard something about that.”

            “Nobody but Acerbas knows where it is, but I bet I can find it. Just imagine! Heaps of silver shekels as high as your knee; big bowls of rubies and sapphires and emeralds; gold nuggets as big as your fist, scattered around like feed for chickens. The treasure holds every temple offering made by every rich merchant going back generations, plus three hundred years’ worth of gifts from kings and queens—and the Hyena doesn’t even know where it is! Anyway, I don’t like to talk about him.”

            Amaal was about to say that it was he who’d brought it up, but Hannu was distracted by something down in the city. He pointed to a small figure walking in the shade of the city wall, hands clasped behind his back in a contemplation. It was Gader on his philosopher’s walk.

            “I bet he’s got a lot on his mind,” Hannu said.

            “He sure knows a lot,” Amaal said.

            “My mother says he knows everything.” With a chuckle, he added, “He probably knows we’re up here right now.”

            “How do you know so much about Tyre? You don’t even live here.”

            “My mother told me stories so I’d know where I came from.” He gazed out at the square-sailed boats gliding beyond the breakwater guarding the north harbor from the Great Sea. “But Tyre will never be my home. Someday I’ll be on one of those ships. Off to see new lands. By Ba’al, I will!”

            They hadn’t noticed one of Pumayyaton’s guards lumbering up the steps. He stopped at the top to catch his breath. Hannu pointed at him and called out, “Hey, look, a spotted lemur!”

            The red-faced guard started toward him.

            “Amaal, run!”

            Amaal dashed to the steps and started down, stopping just long enough to watch Hannu feign left, then right, and duck past the guard. In a flash they ran to the bottom and collapsed in a fit of laughter.

            “Weren’t we supposed to be up there?” Amaal said when she’d caught her breath.

            “Only the Hyena’s guards are allowed on the wall.”

            Amaal felt a pang of apprehension about Hannu’s spontaneous sense of adventure.

            “Where to next?” he asked brightly.

            Amaal tried to think quickly of something that wouldn’t get them into trouble. “Gader said I should see the Temple of Ashtart.”

            “Right this way—through the merchants’ quarter!”

They entered the maze of narrow alleyways and tiny workshops. Everyone from the cobbler to the goldsmith was hunched over a workbench, busy with last-minute orders for the wedding. Passing a display of powdered candies, Hannu popped one into his mouth while the shopkeeper was looking the other way. He turned to Amaal with an elusive grin and winked. She returned a smile but felt a twinge of shame at her new friend’s free-wheeling ways. They found their way to the market square and crossed to the Temple of Ashtart. Hannu stopped at the bottom of the steps.

            “Aren’t you coming in?” Amaal asked.

            “No boys allowed. You’ve got your temple, and I’ve got mine.” He pointed boastfully at the splendid Temple of Melqart.

            Amaal smiled. “Okay, then. See you later…”

            “You’ll stay with us tonight, won’t you?”

            “But shouldn’t we ask your aunt…”

            “It’s fine. My aunt is Tyrian…she loves having guests! I’ll send Uru to get you.”

            Hannu waved over his shoulder and headed back into the bustling market, whistling the Hymn to Ashtart as he went.

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