The Turtle of Oman by Naomi Shihab Nye Page B

Fil-Fil zigzagged, soared, dipped, curled, and circled.
    â€œHe has the gift of motion,” Sidi whispered.
    â€œIn a minute, I’ll tell you to lift your arm to invite him back,” Jamal said to Aref. “But let him fly a little more first. He has so much energy.”
    â€œDid you hear about the Falcon Hospital in Abu Dhabi?” asked Sidi. “They have two hundred air-conditioned rooms for the birds.”
    â€œYes,” said Jamal. “And they also give the birds passports when they leave, declaring them healed or cured of whatever problem they had. I am glad to say Fil-Fil has never had to go there for any reason.”
    Now Aref wanted to go there, just to see it. What would it feel like to be able to spring into the air and soar with your own body, no airplane beneath you, nothing? He knew that even the loss of a single feather could destabilize a falcon—sometimes, at the bird hospital, a falcon who was missing a feather or two had to have some other feathers stuck or sewn back into its wings, so it could regain flying balance again. They had talked about all this in his science class, studying birds and animals of the region. He wished his whole class were here right now.
    Fil-Fil dove dramatically. He swooped around and zoomed into the sky for two more wide circles. Aref, staring up, realized he was panting.
    â€œRaise your arm!” Jamal instructed. Aref gulped and lifted his arm. Fil-Fil swooped toward him and landed cleanly, as if they had been practicing for weeks.
    â€œI love it!” Aref said.
    â€œMy heart is pounding,” Sidi said.
    Then with little murmurs, Jamal coaxed Fil-Fil onto his own arm, bowed to Sidi and Aref, and carried him to the side of the patio, to a falcon roost Aref hadn’t even noticed the night before. He put the hood back on Fil-Fil’s head, and attached his leg to a large ring on the roost, with a clip-on leash.
    Naveed came out from his own small tent and started clearing the rest of the breakfast dishes away, as if nothing unusual had just happened.
    â€œThank you, Jamal!” Aref said. “That was really fun!”
    â€œWe do thank you, friend,” Sidi added. “Meeting you and your bird was a big surprise.”
    Jamal placed both his hands together in the Indian greeting way, though he was an Arab speaking Arabic, and bowed again. “I am going to take a nap,” he said. “Since we were up all night, Fil-Fil and I.”
    â€œI’m stronger now,” said Sidi, who hadn’t said much at all for at least ten minutes. “That falcon gave me strength. Poor guy, staying up all night to learn his lessons. Let’s walk out into the desert a little ways. I feel warmed up.”
    They headed toward the dunes, on a reddish path of gravel and sand. Sidi kept his hand on Aref’s shoulder for balance. The growing heat of the desert seemed round and full.
    More black-and-white birds darted down from the tent rafters and sailed along beside them. Aref wondered if they were scared of falcons. Maybe they had been hiding. The camels had completely disappeared. Aref wished they would come back. Sidi kept sniffing and urging Aref to smell the air and breathe deeply. “That way, your body will carry the desert back to the city,” he said. Aref gulped and held his breath.
    When they turned around and starting walking back to the Night of a Thousand Stars camp, Aref stared at the whole picture before them—small tents, purple pom-pom doorways, brown stucco bathroom, painted green stools, metal tables, and one tired sleeping falcon. Everything glistened, an oasis in the sun. He ran circles around Sidi, saying, “I love this place! I think it might be my favorite place!”
    â€œYou will be like my falcon,” said Sidi. “You will fly away and come back. Just as he did. That was beautiful.”

One More Star

    Falcons Take Naps Too
    1. I was a little scared when Fil-Fil was going to