The Reward

"I woke up, and a mountain lion sat not 6 feet away, sunning on a rock." Esmira's chocolate brown eyes focused off in the distance as she relived the memory. Her long fingers stroked the plait of gray, but lustrous hair she had pulled over her shoulder as her excitement built.

"What did you do?" Arley found himself holding his breath, waiting for the answer.

"I got up as quietly as I could, tiptoed down the hill to get my husband, Jalil, and we ran away!" Her laughter was that of a much younger woman, full throated and musical, inviting. All her wrinkles were smiles and her deep brown eyes danced. "I left my favorite picnic dishes. I have never been able to find a set quite the same. It's only been 60 years, do you think they would still be there?"

She laughed again, but this time it was cut short by the harsh bark of a cough deep in her lungs. Immediately, her son Habib arrived at the door.

Esmira rolled her eyes, but obediently took a sip of tea before saying, "Thank you for bringing me my book, Arley. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Arley stood. "The pleasure is mine."

Habib gently wheeled his mother away from the tea table toward the door, stopping only to say, "I will be right back," before leaving. Arley tried to absorb the ambiance of the exotic room while he could. Tapestries from the Far East on the walls depicted foreign wars with camels and horses carrying warriors across their expanses. Books in different languages, coral and shells from the ocean, an oil lamp, pictures of Esmira and her family in worldwide locations overwhelmed his senses. He took another drink of rich, black Turkish coffee and swallowed twice. Now that was some strong coffee. Strong, but good.

Habib returned and handed Arley a crisp $100 bill.

"What is this for?" Arley asked.

"This is the reward for returning Mother's black book and allowing her to share her stories with you."

Arley tried to give it back, but Habib staunchly refused. That was the first day Arley had seen the book.

Earlier that day at the bus stop, it was drizzling, cold rain and a car had drenched him while driving by him on the street. His arthritis acted up in the cold, and wearing cold wool only aggravated the problem. He rubbed his hands together and blew on them for warmth.

"Here--you look like you could use this." The bespectacled young man with the ginger Afro pushed a worn black book into Arley's wrinkled hands. Arley looked at him, puzzled.

The book did not look like anything but a black journal, neatly bound, slightly worn, with a ribbon for keeping the right page.

"You won't regret it," the young man said, and with those cryptic words, he left.

Arleiy opened the book to the bookmark. A rough sketch of a mountain lion covered the top corner of the page. A spiderweb-like script covered the pages, some of it in a foreign language, and most of it he couldn't read. He flipped through a few pages, and they were all similar, covered in the same writing with a smattering of drawings. Someone had invested a lot of time, and themselves, into this book. He opened the front cover, and in a clear, bold print was an address and phone number to return the book.

After the first visit, Arley made a point of looking for the book. Each time he found it he became hungrier for another visit. Esmina was exotic. Her coffee was like none he'd ever tasted--"imported from Persia"--and her adventures entertaining and unpredictable.

"Did I tell you about when I traveled with the gypsy dancers?"

"That rooster kept me in that tree all day--"

"I could make you a curry--green coconut. I learned when I was working in a restaurant in Thailand."

She spoke about it so naturally, and her accented speech flowed with the music of Arabia. If only he knew where the book was going to be each day, she could be his personal Scheherazade.

The only thing that marred his visits were Habib and the rewards. Each visit the reward increased. One hundred to five hundred, one thousand to five thousand. He never spent the money. It felt dirty.

One day after searching for the book but not finding it, he decided to make a visit anyway. He was blocked by a very efficient butler who he felt could make it as an NFL lineman.

He tried to talk to Habib, but Habib wanted to protect his mother. "The Reward is better for her. This way no one gets bored and stops coming to visit her. They are always charmed and thrilled with a new experience. If she happens to tell the same story a second day in a row, they don't know. I have allowed you far too many visits as it is. She is becoming too attached to you. You are almost to your final visit."

Arley pleaded, "I don't care if she tells the same story. I love to spend time with her. I don't need a bribe to listen to her amazing stories. Please don't block me out of her life."

Habib looked at him for a long moment, then ushered him out of the house.

Arley didn't know what to do, so he simply intensified his search for the book. He would absorb the visits and then go home and write the stories in a black book that he bought and called his Esmina book. He tried to capture her language and style, but he couldn't reproduce Esmina.

He relived all her memories with her. They rode motorcycles through southern Italy and stopped at farmhouses to buy cheese and wine. He watched her dance in a Bollywood movie, wearing saffron -colored scarves and yellow sequins. They swam among the parrot fish and drank margaritas in the Florida Keys.

As he listened, Arley watched Esmina begin to fade. Her coughing increased and her visits shortened each time. He knew he was going to lose her and her stories.

He had finished a wonderful visit where they walked through the French Quarter listening to jazz; eating powdery, crispy bignettes; and drinking chickory coffee; when Habib returned from taking Esmina to her room with a large bag.

"This was your final visit, Arley. Here is $20,000. Take it and make your own adventures. Thank you for visiting my mother."

Arley's heart caught in his throat. "Look at me, Habib! I'm an old man." He held up his wrinkled hands. "These hands have known hard work and adventure. Just allow me and your mother to celebrate in our experiences. Don't follow through with this ridiculous plan. We don't have that much time left to spend together."

Habib motioned for Arley to go to the door.

"Please let me come back," Arley begged. "You can have all the money. I never spent any of it. I just want to spend time with Esmina."

Habib resisted his requests, but Arley left his address and phone number, in case she asked for him.

Arley began a new crusade. He would find the book and select interesting listeners to send to Esmina. He would send her little notes through them, always asking them to say, "Arley sent me." Then there was the week he couldn't find the book at all. He resorted to standing outside Esmina's house, waiting for someone to leave with the book, but no one did. A doctor made daily visits, though, and Arley worried.

The next morning, a brown package was delivered. Inside was Esmina's black book with the message, "She wants to see you." Arley rushed to get ready. He called a cab, lovingly flipping through the pages, smiling as he recognized pictures or stories they'd shared. When he got to the house, Arley rushed into the den, but the room was empty. Habib entered.

"I finally surrendered to her wishes. She is very weak. Let me take you to her." Habib led Arley to the upstairs bedroom. Esmina was propped up on some pillows, her hair fanned out around her. Her jasmine, sandalwood, and lily scent permeated the room. She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw Arley.

"Remember, Mother, you promised to rest." Habib looked at Arley and narrowed his eyes. "Her life is in your hands."

Arley sat on a chair that had been placed beside the bed and took Esmina's hand. "How about I tell you some of my stories? Did you know that I camped in the wilderness of New Zealand and swam on the black sand beaches? A washed up jelly fish looks like a stained glass window without color..."