The Ruby Bottle Read online

  After Amber had finished dividing her cardboard into smaller sections, she moved across to the collage trolley and hovered there, looking at all the materials she had to choose from. Glittery fabric, shiny paper squares, soft fluffy feathers, and pieces of wool – soft and spongy. She brushed her finger tips over some rich red velvet and plunged her hand into the box filled with tiny glass beads, letting them run through her fingers. What would she choose?

  ‘Can someone else have a turn?’ said Marissa. She didn’t wait for an answer, just shoved Amber with her elbow. Amber’s hand caught on the edge of the box of beads and they scattered everywhere.

  ‘Oh, dear. Never mind,’ sang Miss Warburton as she walked past. ‘We’ll get that tidied up in a second, won’t we, Marissa?’

  Marissa scowled, and Amber quickly grabbed some materials and hurried back to her bench, where Ricco was still busy marking out his sections with black paint, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth.

  ‘I see you had another disagreement with Marissa,’ he said without looking up. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  Amber sighed as she sorted through her materials, wishing she’d thought to grab some of those beads before she’d fled.

  ‘She wasn’t always this bad,’ she said. ‘It really only started last year. At the Christmas concert. Marissa and I were sheep, you know, sitting beside the manger where Baby Jesus was asleep. Bethany was Mary –’

  ‘Bethany? Who’s Bethany?’

  Amber felt her heart tug. She still couldn’t believe that her friend had left. She swallowed, trying to get the tightness out of her throat.

  ‘She was my best friend,’ Amber whispered, keeping her head down as she separated some feathers. ‘She went to live in Canberra because her mum and dad were getting divorced. She left before you came here.’

  ‘Does she email you?’ asked Ricco. ‘Or ring you?’

  Amber couldn’t answer him. How could she say that all she’d got from Bethany was a postcard? That there was never any mention of emailing each other?

  But Ricco didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Anyway, what’s that got to do with Marissa?’ he asked.

  Amber took a deep breath and said, ‘It was all because of the angel.’

  ‘Angel?’ Ricco’s eyebrows lifted under his dark curls.

  ‘Yes. You know, the one who came down and told everyone that Jesus was born. Well, the girl who was the angel broke her leg the day before the play and our teacher had to find someone to take her place. She said we didn’t need too many sheep and that one of us could be the angel. I thought she’d choose Marissa but she chose me and now Marissa hates me.’

  ‘Just because she wasn’t the angel?’ said Ricco, incredulously. ‘Last year?’ He shook his head. ‘Wow, she really knows how to carry a grudge.’

  He put his brush back in the pot and held up his cardboard. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  Amber smiled at his work. He had made lots of tiny sections. It would take him forever to fill them in.

  ‘Alright, everyone,’ called Miss Warburton over the chatter of the class. ‘The bell will be ringing in a couple of minutes, so you’ll have to stop there. You should all have finished your outlines, so you can leave them on the benches to dry.’

  She walked about the room, her small bell tinkling as she moved.

  ‘Now, I know we’ve got plenty of materials here that you can all use, but I’d like to suggest that you have a good look at home for anything you could use to make your work unique. Something,’ she said, her eyes twinkling, ‘that will remind your parents of home so they will want to buy your work. Remember, all money raised from selling your projects comes straight back to the art department and that means more art equipment and materials for you to use.’

  ‘Rather spend it on footy stuff,’ Amber heard Lukus mutter from somewhere behind her.

  Miss Warburton’s brow creased slightly before she went on. ‘Now, before you go I wonder if anyone would like to stay back and help tidy the room.’

  Amber’s hand went up automatically.

  ‘Thank you, Amber. I was sure I could rely on you. Anyone else? Marissa?’

  Marissa scowled. ‘Sorry, miss. Mum’ll be waiting for me.’

  ‘I’ll stay,’ said Rachel. Marissa scowled at her. Amber’s heart dropped.

  ‘Me too,’ said Ricco, and he turned to smile at Amber.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amber smiled to herself as she walked home from school. Somehow telling Ricco about the Christmas play, and about Bethany, had made her feel better. And she’d had fun cleaning up after art. While Rachel tidied the collage trolley, Amber and Ricco washed out the paint containers.

  ‘Look,’ laughed Ricco, holding up his hands. ‘They’re black.’

  Amber looked at her hands and they were black, too.

  ‘A good scrub with soap will soon get them clean,’ chirped Miss Warburton. ‘Now hurry up and I’ll give you all a treat.’

  She reached into a cupboard and brought out a packet of chocolate-coated biscuits. Amber’s mother never bought chocolate biscuits. Even Mrs Heggety didn’t buy chocolate biscuits.

  When she got home, Amber thought it was best not to mention them. Instead she nibbled at a hard ginger biscuit, wishing she could dunk it into her glass of milk. But she could imagine what her mother would say.

  ‘Have you got any homework to do?’ asked Mum.

  ‘A bit,’ said Amber. ‘But I think I’ll go and practise some goal shooting first.’

  ‘Are you sure your knee’s okay?’

  Her knee? She’d hardly thought about it all afternoon.

  ‘Yes, but I’ll be careful,’ she told her mother.

  With her ball tucked under her arm, she headed out to the hoop. Dad had put it up on the garage wall at the beginning of the netball season; this was the first time she’d used it.

  But every time she tried to shoot a goal, the ball either went too high, bouncing off the wall and rolling down the driveway or it hit the metal ring and fell at her feet.

  ‘This is impossible,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I’m never going to be able to do this.’ She could just see Rachel smirking every time she missed a goal.

  Then her mother came out. She stood on the path, arms crossed, and watched Amber. Amber wished she would go away. She was only making it worse.

  ‘Look at the hoop before you throw,’ Mum suggested eventually.

  That didn’t help.

  Then her mother said, ‘Here, give me a go. I’ll show you how to do it.’

  Amber tossed the ball to her mother and stood back to watch.

  Her mother lobbed the ball in the air, and missed.

  ‘Just warming up,’ she joked. ‘I’ll have another go.’ But she missed again.

  Then the phone rang.

  ‘I’d better answer that,’ she said, letting the ball dribble down the driveway.

  Amber thought her mother looked relieved. She watched her go, then picked up the ball and bounced it on the cement, just like Terry did sometimes. She knew he was just showing off, but when he did it, he would finish up by shooting a goal. And he never missed.

  Amber kept bouncing as she moved towards the hoop, then she stopped, looked up and, for a moment, pretended to be Terry.

  But she still missed the goal. And her knee was starting to hurt.

  ‘Just one more shot, then I’ll go and do that homework,’ she told herself. And she tossed the ball in the air … and it fell through the hoop.

  How did I do that?

  She thought about trying again, then decided she’d probably used up all her luck for one day. She picked up the ball and went inside, feeling just a little excited about Saturday’s game.

  That night when she snuggled under her doona with Roger Heggety’s diary, she was still thinking about the one goal she had shot, hoping it was more than just a fluke.

  She reached for her ruby bottle and pulled out the stopper. The djinn slipped out and settled on her shoulder.
r />   ‘Do you want me to read some more of the diary?’ she asked as she opened the book.

  ‘Yes please,’ said the djinn eagerly. ‘We’re up to the part when Roger Heggety first let me out of the bottle, remember. He was just about to leave the city.’

  Amber ran her finger down the page until she found the right place.

  Before I could answer, the boy called out to me. ‘Mr Heggety, I am ready,’ he said.

  The djinn slipped quickly back into his bottle and I felt strangely disappointed. Would I see this little creature again? I hoped so, but right now, I needed to be on my way. I slid the stopper back into place and nestled the bottle in my carry-bag, deciding to keep it with me at all times.

  ‘Take my luggage to the station immediately,’ I said to the boy. ‘There’s a train leaving tonight. See that these cases are safely on board.’ And I tossed him some coins.

  Next I settled the account with the landlord, giving him extra to cover the cost of the damage caused by the intruder, and I thanked him for all he had done.

  As I walked away, down the narrow street, I glanced up at the sky. I had never seen it so dark. Melting into the night, I felt sure that eyes were upon me, watching from the shadows of doorways and windows.

  Instead of heading to the train station, I went south. There was a man – Samman – whom I could trust, and I made my way to his house on the outskirts of the city.

  When I arrived at his humble home, he fed me lamb kibbeh and dried figs. Then he gave me a dishdashah and told me to wear it over my clothes. He mixed together some herbs and roots of plants to form a paste which he smeared on my face to darken my skin.

  ‘Wear this ghutra,’ he said as he placed a cloth on my head and fixed it with a black band. ‘You can cover your face now if need be. With luck you will not be noticed as a foreigner.’

  ‘What’s kibbeh?’ asked Amber, looking up from the diary.

  ‘Kibbeh? It’s like a flat cake made out of meat. Come on. Keep reading.’

  ‘You mean like a meat patty?’ Amber asked.

  ‘Meat patty?’ The djinn looked puzzled.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘This dish … thingy. What’s that?’

  ‘A dishdashah? It’s the robe Arabs wear,’ he said impatiently. ‘And before you ask, a ghutra is the cloth they wear on their heads. And that black band, it’s called an agal. It stops the ghutra from slipping off. Now come on, keep reading.’

  Satisfied, Amber continued to read.

  He gave me a donkey and suggested I leave my carry-bag.

  ‘You have a saddle bag. Use that instead,’ he said. ‘It will not be noticed. Now make your way to the sea. You will find someone there to help you. You won’t get lost. The donkey knows the way.’ And he gently smacked the beast on the rump to get it moving. As the darkness folded around me, I heard Samman call, ‘And may Jimell bring peace and good fortune to your world.’

  A tiny sliver of moon hung close to the horizon, and stars shone in the black sky. I hoped to be well away from the city by the time they faded.

  ‘It says here “may Jimell bring peace and good fortune to your world”. Who’s Jimell?’ asked Amber.

  ‘That’s me,’ answered the djinn. ‘That’s my name.’

  Amber stared at him. ‘I didn’t know you had a name.’

  ‘Of course I’ve got a name. Everyone has a name. Even djinn.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I never thought …’

  ‘Hmmm, never thought to ask,’ said Jimell. ‘Don’t worry about it. After being stuck in that bottle for all these years, I’m just glad to be out and talking to someone.’

  ‘So … Jimell … what does it mean “bring peace and good fortune to your world”?’

  ‘That’s what I do. I help people who deserve to be helped. I make their world better by bringing them good fortune.’

  Amber’s eyes widened. ‘You mean, like make them win money or something like that?’ she asked.

  ‘No!’ cried Jimell. ‘I don’t help people who are greedy. I help people who, well, just need helping. They might be poor or just having a difficult time. Or they might be in danger. They’re just ordinary people and I help them for ordinary sorts of reasons. Now read on and you’ll see what I mean.’

  Amber turned back to the diary.

  As I travelled through the darkness, I let the donkey guide me. She seemed to know which path to take. At some stage we stopped near a small village, asleep now in the dead of the night. We found a well and drank. I knew it could be a long time before we had another chance.

  As the eastern sky was beginning to lighten, we came to the sea. Indeed, I heard it long before I saw it, and I could smell the salt in the air as we came to the dunes. Waves crashed over rocks and up onto the shore.

  As the donkey plodded along the water’s edge, I could see a small boat ahead, pulled well up onto the beach and close to rocks which jutted out of the sand. It was still too early for the gulls to be flying, looking for food, and the only noise was the pounding of the waves upon the shore.

  As we came to the boat, the donkey stopped, waiting for me to dismount. I made my way to the small vessel, and was startled when something moved within. A figure stood, his ghutra wrapped around his face. I had no way of defending myself. I turned to run.

  ‘Wait,’ came a voice. ‘You come from Az-a-kabb?’ He looked at the donkey, reaching out to scratch her nose.

  I paused. ‘Yes,’ I said, not knowing if he was friend or foe.

  ‘I know this donkey,’ he replied. ‘She belongs to my friend, Samman.’

  Relief flooded through me. This man was someone I could trust. ‘Samman sent me this way,’ I told him. ‘He said I would find someone who could help me.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said the man as he pulled away his ghutra. ‘I am Rafiq.’

  He moved forward to look at me, searching my eyes in the dull pre-dawn light. Perhaps he was looking for deceit. But he would have found none.

  At last he said, ‘I am a fisherman. Each day I go out into these waters, throwing out my nets and hauling in the fish. In the evening I take my catch to a man I know. He has a stall at the markets in the city. He buys my fish, and sells them. He makes a lot of money.’

  ‘Why don’t you sell them yourself?’ I asked. ‘You would make more money that way.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘if I did that, who would catch the fish? I would not have the time.’

  I could see his point.

  ‘What is it you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I was hoping to find passage across the sea.’

  Rafiq scratched his thick dark beard. ‘There is a ship not far from here. I can take you out to it if that is what you wish.’

  ‘Where is the ship heading?’ I asked, deciding I must trust him.

  ‘It will be sailing on down the coast towards the hot lands,’ he said. ‘It goes down there for tea and spices. I do not know where you want to go, but that ship will certainly take you away from these shores.’

  I looked out over the steely-grey water. The horizon was beginning to pale as the sun moved closer to the morning sky. ‘Yes,’ I said at length. ‘I need to be gone. I can pay you well for your efforts.’

  ‘Bahh,’ he said. ‘You are a friend of Samman. You have no need to pay me. Come. Let’s not waste any time. The tide will soon be turning. We need to be out on the sea before it does.’

  ‘The donkey …’

  ‘She will be alright. She will graze nearby for today and will come back to me at nightfall. She knows me and trusts me.’ Again he rubbed the donkey’s nose. ‘I will see she gets back to Samman. Her saddle and bridle – leave them behind those rocks. No one will take them from there, and they will be out of the high water mark.’

  ‘I have some things. In the saddle bag.’

  Rafiq reached into the boat and pulled out an old sack which he tossed to me.

  ‘I remember it like it was yesterday,’ said Jimell. ‘Rafiq was so poor. He wore just ra
gs and he had no sandals for his feet. But he was a kind man and I knew he needed help.’

  ‘How could you know that? You were in your bottle. In a saddle bag.’

  Jimell looked at Amber, his thin lips twisted in amusement. ‘Amber,’ he said. ‘Look at me. I’m a djinn. It’s my job to know these things.’

  ‘Okay. So how did you help Raffin?’

  ‘Rafiq,’ corrected Jimell. ‘Well, if you read on, you’ll find out.’

  Quickly I took my belongings from the saddle bag, and when I reached for the ruby bottle, I could see it glowing in the early morning light. Instinctively I knew my little djinn wanted me to release him. I glanced over my shoulder. Rafiq was busy preparing the boat. I pulled the stopper and the djinn slipped out and sat upon my arm.

  Then he jumped away from me and rested on the rocks nearby. I could hear him talking and he was waving his arms about, almost as if he were in a trance. When he was finished he slipped back into the bottle. I quickly replaced the stopper and slid the bottle into the sack just as I heard someone approaching, and in that instant, I had a sense this was no coincidence.

  ‘Good morning, Rafiq,’ called the newcomer.

  In the half light of the dawn I could not see his face clearly, but I could tell from his voice he was young.

  ‘I am Dabir, son of Barak,’ he continued. ‘My father has sent me. I have come home from the city and he has no work for me in his business. He asked me to come and help you.’

  ‘I cannot afford to pay you,’ said Rafiq.

  ‘I need no payment. Just something to occupy my time until I find work.’

  Rafiq grunted a “thank you”. He was unused to kindnesses such as these, I could tell, but he was grateful all the same.

  ‘We are about to leave,’ he said, and nodded towards the rocks. Dabir turned and saw me for the first time.

  ‘Oh, you already have help,’ he said.

  ‘No. This man only requires transporting to the big ship in the gulf. He is not a fisherman.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘I have no doubt his stomach will be churning even before we reach the high waves.’