Arak’s

Lost &
Found
by Robin Thompson
Illustrated by Luis Ángel Sánchez

GN
GENRE
Realistic fiction is a story that could really happen.
Has anything like this ever happened to you?

196
BQ
Question of the Week
What do we need to know about saving
BIG QUESTION and spending?
197
 It’s still strange seeing the space
where my house used to be. A
week ago, it was right here; right
where I’m standing. Now, there’s
just a kind of shelter, made from
pieces of wood washed up on the
beach. It’s not a home—not like
before the tidal
wave (where I
come from, they
call it a tsunami)
came and destroyed
half of my village—but
it’s all we have now.

198
 I still get nervous sometimes when I hear the rush of
waves rolling toward the beach. I see flashes in my mind
of the day the big wave hit. Our house just couldn’t resist
the power of nature. I can see what little furniture we had
being carried away by the strong current. I can hear the
roar from the sea that nearly washed us all away.
I used to feel really lucky to live so close to the beach.
I don’t feel so lucky now.

199
 My dad gets up early every day and collects wood and
old rope—anything, in any amount, that he can find—to
rebuild our home. He looks tired, but he never admits it.
I can’t carry the heavy timber, or reach high enough to
tie the struts together. I can only watch him sweat as he
struggles on relentlessly beneath the burning sun.
“Why don’t you ask for help, Dad?” I ask. He stops,
turns to me, and wipes sweat from his eyes.
“We don’t have any income or savings to hire any
help, Arak,” he tells me. “Anyway, people have their own
problems to deal with.”
He turns away again and hauls a piece of tattered
canvas over the wooden struts that are now the walls of our
new house.
Mom appears with a plate of freshly cooked fish. She
orders Dad to stop working and eat. Reluctantly, he agrees
and takes the plate from her.
I jump to my feet and walk past the house in the
direction of the village. I can’t sit around all day watching
my mom and dad doing all the work. I need to do
something useful.
200
 It’s only my second time in the village center since the
wave hit. The first time, I was with my parents and everybody
was running around frantically, not really knowing what to do
or where to go. It was frightening. I grabbed tightly onto my
mom’s hands in case the crowd swept me away, just like the
wave did with everything else.
Now, the village center is still and quiet. Most people walk
with their heads down. They don’t greet each other with
smiles and handshakes like before. They look lost. It’s a weird
atmosphere, and it makes me feel sad. None of the stores
are open, not even the thrift shop where I got a pair of used
basketball shoes.
I remember what Mom said to me when we saw what
happened to our house. She put her arm around me, pulled
me toward her, and said, “I know you don’t feel like it right
now, but we’re the lucky ones. Some people today lost a lot
more than we did.”
She was right, I didn’t feel like it at the time, but walking
through the village center, I suddenly get it. I put my own head
down now, lost in thought.

201
 That’s when I notice something shiny at the side of the road,
half covered in dust. I bend down and pick it up, blow the dust
off and hold it up to the light. It’s a gold ring, old with scratch
marks on the band, but the clear stone at the top glints in
the sunlight.
I have an idea. I use my T-shirt to wipe the rest of the dust
from the ring. “I wonder how much you’re worth,” I say out
loud. “Enough to pay for someone to help build us a better
house, I bet.”
I drop the ring into my pocket and carry on walking. I pass
more blank faces, and then a boy around the same age as me
stops me in my tracks. What the boy asks me also makes me
think twice about selling the ring in my pocket.

202
 “I’m looking for my dog,” he says with tears in his eyes.
“Have you seen him?” He hands me a photo. It shows the boy
standing next to a Labrador that is almost as big as he is. The
boy’s happy expression in the photo is the complete opposite of
the one he has now.
This time, it’s my mom’s words that fill my head: “…we’re
the lucky ones. Some people today lost a lot more than we did,
not just the things they bought as consumers.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and hand the photo back to the boy.
As I watch him walk away in sadness, I have a new idea. I
may not be able to help the poor boy find his missing dog, but
I might be able to help others recover some of the things they
lost in the wave.

203
 I keep my head down as I walk all over the village, but not
because I’m sad. I’m looking for things—lost treasures that hold
a value more precious than coins or bills in high denominations.
Sure enough, the closer I look, and the farther I walk, the more
objects I find, half buried in the dirt, or covered by fallen plants
and trees.
A family photo, the glass in the frame cracked, but the
photo intact.
A diary, the pages brittle and the ink blurred on the pages,
but not completely destroyed.
A bracelet hanging from the branch of a tree. It’s not gold,
but I’m sure it’s valuable to someone.
I add it to my collection of lost property and head back
toward the village center. I arrange my findings neatly on the
floor, on one side of the main street, right where it crosses the
path to the beach. I figure it’s the place where the most people
pass throughout the day. I sit next to the display, and I wait.

204
 A lot of people walk by. Most of them ignore me, but
some look down at me curiously, then carry on walking. Then
suddenly, a man stops in front of me. I look up and see him
staring at the gold ring in the center of my display.
“How much?” he asks.
“It’s not for sale,” I reply.
The man laughs. “Oh, I see. You drive a hard bargain,
young man. So how much do you want for it? I’m an investor
and I’m not short of cash, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I told you,” I say. “It’s not for sale.”
The man’s grin disappears. His confusion returns. In the
end, he seems irritated. He shakes his head and mumbles
something unclear. Finally, he walks away.
It starts to get dark and I realise my idea is pretty useless
after all. I feel disappointed, but I need to get home, or Mom
and Dad will be worried. Also, I’m hungry.
With a sigh, I start to pick up the handful of objects from
the floor.

205
 “Hey!”
The woman’s voice makes me jump, and I accidentally drop
the photo frame. An angry face glares down at me.
“Where did you get that?” she says accusingly, pointing at the
gold ring.
“I-I-I found it earlier today in the street.”
“Typical,” says the woman. “Even after a disaster, people want
to take advantage of the situation to help themselves.”
“No,” I protest, standing up and holding my hands out as if it
somehow proves my innocence. “It’s not like that. I just want—”
“Yes, yes, I know!” she interrupts. “You just want what? How
much do you just want?”
She emphasizes the word “just,” like she doesn’t believe me,
even though there’s nothing to not believe because she won’t let
me talk.

206
 “I just want to find the owner,” I say. “Is the ring yours?”
I hold out the ring and smile at her. Her anger disappears,
and she cries. Now my smile disappears.
“Thank you so much!” she says, suddenly bursting into
laughter and smothering me with a huge hug. “What’s
your name?”
“Arak,” I tell her.
“Arak, I thought this ring was lost forever after the flood. I
know it’s silly. It’s not worth much, but you have no idea what it
means to me. You must let me give you something for finding it.”
I protest some more. “No, honestly, I don’t want your
money. I’m just happy to return the ring.”
“Nonsense,” she says, and stuffs some coins in my hand.
“Spend it on something nice. You deserve it. An ice cream
or something.”
I try to hand back the money, but she’s already gone. I pick
up the rest of the lost property and head for home, feeling
satisfied. The coins stay in my pocket as I pass the ice-cream
seller by the beach—I’m tempted but it doesn’t feel right
spending the money.

207
 The next day, after breakfast, I take a longer route to the
village, wandering off the main path. All the time, I keep my
eyes open for new treasures—personal objects that might end
up finding their owners again.
There are pieces of jewelry— an earring, another bracelet—
but other things, too. I find a small wooden box with a lock on
the side. Someone in the village might have a key that fits.
When I get to the village, I set out my display in the same
spot as yesterday, but this time I arrange the objects on a towel,
and I place a handwritten sign in front of them: ARAK’S
LOST & FOUND.
Suddenly, I see a friendly face—much friendlier than it was
yesterday when she first spotted her missing ring. The woman
smiles when she sees me.
“You’ve been busy!” she says. “How did you find all this
since yesterday?”
I shrug. “I just keep my eyes open,” I say.
“I should tell my friend Hathai to stop by. I’m sure she used
to have a similar watch to the one you have here.”
208
 Word spreads among the villagers. Before long, I have a
crowd around me. When I hear a gasp of surprise, I know
someone has found an item that belongs to them. Those
people always offer me coins. I always refuse, but they leave
the coins by my side anyway. I can’t just leave the coins on the
street, so I put them in my pockets and walk home.
In the end, I do the only sensible thing. I carry the coins
home and drop them on the table in front of my astonished
parents. Now, Dad can hire some help. Not such a sensible
decision after all…
“Where did you get this money?” says Dad. “What did
you do?”
I try to explain but neither Mom or Dad seem that interested.
“You need to return this money tomorrow, first thing!” my
Mom shouts.
“But, Mom, I can’t… I mean, I tried before but—”
“No buts, Arak! You can go to your room now!” I know
better than to argue. I lie on my bed and bury my head in
the pillow.
“Why does no one let me talk?” I think.

209
 The next day, I fill my pockets with the coins, and walk into the
village center. I take the most direct route. There’s no point in
looking for more lost property—it only gets me in trouble.
In the center, a few people wave and smile at me, but I don’t feel
like smiling. I recognize one of them; a woman I gave a watch back
to yesterday afternoon.
“Excuse me,” I say, a little embarrassed. “Please take your coins
back. I can’t accept them.”
The woman looks offended more than confused. “I gave you
the coins to say thank you. Keep them. I don’t want them back.”
“I can’t” I insist. “Please take them.”
She takes the coins without another word, but I can feel her
staring at me as I walk up to someone else and have the same
conversation and I feel the same embarrassment.
On my way home, I nearly buy an ice cream to cheer myself
up, but I decide not to—I’d probably feel worse afterward.
210
 I go straight to my room when I get home. I don’t want to see
my parents’ disappointment every time we’re in the same room.
Suddenly, I hear people outside the shelter. I hear a voice I
recognize—the woman whose ring I found. I hear more familiar
voices—the woman with the watch who I saw in the morning,
the girl whose diary I returned.
I go outside to see what’s going on. The first person I see is
my mom. She doesn’t look angry anymore. The people gathered
outside my half-built home are all clapping and smiling.
My dad walks over. “We were wrong,” he says. “I’m sorry,
Arak. You seem to be the hero of the village.” I see a real smile;
one that doesn’t disguise how exhausted he is. “I also seem to
have a whole team of people who insist on helping us put this
house back together.”
At first, I don’t know what to say. Then finally, I ask, “Can I
go buy an ice cream?”

211