Махи Бинбин - Marrakech Noir

Many did not understand what really happened that night.

The ambulance would take Shihab ad-Dine, who had a severe nervous breakdown, to the hospital. Qamar ad-Dine spent the night in the cybercafé since he couldn’t face his mother after this shameful news. As for Mahjoub Didi, didn’t visit the cybercafé for more than a month. Is he afraid of Qamar ad-Dine or Rahal? But then, when he suddenly returns one evening, no one talks to him, nor does he talk to anyone else.

“You’re a good person, Marrakech Star.”

Fadoua and Samira insist on visiting Shihab ad-Dine at the clinic. Salim and his sister accompany them. Rahal apologizes. But what the two girls did not expect was that Yakabo, the Nigerian with the giraffe-like neck, would insist on accompanying them to visit al-Sayouti. His insistence seemed strange at first, especially since the group consisted only of the teacher’s former students, but with Yakabo, no one is sure of anything. What should have been a quick ten-minute visit for them to check on the teacher and then leave lasts exactly two hours, enough time for them to deplete the stockpile of juices that visitors have left near Shihab ad-Dine’s bed over the previous two days.

Fadoua speaks first, saying that she can’t believe what was said about Qamar ad-Dine, especially since it came from Mahjoub.

“Everyone in the cybercafé knows that Mahjoub hates Qamar ad-Dine, despite the fact that your son never hesitated for a minute to help him whenever he had an issue. But Mahjoub’s heart is full of hatred. He hates everyone in the cybercafé, especially Qamar ad-Dine. I am afraid he has fed you some false information.”

Yakabo jumps in. His French is confused, but not his thoughts; they are clear, and his assertion makes al-Sayouti sit up in his bed. “Monsieur al-Sayouti, there is some truth to what Mahjoub said. Your son Qamar ad-Dine is fascinated by the idea of emigration and wants to leave the country at any cost. He stupidly thought that claiming to be Christian would make it easier for him to move to Europe. He asked me many times about this matter. He might have used a Christian pseudonym to get in touch with those he imagined could help him achieve his goal. Later he began to talk about Georgia. I don’t know who pointed him in this direction. Maybe because many Egyptian Copts indeed began to emigrate there. This does not mean that Qamar ad-Dine has converted to Christianity. Never... this is impossible.

“First of all, for your son to become Christian, he has to first be baptized. Jesus himself was baptized. John the Baptist performed the ceremony on him in the Jordan River. I know that no priest immersed Qamar ad-Dine in water, nor sprinkled him with holy water in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Before baptism, the church chooses new parents who agree to adopt him. He would take their family name, and they would choose a new first name for him. Nothing of this happened with Qamar ad-Dine. You’re his only father before God, the angels, the saints, the mosque, the church, and the whole world. As for the name Abd al-Massih that Mahjoub mentioned, this is just one of the many pseudonyms we all use online. Your son is reckless, sir, but he is not a Christian. To be Christian, one has to practice the ritual of confession, and your son did not confess anything, neither to a priest nor to anyone else. There is no confession, only this misleading defamation from Mahjoub Didi, and it is unfortunate that you blindly believed him. But don’t worry: Fadoua, Samira, and I will be back tomorrow to visit, and we’ll bring Qamar ad-Dine with us and you’ll hug each other. Tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning, Monsieur Shihab ad-Dine.”

Shihab ad-Dine begins to shake, touched to his core. The big cloud hanging over him dissipates in front of his eyes. He doesn’t know how to answer this thin, long-necked African. He wishes he were able to hug him — even before hugging his son when he comes to visit tomorrow. Al-Sayouti looks completely baffled. Confused. But deep inside he’s very happy. A befuddled happiness he doesn’t know how to express. He finds a few extra juice boxes and offers them to the group: “Have some more, friends... drink some more juice.”

Zou-l3izah@hotmail.com. The e-mail address is strange, a reference to one of God’s ninety-nine names. As for the subject line of the message, it appears between ellipses:... the reminder...

“And remind, for indeed, the reminder benefits the believers. Allah the Magnificent is truthful. But go ahead and open the e-mail, Abu Qatadah.”

His hand trembles. He doesn’t know why or how, but it trembles. And from the first sentence he understands that the affair is significant:

My good servant Mahjoub, son of Yamna, known as Abu Qatadah al-Marrakechi, my greetings come to you and my eyes protect you, then...

Don’t wonder about this message to you, and don’t regard it as too much that God the Almighty has favored you with an e-mail instead of the others. I have matters the servants don’t see; therefore, ask for my forgiveness and seek protection in me from the wicked Satan.

Oh, good servant, we have sealed the messages with the Holy Koran and a faithful prophet, and made him our clemency to everyone. However, man was the most argumentative. That is why I have chosen you, Mahjoub, among a group of my good servants, to hoist my banner and remind them of my message and seek my pardon, for I am merciful.

Mahjoub’s face turns pale. He thinks about the Prophet Muhammad (God’s blessing and peace be upon him), the best of mankind, and how panic-stricken he must have felt when he received the revelation.

It is not a revelation, O Abu Qatadah. You are not a prophet to reveal to. Muhammad Ibn Abdallah was the last prophet and messenger. Yet your God has endowed and chosen you instead of the other living creatures for this e-mail. Well, what are you doing here? Leave this right away and go home. Pray and seek forgiveness and wait for the order of the Almighty.

Mahjoub’s mind has been abducted. But he holds his head high as he moves deliberately out of the café, as if he were walking on clouds like a somnambulist. He doesn’t look toward Rahal, nor does he think about paying him.

Abu Qatadah isn’t here. He is fully absorbed and oblivious. He’s almost blind.

Abu Qatadah disappears for three whole days. When he returns he doesn’t bother to greet or even look at anyone. He rushes to the first available computer he sees and signs on to his e-mail. But when his inbox loads, he’s disappointed — as if he hasn’t found what he expected. Rahal watches him with amusement. He doesn’t understand what’s going on with Abu Qatadah. Mahjoub remains fixed in front of the screen for more than ten minutes. He doesn’t even try to move the mouse. He’s as motionless as an idol. Suddenly his features relax, his face lights up, and he whoops: “Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar!”

Amelia, Flora, and Yakabo look at each other. Salim and his sister glance from him to Rahal, who remains surprised. As for Qamar ad-Dine, he’s busy with his computer, deep into whatever he’s doing. Qamar ad-Dine has completely avoided Mahjoub since he snitched on him to his father.

The message doesn’t come directly from the Almighty this time, but rather from an angel who doesn’t mention his name. According to the e-mail, his position in the All-Merciful’s group of angels is 8,723, and his e-mail address is Malak8723@hotmail.com. The orders of the angel are very specific:

Go to the nearest carpenter and convince him to make you a wooden sword. Buy new white clothes: a garment, turban, and slippers. Even the socks and underwear should be white. Purify yourself with reading the Koran, fasting, and praying. Start your fasting tomorrow and keep it up until God realizes something is taking effect. Stop by the cybercafé every three days to check your e-mail. We will let you know the next step in due time. May God protect you and guide your steps. Amen.