Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

‘But we didn’t.’

‘Yes, we did. We shared our secret with each other. You know my secret and I know yours. That’s against the rules! You aren’t supposed to know mine, and I’m not supposed to know yours. We should have done our sweeping separately.’

‘Oh, do be quiet!’

They had jointly decided to sweep the path so they could meet the Prophet Khezr together and go to Mecca together, but so far their plan had failed.

Dejected, the grandmothers sat in the Carpet Room, talking. The two figures eventually blended in with the darkness. No one, it seemed, would ever come to their rescue. Their brooms slipped out of their hands.

No longer visible, they were merely two shadows in the dark Carpet Room. The crow screeched, breaking the silence.

Crazy Qodsi suddenly appeared out of nowhere and peered into the Carpet Room. ‘I heard the grandmothers talking,’ she muttered to herself. ‘But where are they? I thought I heard their voices. I’m sure I did.’

Startled, the grandmothers scrambled to their feet. If Crazy Qodsi had overheard their conversation, she was bound to tell everyone, because blabbing secrets was her speciality.

‘How are you, Qodsi?’ they began cautiously.

‘Fine.’

‘How’s your mother?’

‘Fine.’

‘And your sister?’

‘My sister? She’s crazy. And she’s getting worse.’

‘Would you like something to eat, Qodsi?’ Golbanu asked, and they took her to the kitchen, hoping to find out if she’d overheard their conversation. But before they could say a word, Qodsi slipped away.

‘Qodsi?’ the grandmothers called, but she had already left.

How old was Qodsi? Thirty? Forty? Older, younger? Nobody knew.

In any case she looked young. Young and simple-minded.

She came from a traditional family. Her father, a distant relative of Aqa Jaan, was a rich nobleman who owned a couple of villages in the mountains. But something was amiss in his family: they were all crazy.

After the birth of her first child, his wife had had a nervous breakdown and never recovered. His son was retarded, his oldest daughter was a basket case and Qodsi roamed the city like a tramp. After his death, there was no one to look after them. Aqa Jaan kept an eye on the family, dealt with their finances and stopped by periodically to see how they were doing.

They were still living in their father’s house. Every so often the mother went to the bazaar to buy necessities, venturing forth as if she were a princess. You could tell by her bearing that she’d been born into a wealthy family, but if you took a closer look, you could see that something wasn’t quite right. She was accompanied on these shopping expeditions by Qodsi and her elder daughter. Whenever she wanted to cross the street, the two girls ran ahead and stopped the traffic, so that no wagon, car, bus or bicycle could drive on until their mother had safely reached the pavement on the other side.

Qodsi’s brother, who was older than she, was named Hashem. He went around in an army uniform, with a field-marshall’s baton clamped under his arm. He kept his uniform spotless, and the bronze lion — the symbol of Persia — on his officer’s cap always gleamed.

From early morning to late at night, he stood guard at the entrance to the bazaar. He saluted every policeman who went by, and otherwise stood as still as a statue. People accepted him; children didn’t even tease him. Everyone looked upon him as a kind of city monument.

The moment he saw Aqa Jaan entering the bazaar, Hashem always saluted and snapped out a military-like ‘Hel-lo!’ And when Aqa Jaan left, he repeated the performance. After the salute, Aqa Jaan would go over to him, shake hands and say a few words.

‘How are you doing, Hashem?’

‘Fine.’

‘And your mother?’

‘Fine.’

‘And your sister?’

‘Fine.’

‘Give my regards to your mother. If you need me for anything, just send Qodsi.’

‘I will.’

‘Excellent!’ said Aqa Jaan.

Qodsi knew almost everything that was going on.

‘Got any news, Qodsi?’ people asked when they ran into her.

You had to ask her very politely about her mother and her sister, or else she ignored your question.

She didn’t pass on her information for free either. First you had to give her a few copper coins, which she promptly stuck in her mouth. Only then did she tell you the latest news. ‘Old Qasem is dead, Miryam had a daughter and Sultan’s hen had seven chicks.’

Early in the morning Qodsi began with an empty mouth. Then she went from house to house, relating her news and kept going until her mouth was so full of coins she couldn’t talk any more.

No one knew what she did with her money. Some people said that she put it in a jar and hid it in the cellar, because if her mother ever found out that she was begging, the poor woman would drop dead on the spot.

‘Qodsi,’ Aqa Jaan said to her repeatedly, ‘you come from a good family. You’re a lady. You can’t just waltz into other people’s houses.’

But she ignored him and kept on going through every open door she saw.

She never sat down, but instead walked in and out of rooms and listened to people’s conversations before moving on to the next house — which is how she gathered her news.

Sometimes she crossed the bridge and went to the vineyards on the other side of the river.

‘You mustn’t go there!’ Aqa Jaan warned her. ‘A young woman has no business being in the vineyards.’

‘I promise I won’t go there any more,’ she said, but she went anyway.

She used to cross the bridge and head straight for the vineyards, which was the favourite haunt of suspicious-looking men, men who would slip a handful of shiny copper coins into her mouth.

Whenever one of these men saw her, he led her behind the trees, filled her mouth with coins and kissed her. Qodsi didn’t say a word. He fondled her breasts, but Qodsi didn’t respond. He slipped his hand under her clothes and touched her body. Qodsi didn’t move a muscle, but the moment he tried to pull down her underwear, she tore herself away and ran back to the bridge.

Qodsi popped in often to see Aqa Jaan at the bazaar. When no one else was there, the office boy didn’t stop her from going in. Today she sat down as usual on the chair beside his desk.

‘Tea for Qodsi Khanom!’ Aqa Jaan called out, as he always did.

The office boy brought her a glass of tea and some chocolate on a silver tray.

‘Have you got any news for me?’ Aqa Jaan asked.

Qodsi leaned in close and, in a hushed voice, imparted her news. ‘I crossed the bridge and went to the vineyards.’

‘Again?’

‘Two men grabbed me, but I screamed and screamed until they ran off into the mountains.’

‘Didn’t I tell you not to go to there? If you go to the vineyards again, I’ll have to tell your mother. This has got to stop. Do you hear me?’

‘Yes. I promise not to go there again.’

‘Good! Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’

‘Yes,’ she said, and she rattled off the rest of her news without stopping to take a breath: ‘Constable Ruhani beats his wife every night and smokes those nasty things and the shoemaker locked his mother in the chicken coop and she was crying because she wanted out and Azam Azam always takes a knife with her when she goes to bed with her husband and Am Ramazan’s donkey is sick and the grandmothers thought they’d get to go to Mecca this year, but he didn’t come, that’s the second time he hasn’t come, and that made the grandmothers cry.’

‘What was that about the grandmothers? Who didn’t come?’ Aqa Jaan asked.

‘The Prophet Khezr. This is the second time he hasn’t come.’