Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

Men sharre ma khalaqa…

I seek refuge with the maker of the dawn,

From the evil of the night,

As darkness falls,

And from the evil of the women

Who blow on knots.

Aqa Jaan handed him the ceremonial robe, which he had brought up from the treasure room. It was covered with precious gems. For centuries it had been worn at the installation of every imam in the family.

After donning the robe, Ahmad strode over to an ancient prayer rug. Aqa Jaan and Ayatollah Golpaygani went over and stood behind him, and the crowd moved along with them.

‘ Allahu akbar! ’ Muezzin repeated.

Ahmad turned towards Mecca and began his first official prayer.

At that exact moment a young woman wearing a brand-new black chador and a pair of red high heels emerged from the alley. She made a beeline for Ahmad and stopped a few feet in front of him.

Aqa Jaan saw her and wished he could shoo her away, but it wouldn’t be right for him to interrupt his prayer.

The woman lifted up her chador and stuck out her right leg. It was bare.

Ahmad closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his prayer.

‘ Allahu akbar! ’ Aqa Jaan said loudly, hoping it would scare her into leaving. It didn’t. Instead, she suddenly twirled around, so that her black chador flew up and revealed not only her bare legs, but also her bare bottom!

‘ Allahu akbar! ’ Aqa Jaan exclaimed.

Ayatollah Golpaygani had his eyes closed and was so wrapped up in his prayer that he didn’t see it. Only when Aqa Jaan cried ‘ Allahu akbar! ’ for the third time did he open his eyes. But since he wasn’t wearing his glasses, he saw little more than a black blur.

The woman lowered her chador to her bare breasts and twirled again, looking incredibly proud. Aqa Jaan, now forced to break off his prayer, went over to her and was about to pull her chador back over her head when she suddenly flung it to the ground and ran naked into the crowd. Aqa Jaan bounded after her and grabbed her round the waist. Shahbal picked up her chador and threw it to him. He caught it in mid-air and wrapped it around her in one smooth motion. Then he called his wife: ‘Fakhri!’

Fakhri Sadat, already hurrying to his side, led the woman over to the women’s section.

Thanks to Ahmad, who had maintained his composure throughout, the prayer continued, and the crowd followed him.

But now that Aqa Jaan had touched a naked woman, he wasn’t allowed to finish his prayer. He went into the courtyard and over to the hauz . He, who had never even looked at another woman, had held that naked woman round the waist. He could still feel the warmth of her soft breasts on his hand. He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, knelt by the hauz and plunged his hands up to his elbows in the cool water.

It wasn’t enough. He leaned forward, stuck his head under the water and held it there for a long time. Then he came back up, took a deep breath, got to his feet, dried his face on a handkerchief, put on his coat and calmly rejoined the crowd.

Nosrat had filmed the entire incident.

Once again light shone in the library windows.

From time to time there were the usual confrontations with the imam, especially when it came to meeting his demands.

Now that the house had a permanent imam again, everyone realised how much the grandmothers had always done. The house had functioned like clockwork, and now even five women couldn’t get it ticking the way it used to.

Several times Zinat Khanom had suggested hiring Azam Azam, the woman who had threatened her husband with a knife, but Fakhri Sadat wouldn’t hear of it. And yet Sadiq, who now had Lizard to take care of, couldn’t do as much work as she used to. Fakhri Sadat finally sent to Jirya for a maid.

The maid’s name was Zarah. She was very capable and immediately took charge of the household, though the kitchen was still Sadiq’s domain. Sadiq felt comfortable there; she found it peaceful, and spent most of her time cooking for the family.

Now that they had Zarah, the house was again running like clockwork. She was a hard worker, but she was reserved and shy. So shy that she never looked you directly in the eye when you talked to her.

‘It’s just as well,’ Zinat observed, ‘or we might have a problem on our hands, what with all the young men in this house.’

Zarah was a beautiful girl — or rather young woman, since she was nearly twenty-one. She had married an older man when she was sixteen, but after four years, when she had failed to produce a child, her husband had sent her back to her parents. They were glad their daughter had found a job as a maid in the house of the mosque and hoped she’d be able to work there for a long time.

In the past the grandmothers had spent much of their time looking after Imam Alsaberi, but Ahmad didn’t need that kind of help.

Zarah quietly went about her business. No one noticed her, she never disturbed anyone. She entered the rooms unobtrusively, tidied them up, collected the dirty dishes, helped Sadiq with Lizard, washed the windows, fed the fish, swept up the dead leaves and went down to the cellar to see if Muezzin needed anything.

She dusted Ahmad’s desk, changed the sheets on his bed and ironed his shirts.

After the morning prayer, Ahmad usually crawled back into bed and slept until noon, or sometimes even until two o’clock, something no other imam in the house had ever done. Actually, he stayed in bed until Zarah knocked on the door and said, ‘Your lunch is ready, Imam.’

Every morning before he got up to lead the prayer, she would bring him bread, butter and honey. She would knock on the door and whisper, ‘Are you awake?’

‘Come in,’ Ahmad would call sleepily, and she would shyly set the tray on the bedside table and leave.

It wasn’t her job to serve Ahmad, but it had quickly turned into a routine. And Ahmad was pleased with her.

One morning Zarah woke him up in time for the prayer, but he rolled over and went back to sleep. The second time she woke him, he threw on his clothes and raced outside, only to stop suddenly by the hauz and pee into the drain. Zarah stared at him in horror. It was strictly forbidden; nobody ever did such a thing. She knew she mustn’t tell anyone what he’d done.

One time when Zarah brought Ahmad his breakfast, she set the tray on the bedside table as usual, but Ahmad grabbed her hand and drew her gently towards the bed. She resisted for a moment, then surrendered.

Ahmad put his arms around her and pulled her into bed with him. She instantly clamped her thighs together.

‘ Ankahtu wa zawagto ,’ Ahmad whispered in her ear.

There was no reply.

‘ Ankahtu wa zawagto ,’ Ahmad whispered again.

Still no reply.

‘ Ankahtu wa zawagto ,’ Ahmad whispered for the third time.

‘ Qabilto ,’ Zarah said, and she welcomed him into her arms.

A while later she got up and put on her chador. ‘It’s late,’ she murmured. ‘You have to go to the mosque.’

Many young women came to the Friday prayer especially to see Ahmad.

His sermons were not at all like those of his father or Khalkhal. He had an interesting way of sneaking politics into his sermons, and he preferred to stimulate the minds of his listeners rather than threaten them with the wrath of God.

As far as the secret police could tell, he wasn’t in touch with any dangerous religious movement in Qom. He was more of a pleasure-seeker than a rebel, but it was still not clear what kind of person he would become or how his character would be shaped by his position as the city’s imam.