Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

Nosrat and the woman came into the courtyard and were met with a stunned silence. The young woman wasn’t wearing a chador! She did have on a headscarf, but it was pulled back so far that her hair was visible.

The grandmothers, looking out from the kitchen, couldn’t believe their eyes.

‘How dare he bring a woman dressed like that into this house!’ Golbanu cried.

‘Who is she?’ asked Golebeh.

‘I don’t know. Some slut!’

Zinat Khanom, the imam’s wife, and her daughter Sadiq joined the group. Shahbal watched the scene from the window. It was brave of his uncle to bring along an emancipated woman, he thought. He admired Nosrat for ignoring tradition and rebelling against the antiquated customs of his family.

This was the first time in the long history of the house that a woman had crossed its threshold without a chador or any other kind of veil.

They stood there, gawking. Should they welcome her or not? What would Aqa Jaan say?

Darkness had just fallen, but in the lamplight the grandmothers could see that the woman was wearing sheer nylon stockings. You could actually see her legs!

Nasrin and Ensi, Aqa Jaan’s daughters, cheerfully kissed their Uncle Nosrat.

‘I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée,’ Nosrat said. ‘Her name is Shadi.’

Shadi smiled and greeted the girls.

‘That’s wonderful news!’ exclaimed Nasrin, Aqa Jaan’s eldest daughter. ‘When did you get engaged, Uncle Nosrat? And why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Engaged?’ Golbanu said to Golebeh. ‘What does he mean, engaged?’ She jerked the curtains closed. ‘He’s lying, the rascal. He’s not about to get married. He’s brought that slut from Tehran so he can have some fun. Where’s Aqa Jaan? He’ll soon put a stop to this!’

Fakhri Sadat kissed the woman. ‘Shadi,’ she said. ‘What a lovely name! Welcome to our home.’

‘Where’s Aqa Jaan?’ Nosrat asked. ‘Where’s Muezzin? Where’s the imam? And where’s Shahbal?’

‘Aqa Jaan hasn’t come home yet, but Alsaberi is probably in the library,’ the imam’s wife told him.

‘I’ll go and surprise him,’ Nosrat said, and he headed towards the library.

Fakhri Sadat led Shadi to the guest room, and all the girls followed them.

The grandmothers waited in the kitchen, where they could keep an eye on the gate. The moment they caught sight of Aqa Jaan, they called out, ‘Nosrat’s here!’

‘Good,’ he said happily. ‘Just in time for the New Year. So my younger brother hasn’t forgotten us. Our celebration will have an added glow tonight.’

‘There’s something else, though,’ Golbanu said anxiously.

‘What?’

‘He’s brought a woman with him.’

‘He says they’re engaged,’ Golebeh added.

‘That’s good news. At last he’s come to his senses.’

‘Not quite,’ Golbanu said. ‘She isn’t wearing a chador. Just a skimpy little headscarf.’

‘And nylons,’ Golebeh added softly.

‘Nylons? What are nylons?’

‘Long transparent stockings. They make your legs look bare. That’s the kind of woman he’s brought to this house. Heaven help us! Luckily it was dark when they arrived. Imagine if he’d walked past the mosque with her in the daytime! Tomorrow everyone in the city would be saying, “A woman in nylon stockings is staying at the house of the mosque!”’

‘I’ve heard all I need to,’ Aqa Jaan said calmly. ‘I’ll talk to him. I want you to welcome her as usual and give her an ordinary pair of stockings and a chador, in case she wants to go into town tomorrow. You have so many beautiful chadors. Give her one of them as a gift.’

‘I don’t think they’re engaged. He’s just brought one of his girls along,’ Golbanu said.

‘We don’t know that,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘Let’s hope they are engaged. Where is he now?’

‘In the library, I think, or else in Muezzin’s room.’

Aqa Jaan knew that his younger brother had stopped praying and that he was forever rebelling against religion and tradition. But now that Nosrat had brought home a woman, he hoped he’d make an effort to fit in.

‘It will all work out,’ he told the grandmothers, and went to see Muezzin.

‘Dinner’s ready!’ called Golbanu.

‘Children! Dinner’s ready!’ called Golebeh.

Everyone gathered in the banquet room.

After the women had seated themselves on the right side of the massive dining table, the men entered in their festive clothes.

Fakhri Sadat introduced Shadi to Aqa Jaan, Alsaberi and Muezzin.

‘Welcome, my daughter,’ said Aqa Jaan. ‘If we’d known that Nosrat was going to bring his fiancée, we would have organised a dinner in your honour. Still, just having you here is a celebration.’

Imam Alsaberi greeted her from a safe distance. Fakhri Sadat described her to Muezzin. ‘Tonight we have at our table a woman from Tehran. She’s different from the women in Senejan and very different from those women you visit in the mountains,’ she said archly. ‘Her name is Shadi and she’s beautiful, with lovely dark-brown eyes, brown hair, gleaming white teeth and a charming smile. Tonight she’s wearing a pretty white chador with green flowers, which was given to her by the grandmothers. What else would you like to know?’

‘Ah, so she’s beautiful!’ Muezzin said, and he laughed. ‘Just what I would have expected from Nosrat!’

The grandmothers came in with a burning brazier, into which they threw a handful of esfandi seeds that filled the room with a fragrant smell, while the girls carried the food in from the kitchen.

‘Aren’t we going to wait for Ahmad?’ Alsaberi asked.

‘Forgive me,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘I was so excited at seeing Nosrat that I forgot to give you the message. Ahmad phoned me at the bazaar and told me he wouldn’t be coming. They’re having their own celebration in Qom.’

Ahmad was Alsaberi’s seventeen-year-old son. He was in Qom, studying to be an imam with the great moderate cleric Ayatollah Golpayegani.

The grandmothers had cooked a delicious New Year’s dinner, and everyone lingered at the table. After the meal the girls brought in sweets made specially for the occasion.

The women had accepted Shadi and were bombarding her with questions about Tehran and the female half of its population. Shadi had brought them presents: lipstick, nail polish, nylons and fancy bras. The men, finding that they were no longer welcome, retreated to the guest room.

It was nearly midnight when one of the grandmothers announced, ‘Ladies! It’s time to get ready for the New Year’s prayer.’

Nosrat moved closer to Shadi. ‘What do we need to do to get ready?’ she asked.

‘Nothing. I’m not interested in all that mumbo-jumbo,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘They’ll have to pray without me. I’m taking you to the library instead.’

‘Why, what are we going to do in there?’

‘You’ll find out,’ he said. He grabbed her hand, led her on tiptoe past the cedar tree and softly opened the library door.

‘Why don’t you switch on the light?’

‘Shh, not so loud! The grandmothers see and hear everything. If they find out we’re here, they’ll swoop down on us like two ghosts,’ he said, and he began to undo the buttons of her blouse.

‘No, not in here,’ she whispered, and gently pushed him away.

He put his hands around her waist, pressed her against the bookcase, then lifted her skirt.

‘No! It’s spooky in here.’

‘It’s not spooky; it’s thrilling. The ancient spirit of our house is here. For the past seven hundred years imams have been preparing themselves for prayers in this room. It’s a sacred place. A lot of things have happened within these hallowed walls, but not this. I want to make love to you here, to add something beautiful to the history of this room.’