Kader Abdolah - The House of the Mosque

‘I’ll be glad to drive you home!’ the driver repeated his offer.

‘Sir!’ Aqa Jaan called up to one of the guards on the wall. The man pretended he hadn’t heard him.

‘Sir!’ he called again, louder.

The driver got out, walked over to Aqa Jaan and took him by the arm. ‘I think you’d better go home now,’ he said. ‘You can come back tomorrow.’

He helped him into the car, drove him into town and dropped him outside the mosque.

Back home, Aqa Jaan had another idea. ‘Fakhri!’ he called, with a note of urgency in his voice, ‘put on your chador!’

‘Why?’

‘We’re going to see Am Ramazan!’

They hadn’t seen him for a long time. They didn’t know exactly what he was doing these days, only that he wore a uniform and that he had let the ayatollah use his donkey. Aqa Jaan rang the doorbell, but there were no lights on and it didn’t look like anyone was at home.

He rang again. This time he heard footsteps in the hallway. The door opened and there stood Am Ramazam, who now had a long beard. He was carrying a gun. In the darkness of the hallway, he seemed bigger than he really was.

Aqa Jaan and Fakhri Sadat were the last people he’d been expecting to see.

‘Could we come in for a moment?’ Fakhri Sadat asked.

‘Be my guest,’ Am Ramazan said.

On the wall was a large picture of Khomeini, and the room was filled with framed portraits of other ayatollahs.

‘We need your help, Am Ramazam,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘Jawad has been arrested. Would you be willing to do us a favour?’

Am Ramazan looked surprised. He had been their gardener, and they had always been good to him. Now they were standing before him, humbled, asking for his help. ‘What can I do? I’m not sure I can be of any use.’

‘I need to talk to Ayatollah Araki. Can you arrange an appointment for me? It can’t wait. I have to see him now, tonight, before it’s too late.’

‘Tonight? That’s impossible,’ he said. ‘I mean, I don’t know, wait a minute. Please sit down. Fakhri Sadat, would you like some tea?’

He went over to the telephone, which had only recently been installed, and dialled a number. ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘I’d like to make an appointment with the ayatollah. Can you set it up for me? No, not for myself, but for an acquaintance… Yes, I know him well, I’ve known him for years. It’s important… Tonight, if possible… I understand. And tomorrow? Okay, in the mosque, after the sermon? No, before the sermon is better.’

Tears sprang to Aqa Jaan’s eyes.

It was Friday, so hundreds of people were heading for the mosque. Aqa Jaan stood by the door and waited, but Ayatollah Araki had been delayed. Just as the ayatollah was about to leave, his red phone had rung.

‘Iraq used chemical weapons against our troops this week,’ the ayatollah heard the Friday Prayer Leader say. ‘Thousands of soldiers have died, including three hundred men from Senejan and nearby villages. The bodies will be arriving in Senejan tomorrow.’

Ayatollah Araki’s black Mercedes drew up in front of the mosque, and two Revolutionary Guards got out. Aqa Jaan moved towards the car, but one of the guards stopped him.

‘I have an appointment with the ayatollah,’ Aqa Jaan said.

‘Get out of the way!’ the guard barked.

The ayatollah looked at Aqa Jaan, but had no idea who he was.

Aqa Jaan removed his hat and bowed. The ayatollah swept right past him.

‘I have an appointment with you,’ Aqa Jaan explained.

The ayatollah paused, glanced back at him and walked on again.

Aqa Jaan started to run after him, but was seized by one of the guards. ‘I’m the former custodian of the mosque!’ he cried.

The ayatollah signalled for the guard to release him.

Aqa Jaan hurried to catch up with him. As they neared the mosque, the ayatollah held out his hand. At the entrance to the prayer room, Aqa Jaan took his hand and kissed it.

The worshippers, who had stood up to greet the ayatollah, saw Aqa Jaan kiss the ayatollah’s hand. They also saw the ayatollah stop for a moment to listen to him. Everyone in the room noticed that Aqa Jaan was still talking when the ayatollah stalked off in annoyance. They all watched as Aqa Jaan clutched the ayatollah’s robe and was roughly shoved out of the way by the guards.

The ayatollah strode directly to the pulpit and stood on the first step. A guard handed him a rifle, which he held throughout his speech, to symbolise the fact that the country was at war.

‘Saddam, who is not the true son of his father, has bombed our pearl in Isfahan!’ he began. ‘Saddam is a nobody, a bastard who dances to the tune of the Americans. America is taking revenge! America is using Saddam as a war machine! Saddam is not bombing our mosques, America is!

‘Bomb us, America! We are not afraid of you. Destroy our historic places of worship, America! We are not afraid of you!

‘Saddam is a mere hireling. He is afraid of us, afraid of our army, afraid of your sons.

‘Prepare yourselves, believers of Senejan, for I have painful news. Saddam has used chemical weapons against our sons! Prepare yourselves, mothers, prepare yourselves, fathers, for we shall soon bury your sons! Your sons who are now being welcomed by angels in Paradise!’

‘ Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar! ’ the worshippers cried.

‘God is great! Victory will be ours! We will conquer Baghdad, but we will not stop in Baghdad. We will strike at America in the heart of Zionism and liberate the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem!’

‘ Allahu akbar! Allahu akbar! ’ the crowd roared.

‘We are living in difficult times, but your sons are making history. I congratulate you on the death of your sons!

‘Watch out, mothers, stay alert, fathers, for we are fighting on two fronts. Our sons are fighting Saddam on one front, while here at home we are fighting the Communists — a small but no less dangerous enemy in our midst. We will weed them out and destroy them as well!’

Pointing his rifle at Aqa Jaan, he thundered, ‘Punish them! And show them no mercy!’

‘ Allahu akbar! ’

Aqa Jaan, who was kneeling on the ground, felt the weight of the mosque on his shoulders. With his back bent, he mumbled:

We worship You and ask You for help.

Guide us to the straight path,

The path of those upon whom You have bestowed Your grace,

Those whose portion is not wrath and who do not go astray.

Afterwards, when Aqa Jaan told Fakhri Sadat how he’d been treated by the ayatollah, she flung on her chador.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see Zinat. She has to help us!’

‘She won’t. She didn’t lift a finger to help Ahmad and she won’t lift a finger to help Jawad. The world has been turned upside down. Khomeini has called for a jihad. Anyone who says a word against the regime is supposed to be reported to the authorities. Mothers have even turned in their own children.’

‘But Jawad hasn’t done anything!’

‘Don’t be so naïve, Fakhri, that’s what every mother says. He hasn’t lived at home for a long time. We don’t know what he’s been up to or why he was in that village.’

‘I’m going to see Zinat anyway.’

‘Zinat has publicly denounced Ahmad in the mosque. If she talks about her own son that way, she’s not going to help yours.’

‘We have to go; we have no choice. We’ll go together.’

Zinat was still working in the women’s section of the prison. She put the prisoners under such pressure that they finally snapped and were prepared to pray seven times a day. They also shamelessly betrayed their friends, one after another.

One night, when Zinat had unexpectedly stopped by the house to pick up the last of her belongings, Aqa Jaan’s voice came to her out of the darkness. ‘Why are you creeping around, Zinat? Why don’t you talk to us? Why won’t you say hello to us any more?’