intersection and wait. Down the length of the cross street she could see the palest foam of light rising up like a wave on the horizon. She watched it, waiting for the translucent, ghostly glow that would mark the technical first point of dawn. Thanks to college astronomy, everything she knew about the universe had some relevance to the calculation of prayer times. It was a monumental task, that calculation. For such things one had to understand latitudes, solar declinations, azimuths, apparent solar times, and equations of time. Armies of men spent their lives observing the heavens just to calculate and predict the exact moment of dawn and the precise number of minutes and seconds that would elapse between dawn and sunrise, for it was in those minutes that Fajr prayers were performed. She held her breath, still staring at the horizon, curious to see if the muezzin's call would synchronize with the break of dawn.
Indeed, the distant glimmer of light appeared just as the first
Allahu akbar
rang from the speakers of a nearby mosque.
God is great.
The simultaneity of events sent a chill through her.
Then, less happily, she thought that while those armies of men had turned their eyes toward the heavens, the great sky was only ever visible to her from her rooftop or through the slit of an open car window.
Ahmad drove through the intersection, pulled over to the curb, and grabbed his prayer rug from the passenger seat. He got out and spread his rug on the pavement, standing to begin his prayers. Katya watched, feeling uneasy. She hadn't stopped thinking of Nouf all night, and now, like the flickering of storefront lights, she felt illumination dying inside her. The day before, she'd been certain that Nouf had been murdered, but what if the scratches on her arms and the wound on her head had happened during the drowning? Or been caused by an accident? Katya had also felt certain that she understood the family. They wanted to handle the investigation quietly; she respected their need for privacy. But what if they were hiding something?
They might never have told her about the cover-up if she had not called Othman to warn him that the examiner had done a shoddy job. Othman quickly asked for her help. She agreed, of course, but technically it was too late to collect evidence—Nouf's body was already being returned to the house. Surreptitiously, Katya had saved samples from the examination, but Othman didn't know she was going to do that. He didn't even know she was stepping in for the regular examiner. Did he just assume that she was all-powerful at work?
She hated having these thoughts. Inevitably, they led her to wonder if she was doing the right thing, marrying a man she'd chosen herself. A man her father didn't like.
Katya looked up and saw two young women about to leave a nearby store. Seeing Ahmad on the sidewalk, they stopped and retreated from the shop's glass door, perhaps afraid that he was one of those men who, seeing a woman after performing his ablutions, would have to do them again. Katya wanted to tell them that Ahmad wouldn't mind them walking past and that anyway he was the blindest man on the planet—he had the special talent of being able to look at a woman and not see her face at all. But she couldn't motion to the women; they were behind a curtain now, and the darktinted windows were impenetrable from without. So she watched
Ahmad pray, watched him turn his head and whisper his
tasleem,
"Peace be upon you and the mercy of God," while she admired the serenity that stole over his face.
It was that same look of goodness, of calm and security, that made her father trust him. The two men had been childhood friends back in Lebanon and had emigrated to Saudi when they were both twenty-one. It was Ahmad's wife, a long-dead but once beautiful Russian émigré, whom Katya had been named for. Katya had never met her, but there was a picture of her in the glove compartment, an old snapshot taken in the mountains of
Indeed, the distant glimmer of light appeared just as the first
Allahu akbar
rang from the speakers of a nearby mosque.
God is great.
The simultaneity of events sent a chill through her.
Then, less happily, she thought that while those armies of men had turned their eyes toward the heavens, the great sky was only ever visible to her from her rooftop or through the slit of an open car window.
Ahmad drove through the intersection, pulled over to the curb, and grabbed his prayer rug from the passenger seat. He got out and spread his rug on the pavement, standing to begin his prayers. Katya watched, feeling uneasy. She hadn't stopped thinking of Nouf all night, and now, like the flickering of storefront lights, she felt illumination dying inside her. The day before, she'd been certain that Nouf had been murdered, but what if the scratches on her arms and the wound on her head had happened during the drowning? Or been caused by an accident? Katya had also felt certain that she understood the family. They wanted to handle the investigation quietly; she respected their need for privacy. But what if they were hiding something?
They might never have told her about the cover-up if she had not called Othman to warn him that the examiner had done a shoddy job. Othman quickly asked for her help. She agreed, of course, but technically it was too late to collect evidence—Nouf's body was already being returned to the house. Surreptitiously, Katya had saved samples from the examination, but Othman didn't know she was going to do that. He didn't even know she was stepping in for the regular examiner. Did he just assume that she was all-powerful at work?
She hated having these thoughts. Inevitably, they led her to wonder if she was doing the right thing, marrying a man she'd chosen herself. A man her father didn't like.
Katya looked up and saw two young women about to leave a nearby store. Seeing Ahmad on the sidewalk, they stopped and retreated from the shop's glass door, perhaps afraid that he was one of those men who, seeing a woman after performing his ablutions, would have to do them again. Katya wanted to tell them that Ahmad wouldn't mind them walking past and that anyway he was the blindest man on the planet—he had the special talent of being able to look at a woman and not see her face at all. But she couldn't motion to the women; they were behind a curtain now, and the darktinted windows were impenetrable from without. So she watched
Ahmad pray, watched him turn his head and whisper his
tasleem,
"Peace be upon you and the mercy of God," while she admired the serenity that stole over his face.
It was that same look of goodness, of calm and security, that made her father trust him. The two men had been childhood friends back in Lebanon and had emigrated to Saudi when they were both twenty-one. It was Ahmad's wife, a long-dead but once beautiful Russian émigré, whom Katya had been named for. Katya had never met her, but there was a picture of her in the glove compartment, an old snapshot taken in the mountains of
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