Read Online The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kader Abdolah
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The mahiha – the fish – which usually darted through the water when they saw me, weren’t moving, and their tails were all pointing in my direction. Brightly coloured scales floated on the surface, and there was blood on one of the tiles. I realised immediately that something was wrong. I ran to my father’s room, pushed open the door, switched on the light and—’
‘Very good!’ Khalkhal said. ‘You can stop now, I’ll read the rest on my own. You have talent. Leave your notebooks with me. I’ll look at them later.’
He went down to the courtyard and walked over to the hauz , where he stared at the sleeping fish in the glow of the lantern. A light was on in the library. The shadow of the imam fell on the curtain. He quietly opened the gate and went outside, towards the river.
Aba
I t was five o’clock in the afternoon. The courtyard was covered in snow. Darkness was gradually closing in, and there was an icy wind. As usual the grandmothers were carrying towels and clean clothes into the bathroom so Alsaberi could bathe before the evening prayer.
Even though they’d lit the stove early in the morning, the bathroom was still cold. ‘This has got to stop,’ Golbanu grumbled. ‘It’s no longer healthy. He should bathe in the municipal bathhouse. If he goes on like this, he’ll make himself ill.’
It was a special night – the anniversary of the night on which Imam Ali had been killed.
Ali was Islam’s fourth caliph. On that night he had been in the mosque, leading the prayer with hundreds of believers lined up behind him, when Ibn Muljam came in, took a place behind Ali and started praying along with him. He waited until Ali got to the end of his prayer, then took out his sword and killed him with a single blow to the head. From that moment on, Islam was divided into two factions: Shiites and Sunnis.
The Shiites wanted Hassan, Ali’s oldest son, to be his successor; the Sunnis backed a candidate of their own. The Shiites and the Sunnis have been at each other’s throats ever since. Ali became the most beloved of the caliphs. Fourteen centuries after his death, the Shiites still mourned him as if he had just been slain.
Tonight the mosque would be filled to capacity. Alsaberi, who had memorised his sermon, was planning to talk at length about Ali. He had come up with a novel approach: after fourteen centuries of enmity between Shiites and Sunnis, he was going to suggest reconciliation.
He’d been practising his sermon all day in front of the mirror. ‘There has been enough enmity! We are brothers! Let us be friends. Let us shake hands in the name of friendship and Islamic unity!’
He wanted his sermon to be a surprise, so he hadn’t discussed it with Aqa Jaan. Besides, if he’d mentioned it beforehand, Aqa Jaan would have said, ‘Why bother? There aren’t any Sunnis in Senejan.’
Although there might not be any Sunnis here, and although they might not hear him, tonight he was determined to say something new, something no other imam had ever said before.
The grandmothers had kettles of water heating on the stove and were waiting for Alsaberi.
He was lost in thought. He tested the water with his hand and cautiously stepped into the tub. Holding onto the rim with both hands, he immersed himself in the water. After resurfacing, he exclaimed, ‘Sunnis, let us shake hands! We are brothers! It’s cold! So cold!’
One of the grandmothers poured hot water over his head while the other began washing him with soap. Meanwhile Alsaberi practised his sermon, all the while shivering with cold. ‘Islam is in danger! We must forget our differences and fight side by side against our common enemy! Cold! ’
He was still wondering whether he should change the last words to ‘a common enemy’? It was ambiguous, because what did he mean by ‘a common enemy’? The shah? The Americans? If he dared to utter those words, it would be the fieriest sermon he’d ever given, but he was in
‘Very good!’ Khalkhal said. ‘You can stop now, I’ll read the rest on my own. You have talent. Leave your notebooks with me. I’ll look at them later.’
He went down to the courtyard and walked over to the hauz , where he stared at the sleeping fish in the glow of the lantern. A light was on in the library. The shadow of the imam fell on the curtain. He quietly opened the gate and went outside, towards the river.
Aba
I t was five o’clock in the afternoon. The courtyard was covered in snow. Darkness was gradually closing in, and there was an icy wind. As usual the grandmothers were carrying towels and clean clothes into the bathroom so Alsaberi could bathe before the evening prayer.
Even though they’d lit the stove early in the morning, the bathroom was still cold. ‘This has got to stop,’ Golbanu grumbled. ‘It’s no longer healthy. He should bathe in the municipal bathhouse. If he goes on like this, he’ll make himself ill.’
It was a special night – the anniversary of the night on which Imam Ali had been killed.
Ali was Islam’s fourth caliph. On that night he had been in the mosque, leading the prayer with hundreds of believers lined up behind him, when Ibn Muljam came in, took a place behind Ali and started praying along with him. He waited until Ali got to the end of his prayer, then took out his sword and killed him with a single blow to the head. From that moment on, Islam was divided into two factions: Shiites and Sunnis.
The Shiites wanted Hassan, Ali’s oldest son, to be his successor; the Sunnis backed a candidate of their own. The Shiites and the Sunnis have been at each other’s throats ever since. Ali became the most beloved of the caliphs. Fourteen centuries after his death, the Shiites still mourned him as if he had just been slain.
Tonight the mosque would be filled to capacity. Alsaberi, who had memorised his sermon, was planning to talk at length about Ali. He had come up with a novel approach: after fourteen centuries of enmity between Shiites and Sunnis, he was going to suggest reconciliation.
He’d been practising his sermon all day in front of the mirror. ‘There has been enough enmity! We are brothers! Let us be friends. Let us shake hands in the name of friendship and Islamic unity!’
He wanted his sermon to be a surprise, so he hadn’t discussed it with Aqa Jaan. Besides, if he’d mentioned it beforehand, Aqa Jaan would have said, ‘Why bother? There aren’t any Sunnis in Senejan.’
Although there might not be any Sunnis here, and although they might not hear him, tonight he was determined to say something new, something no other imam had ever said before.
The grandmothers had kettles of water heating on the stove and were waiting for Alsaberi.
He was lost in thought. He tested the water with his hand and cautiously stepped into the tub. Holding onto the rim with both hands, he immersed himself in the water. After resurfacing, he exclaimed, ‘Sunnis, let us shake hands! We are brothers! It’s cold! So cold!’
One of the grandmothers poured hot water over his head while the other began washing him with soap. Meanwhile Alsaberi practised his sermon, all the while shivering with cold. ‘Islam is in danger! We must forget our differences and fight side by side against our common enemy! Cold! ’
He was still wondering whether he should change the last words to ‘a common enemy’? It was ambiguous, because what did he mean by ‘a common enemy’? The shah? The Americans? If he dared to utter those words, it would be the fieriest sermon he’d ever given, but he was in
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