“Question from a man with a gamey leg. Why the hell don’t you have an office in Karkh, then? The watchmen have…”
“Tein, I’m not on street policing.”
“...the watchmen have an office in there. It’s on Qayyari Road. We could meet there.”
“I know where it is Tein. You’d prefer to be where the smell of pitch soaks through the walls?”
Tein slapped the old injury on his right leg.
Ammar slapped his own leg and his left shoulder in response, “Are you done complaining?”
Tein stood, “I’ve never complained in my life.”
“Glad to hear it.” Ammar stood and picked up his scabbard, strapping it over his shoulder across his chest, “Now, help me think of a good reason along the way to explain why we are back at the Imam’s house asking questions.”
“I only have one question.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s with you and the student?”
“He’s a privileged little shit.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tein looked for the guard, Rashid, as they walked out of the arcade, but he had been replaced by another. He guessed his shift was up. Ammar saw him searching and asked, “Did you and Rashid make friends?”
“The kind of friendship where one calls one’s black friend a crow and one’s friend’s sister too skinny to be a whore? Very close.”
“We’ll have to invite him out one evening, then.”
Tein said, “Speaking of being invited out, I’m hungry.”
“I just heard testimony that you’ve never complained in your life.”
“Merely a statement of fact about the noise my stomach is making.”
“Uff, fine. We’ll cut through the Dar al-Sahaba market. Just some dates to eat on the way, though. We don’t have time to sit down.”
They turned off the main road. The street, leading into a square and then to the market, was quickly filling with people. Ammar craned his neck to see what was going on ahead, “What’s all this? Can you see anything?”
Tein looked out over the heads of those walking toward the square, “It looks like the entrance to the square is nearly blocked with people, even more further on. They’re watching something.” He looked down at Ammar, “Maybe a good storyteller? Should we stop for a bit? He winked, “Or in your newly pious state do you no longer wonder at the romantic trials of ‘Talha and Tuhfa’?”
Ammar didn’t laugh, “Enough, Tein. Look, if it’s just storytelling, let’s avoid the square. There’s an alleyway up on the left, we can go around and get through to the market from the other end.”
Tein registered his mood and nodded, walking ahead and parting the crowd, so they could make their way toward the alley. As they got closer he could hear it was street preaching, just a voice, not the words. Then he heard someone ahead say, “Mansur.” He turned back to Ammar, “I’ve changed my mind about eating. Why deal with all these people? Let’s just get to al-Anbariyya.”
But Ammar had already recognized the tone as street preaching; his hand was on the hilt of his sword. “Tein, are you ready for this work or not?”
“Yes. But, Ammar, preaching is not a grave crime.”
Ammar ignored him, “We need to make sure watchmen are here in case things get out of control. I have to find out what’s going on, who it is, who else is involved. I’ll need to make a report.”
Tein rolled his eyes, “Another report. We should just bring a scribe with us everywhere.”
Ammar shot Tein a look and said, “At least I’m not asking you to do the writing! Get in there. Break through the crowd.”
Tein pushed people aside, carving a path for Ammar. A well-placed elbow or the sweep of his forearm caught the unwary off balance. Any complaints were silenced with a glance at the size of the black hand that had grasped their shoulder or a look at his resigned expression. They stood to the side and watched the shorter, bull-faced man walking in his wake, hand on the hilt of his sword and black turban on his head marking him as police. A few, Tein thought wise, turned to leave and were pushing back against the crowd trying to get out.
The voice called out over the crowd, “O People! When the Truth has taken hold of a heart, She empties it of all but Herself! When God attaches Himself to a man, He kills in him all else but Himself. When God loves one of His faithful, He incites the others to hate him, in order that His servant may draw near to Him so as to assent to Him!”
People in the crowd called back, “Tell it, brother Mansur! Truth!”
Ammar raised his voice so as to be heard, “Mansur? Is that al-Hallaj?”
Tein called back, resigned now to the situation, “Yes...it is.”
Ammar stiffened and asked, “Do you see any watchmen?”
Tein yelled, “I do. It doesn’t look good. I just saw one of them yelling ‘Allahu akbar’ to what al-Hallaj just said.”
Ammar pushed Tein forward faster, “Find a place where we can keep an eye on this.”
Tein saw an area not far off, against a wall where some people were standing on stools and tables near the entrance to the market. He could force one of them off so Ammar could stand and see from the back, getting a full view. Tein could see al-Hallaj now, he was standing by the entrance to the small mosque at the far end of the square. He was alone, framed by its arched doorways, people standing back from him to give him room to preach and to be heard. Not like when Tein’s mother taught in the graveyards and the people crushed in to lie at her feet. But it wasn’t any less dangerous. Tein moved through the crowd with Ammar close behind. A shirtless young man with nothing but a filthy wrap wound around his waist and a woven skull cap barely sitting on top of his long, matted hair stood on the table. Tein yelled up at him, “Get down. Police. We need the table.”
The young man looked down at him and spat at his feet, the spit and phlegm falling onto and in-between Tein’s toes through his sandal straps. Tein felt it but didn’t look down or move to clean his foot. He reached up and grabbed the young man’s arm. He felt nothing but skin and bone, but he yanked him down off the table onto the ground all the same, saying, “Get out of here if you don’t want trouble.”
The young man righted himself and pushed Tein off him, yelling at him, “You think I fear the police when I no longer fear God Himself? Your hatred is only proof of God’s eternal love for me! Listen to Mansur, you fool! He speaks from the Throne of God!”
Tein reached out with his left hand and took him by the throat, leaning down to speak in his face, “If frothing at the mouth proves a man speaks from the Throne of God, then that camel al-Hallaj is one!”
The man growled at him, “Zanji, fucker of dogs!”
Ammar shook his head. Now that boy’s going to get a taste of the old Tein. Let’s see how far this goes.
Tein could feel the people directly around him moving back, staring. He tightened his grip on the young man’s throat just so. The young man’s face began to turn red. He gasped for breath. His eyes filled with the terror. Tein whispered, “Do you fear the Police now?” He loosened his grip, just enough to let the young man grab at a full breath, to think that he might yet live, but only at Tein’s pleasure. Tein coughed out a bitter laugh and looked around, speaking to the crowd now staring at him wide-eyed as he dangled this scrawny creature by the throat.
He gestured to the young man, incapacitated by his one hand only. “Look at this one! Calling a man who could kill him ‘Zanji’!” Tein turned back to him, bringing his face into the gasping man’s own, “I’m Nubian, you ass. But, I will be Zanji for you if that’s how you want it.”
He looked up again at the crowd, still holding the young man up by his throat, and bellowed at them, “I am Zanji! I will be counted among the proud black slaves whose ferocity nearly brought a caliph to his knees!”
He tightened his grip again on the young man’s neck until his eyes began to turn back into his head, losing consciousness. Tein knew how long it took to strangle a person to death. He had
time. He loosened his grip again. The man gulped in air and spasmed into coughs, sucking in breath and coughing again, regaining his consciousness into panic.
Tein moved closer to his face, saying, “This black man has killed better men than you on the battlefield. Men who didn’t deserve to die. And you will live because I am tired of killing.”
He lifted the young man by the throat again and threw him back into the crowd. He fell against the people standing behind him watching the scene unfold. The crowd, just beyond them, did not know what was happening and pushed him back, almost to standing again, yelling, “Watch it!”
Ammar spoke harshly in Tein’s ear before getting up onto the table, “Enough. Go get those watchmen to do their job.”
Tein didn’t move immediately, but stared down the young man as he tried to walk backwards into the people who’d just pushed him, his eyes locked fearfully onto Tein’s own, as the crowd swallowed him. Only then did Tein begin to skirt the square, passing the archway into the market, until he finally reached the two watchmen he’d seen calling out to al-Hallaj. He grabbed them by the scruff of their necks, one hand on each, pulling them back against him, hissing in their ears, “What are you doing? You need to start controlling this crowd! Get them moving out of here before there’s a riot.”
He pointed at Ammar standing on the table, “You see him? He’s high up in the police and he’s seen you here not doing a cursed thing to control this situation.”
The legs of the one in Tein’s left hand buckled as he raised his hands, pleading, “Brother, what can we do?”
The other one in Tein’s right hand didn’t budge and laughed, “Please, the Market Inspector has already been over to yell at us. Tell your boss to get in line.”
The watchman pulled at his shabby qamis, “The police give us a bit of black cloth to wind for a turban and a chink of coin and nothing else. I’m not risking my life over this.”
The first one looked up at Tein, his eyes desperate, “Listen! They say his prayers are answered! My boy can barely eat he’s so twisted up inside. What he does eat comes right out of him. I’m going to ask Mansur to say a prayer for him. Maybe he would come to us? They say he works miracles! Maybe he’ll put his hands on him!”
The other smiled at Tein, saying, “Relax, big man. This will be a small riot by Baghdad standards.”
The first one pushed the other, “Quiet, he’s speaking!”
Tein sighed, releasing the two, and stood back, “Useless! Where’s the Inspector?”
The other one said, “How should we know?”
al-Hallaj’s voice rang out, “But what happens to me? I no longer feel the least breeze of His Presence, nor the least reach of His glance! Alas!” Then he pointed to the back of the crowd, in the direction of Ammar, who could be clearly seen standing on the table by the market entrance, “And here are so many people who begin to hate me now!”
People turned to look at Ammar. A mass of them began to move slowly towards him. Tein saw Ammar settle his legs into a more balanced stance and pull his sword slightly out of its scabbard. Ready. Tein said under his breath, “Here’s your riot, Ammar. I hope you’re happy.”
Tein started pushing his way as quickly as he could back toward Ammar, hoping to get there before the crowd broke out against him. Ammar could handle himself. But there were too many people.
As he moved back through the crowd, people pushed aside more easily. He began to hear whimpering. Then he noticed many were weeping. One man had both hands on his bare head, whatever turban he’d had lost, tears streaming down his face. A woman wailed behind him. He looked back at al-Hallaj who now stood silent by the great doors of the mosque, his hand to his forehead, looking down, his body in a stance signaling his dejection. The cries were rising around him. Tein felt himself back at the edges of the graveyards when his mother was preaching and weeping and the crowd paced her every emotion. He scanned them as he did then, eyes searching for the one who would break loose to attack his mother or Zaytuna, huddled in his mother’s lap; only this time he couldn’t have cared less for the preacher. He was watching out for Ammar. The crowd. But the ones who looked like they were moving on Ammar had begun to weep, too, their bodies softening, hanging on each other’s shoulders.
He kept close watch. Weeping didn’t mean it was over. Not at all. It was the start of something. As he reached the marketplace archway, he felt a hand on him. Tein turned, his left arm pulling back, hand curling into a fist, relaxing into the movement, ready to throw a punch.
He saw a man who could only be the marketplace inspector, gesturing toward the watchmen, “Those imbeciles over there should be executed. Who is controlling this?”
“No one!” Tein pointed to Ammar, “My boss is there. We just happened to be nearby. We’ll do what we can. But can you go get more watchmen? Guards?”
“I’ve sent someone to tell them. We’re close enough to the Basra Gate. We might get help in time.”
“I have to keep moving, I don’t want my boss over there alone.”
The inspector nodded, “Go.”
Tein finally made his way over to Ammar and stood in front of the table, Ammar above him. He caught sight of al-Hallaj. He was smiling wildly now, tear-stained, seemingly about to burst into laughter, until a cry of anguish arose from his throat. The crowd jolted up and straightened, a few wailing in chorus, shocked by the cry shooting through them. Each of them staring at him, silent and focused.
al-Hallaj spoke clearly, his voice piercing the air, “O people of the marketplace! Save me from God! Save me from God! Save me from God! He has robbed me from myself. He has left me deserted, forsaken, outlawed. God has made spilling my blood lawful to you. So kill me! Make me a martyr for God!”
The crowded gasped, and the mood shifted instantly. Tein could feel them turning on him. Where there was adoration before, now there was anger brewing. They didn’t understand what he was saying and were beginning to feel they’d been had. It wasn’t settling well in them. A few called out from different parts of the crowd, “What’s this now!? Save you from God?! Liar!” Another yelled out, “Martyr you!? That makes us God’s enemies in this fight!”
al-Hallaj cried out again, his hand slapping his chest, begging, “Will someone kill this cursed one?!”
Tein watched as two men moved out of the crowd at the front. He recognized one, saying under his breath, “Ibn Ata!” The other one he didn’t know. One of al-Hallaj’s followers, probably. The one he didn’t recognize pulled al-Hallaj with both hands toward the doors of the mosque, pushing the door open with his body and dragging al-Hallaj in with him.
Ibn Ata backed toward the mosque door after al-Hallaj, yelling into the crowd, “He’s gone mad with God’s love! He doesn’t know what he’s saying!”
Ammar yelled, “Who is that?”
He yelled back, “I don’t know the younger one. The other is an old friend of al-Hallaj. A Sufi. He’d protect al-Hallaj from a pack of rabid dogs.”
“I thought you said al-Hallaj wasn’t a Sufi?”
“He’s not! But that’s his friend. His friend is one of the Sufis.”
“It doesn’t look good, Tein.”
“No, it does not.”
Ammar yelled down to him, “Well, he’s lucky he’s got a friend because this crowd is about to explode.”
A short man with broad muscular shoulders and arms broke out and rushed at the door after al-Hallaj and Ibn Ata. Ibn Ata closed the mosque door behind them just in time. The crowd broke open behind the first man and fell toward the door, it didn’t move. Ibn Ata must have been able to bolt it. The first man pounded on it yelling, “Give him to us! Liar!” until the second wave of the crowd flowed in behind, pinning him and the others against the door. His yelling of, “Liar,” quickly turned to, “Get off me!”
A man behind him, recognized him, and reached out to pull him away, “Zahrun! Take my hand!” But Zahrun’s face was jammed against the door, his thick arms uselessly stuck above his head, his body pinne
d in on either side. Cries of anger toward al-Hallaj became mixed with cries of pain and terror as more people moved in against the door crushing those ahead of them. They fell and slipped against each other, a few falling underfoot, those near them trying and failing to lift them up. Zahrun kicked back hard against whoever happened to be behind him. He heard a woman scream from within the crowd. Struggling to breathe, he managed to lower his arms so he could push himself up against the shoulders of the two people on either side of him and turn around. He climbed up on top of the crowd, crawling over their heads and arms away from the mosque. He fought to stay afloat in the angry ocean as fists and fingers were punching and grabbing at him to pull him down. Zahrun made it to the middle of the mob when sea turned and the crowd began to move in a wave away from the mosque. He felt the mob open underneath him and he fell backwards to the ground as several people tumbled on top of him. He thought he heard the crack of a bone.
Zahrun pushed the others off and tried to get up but his right leg would not let him. Grabbing hold of one of them now standing near him, he pulled himself up and tried to make his way with the people moving in a crush to get out of the square. Then screams intensified where the square opened up onto the main road. He couldn’t see the soldiers but he saw their staffs pushing and swinging into the crowd. He yelled, “Those sons of whores! Where do the soldiers think these people would go, back up against the mosque doors?” Propping himself onto anyone he could, he started to push sideways through the crowd to the far wall of the square to see if he could get up onto it and into the estate on the other side.
Ammar jumped down off the table and got behind the soldiers, pulling at them, yelling, “Get back! Give the people a way out of the square!”
Tein grabbed a staff from one of the soldiers and used it to herd those near him out through the marketplace, pushing them through the market gates, yelling “Move!”
The Lover Page 19