But Khalkhal didn’t want to go. He twisted free of Aqa Jaan’s grasp and headed back towards the officer, but before he could reach him, Aqa Jaan grabbed him again. ‘That’s enough! Stop it!’
Khalkhal shook him off and lunged at the officer, but once again Aqa Jaan caught up with him, seized him and said, ‘Don’t forget, I make the decisions round here!’
Taking the megaphone from the officer, he shouted, ‘Quiet, everyone! I have good news for you!’
The crowd quieted down.
‘I’ve just talked to the mayor. The authorities have backed down. There won’t be a cinema in this city! So go back to the mosque!’
‘Allahu akbar!’ the crowd shouted.
The event had made quite an impression. Much to Aqa Jaan’s satisfaction, people had milled around outside the mosque for a long time afterwards.
The mosque had taken its battle to the streets, and he had been able to prevent a bloodbath. It had been a direct attack from an unexpected corner on the plans of the shah, and a slap in the face of his prime minister. The shah was hoping to wrest power from the religious cities and foist decadent Western culture on them. Tomorrow the incident would be reported in every major newspaper: MUTINY IN SENEJAN!
The Friday Mosque in Senejan had once more let its voice be heard. The ayatollahs in Qom would sit up and take notice, and every imam in the country would be talking about the disturbance.
It was midnight. Everyone had gone home. The mosque was empty and the caretaker had locked the doors. Aqa Jaan was sitting in his study, writing in his journal. ‘After a long silence, our mosque has again let its voice be heard,’ he wrote. ‘Perhaps we have found the way back to our true path.’
He was still writing when two cars pulled up in front of the mosque. One of them parked under the trees, while the other switched off its lights and drove quietly down the alley to the house.
Three men, who looked like plainclothes policemen, got out. The driver stayed inside the car. The man in charge went up to the gate and rang the bell while the other two men stayed by the car.
Aqa Jaan heard the bell and was immediately on the alert. He’d expected the police to come by the bazaar tomorrow, but not to appear on his doorstep in the middle of the night.
The grandmothers also heard the bell. They knew that something unusual was happening and that it would be better for them to stay in their room and let Aqa Jaan take care of it.
Shahbal, who had also heard the bell, immediately went to Aqa Jaan’s study.
‘It’s probably the police,’ Aqa Jaan said softly. ‘Go and warn Khalkhal. Tell him he has to leave and then help him sneak out over the roof.’
Khalkhal had been expecting the police, so he was still in the library when the doorbell rang. He swiftly turned off the light, tiptoed out of the library and started up the stairs.
Aqa Jaan put on his hat and coat, and went into the courtyard. He saw Khalkhal’s silhouette by the stairs, so he waited until it had been enveloped by the darkness.
The doorbell rang again.
‘I’m coming!’ he called as he headed towards the gate.
The women were watching from behind the curtains in their rooms.
‘Who’s there?’ Aqa Jaan called before unlocking the gate.
‘Open up!’
He swung open the gate. The man in charge and the two men by the car were clearly illuminated in the glow of the streetlight.
He knew instantly that they were agents of the secret police. No local policeman would have dared to knock on his door in the middle of the night. They must be new, or else from another district. It was obvious from their attitude that they didn’t know who he was. They didn’t even bother to greet him civilly.
‘What brings you gentlemen to my door in the middle of the night?’ he asked.
‘We’re looking for the imam,’ the man in charge said. He flashed his badge. ‘We’ve been ordered to bring him in.’
So the situation was serious. To gain time, Aqa Jaan stepped outside and quietly shut the gate behind him. ‘The imam isn’t home,’ he said. ‘If it’s urgent, you can speak to him tomorrow morning at the mosque.’
The agent, caught off-guard by Aqa Jaan closing the gate, belatedly bellowed, ‘Leave it open!’
‘Keep your voice down. Everyone’s asleep,’ Aqa Jaan said.
‘Open this gate!’ the agent ordered, and he banged on it with his fist.
‘Calm down! I told you – the imam isn’t home. He’s gone. And gone means gone! He’ll be at the mosque tomorrow morning.’ He raised his voice so Khalkhal would be sure to hear him. ‘Have you got that?’
‘Open the gate this instant, or I’ll shoot the lock off!’ the agent said. And he unsnapped the black holster of his gun.
Suddenly one of his underlings came running into the alley. ‘He’s on the roof of the mosque!’ he shouted. ‘Let’s go!’
The other two agents climbed up the gate and onto the courtyard wall. Within seconds they were on the roof, running towards the minarets.
Aqa Jaan opened the gate and was about to race up the stairs to the roof when one of the agents barked, ‘Stay where you are!’ So he went over to the guest room and stood beneath the trees, where he had a good view of the roof.
‘I saw a shadow behind the dome!’ one of the agents called up from the street.
‘Come out with your hands up!’ the man in charge shouted from the roof.
Aqa Jaan was sure they’d spotted Khalkhal. He ran over to the cedar tree to get a better look at the roof. In the green glow of the minarets he saw the man in charge walking towards the dome with his gun drawn, but he couldn’t see Khalkhal.
‘There’s no one here!’ the man in charge shouted to the agent in the street.
‘I saw his shadow just a minute ago,’ the agent shouted back. ‘He can’t be far away.’
Aqa Jaan was relieved. He moved into the circle of light by the hauz. ‘Agent!’ he called up to the roof. ‘The shadow you saw was that of the mosque’s caretaker. He’d just been to see me when you came. You’re making this much more complicated than it needs to be. Since you’re from another district, you aren’t familiar with the layout of the mosque. I can assure you that anyone trying to escape from the roof would be spotted by the men posted in the street. Here, let me show you.’ And he went up the stairs.
‘As I already told you,’ he said to the man in charge when he reached the top, ‘the imam isn’t here. He took the night train to Qom. Call the station and check, if you like. He’s well known there. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. There’s nothing on this roof except the dome and the minarets. Take a look round, then get out! Have I made myself clear?’
The man shone his torch around the roof, but made no reply.
‘And now get yourself and your filthy shoes off the roof of this mosque!’ Aqa Jaan snapped. He pointed to the stairs. ‘And get out of my house!’
The agents muttered all the way down the stairs and into the courtyard.
‘No one has ever dared to enter this house uninvited,’ Aqa Jaan said, ‘and now four of you bastards have come bursting in. I’ve had it. Get out, all of you!’
But the man in charge, unfazed by Aqa Jaan’s hostility, issued an order to his men: ‘Search every room. Now!’ The agents rushed boldly into the house.
‘Shahbal!’ Aqa Jaan called.
There was no reply.
‘Phone the mayor!’ he called again, knowing full well that Shahbal had left with Khalkhal.
He hurried into his study, rifled through his papers until he found the mayor’s phone number and dialled. ‘Get these bastards out of my house,’ he said, ‘or I’ll get my rifle and shoot them!’
The agents dragged blind Muezzin out of his room and looked in every nook and cranny.
‘Bastards!’ Muezzin yelled. ‘All of you! Get out of my room! Get out of this house!’
The door to the library was locked.
‘Give me the key!’ the man in charge de
manded.
‘I haven’t got one,’ Aqa Jaan called from where he was standing on the other side of the courtyard.
‘Give me the key or I’ll break the door down!’
The grandmothers emerged from the darkness, opened the door and switched on the light.
One of the agents was about to enter the library when Golbanu screeched, ‘Take off your shoes!’
He ignored her.
‘Take off your shoes, you bastard!’ she shrieked.
The agent didn’t go in, but hovered on the threshold, clearly impressed by the antiquity of the library. He stared at the centuries-old bookcases and the imam’s antique desk, then turned and went into the courtyard.
The other agents stormed into the Carpet Room, where a half-finished carpet was hanging on the wall. They peered behind the carpet, opened the antique cupboards and threw spools of wool on the floor. Then they left the Carpet Room and started in on the Opium Room.
A walkie-talkie crackled. The man in charge went over to the hauz and mumbled something into his walkie-talkie. After a moment he came back. ‘That’s enough,’ he called to his men. ‘Let’s go!’
They met in the courtyard, slammed the gate shut on their way out and drove off.
Aqa Jaan locked the gate and switched off the lights.
‘Is there anything to eat?’ he asked the grandmothers. ‘I’m starving. And dying of thirst.’
He had just sat down when Shahbal came in.
‘Where is he?’ Aqa Jaan asked.
‘In the mosque.’
‘Where exactly?’
‘In the oldest crypt. The caretaker let him in,’ Shahbal said.
‘He’s safe for now, but those agents are bound to come back. This isn’t going to blow over. They’ll be keeping an eye on the mosque. We’ve got to send him to Qom. Tomorrow, when the doors open for the morning prayer, they’ll come in when everyone else does, and we won’t be able to stop them. We’ve got to come up with an escape plan.’
The grandmothers came in, bearing a silver tray. They unfolded a clean cotton napkin and laid it on Aqa Jaan’s desk. On top of that they carefully arranged two glasses, an antique gold-rimmed teapot filled with fragrant tea and a delicate porcelain plate heaped with warm bread and cheese. Then they left. Aqa Jaan looked over at Shahbal and smiled.
‘Apparently they approve of your actions,’ Shahbal commented as Aqa Jaan poured him some tea.
‘Grab a chair and have a bite. We’ve got work to do. We won’t be getting any sleep tonight!’
After they’d eaten, Aqa Jaan rummaged through the cupboard in his study and came back with a hat, a suit and a pair of scissors. He placed them on the table in front of Shahbal. ‘I have a plan,’ he said. ‘In a little while I’ll go and stand outside the mosque. I’ll pretend to be waiting for someone. I know the secret police are keeping watch from their cars, so I’ll do my best to attract their attention. Meanwhile, you’ll go up to the roof and slip over to the mosque, taking the clothes and the scissors with you. Then you’ll help Khalkhal trim his beard and tell him to put on the hat and the suit. The sun will be coming up soon, and people will start arriving for the morning prayer. Because of last night’s events, I’m expecting more people than usual. At the end of the prayer, when everyone is leaving, I want you and Khalkhal to walk out behind me. I’ll take care of the rest. Is that clear?’
‘Absolutely.’
It wasn’t cold, but at that hour of the morning a brisk wind was blowing from the mountains. Aqa Jaan took up his position outside the mosque and noticed that the streetlight, which had been broken for months, was now shining brightly. The caretaker had complained repeatedly to the electricity company, but the light had never been fixed. Aqa Jaan himself had phoned several times to complain to the manager, but had never been put through.
The street was empty, except for two men standing on the corner smoking a cigarette. When they realised that Aqa Jaan had spotted them, they slipped into the darkness.
A car with four men inside drove past the mosque, turned and drove past again without stopping.
The two men who’d slipped into the darkness came back into the glow of the streetlight. They strolled towards Aqa Jaan, still smoking their cigarettes, and passed him without a greeting. Obviously they were not from around here; otherwise they would have recognised him, even in the darkness, and said hello.
As he waited, Aqa Jaan realised more than ever how much the city had changed in recent years. Strangers were now in charge. Until a few years ago he had known everyone in a position of authority in Senejan: men from good families, sons of the merchants in the bazaar. And when he went into a government office, the director himself always jumped up to welcome him. He didn’t know any of the new directors, who avoided all contact with the mosque. They wore tight suits and ties and smoked fat cigars. The city appeared to be divided in two: on the one side, the traditionalists, the historical buildings and the bazaar; on the other side, the new directors, the new policemen, the modern buildings, the theatres and the cinemas. In the old days he could get anything done with the wave of a hand. Nowadays he couldn’t even get a streetlight fixed.
Only now did he understand the mayor’s warning: ‘Remember, Aqa Jaan, I can’t help you the way I used to.’
He – who didn’t frighten easily – was now afraid. Until a few short hours ago he thought he’d eventually be able to work things out, even if Khalkhal did get arrested. All it would take, he had assumed, was one phone call to the chief constable and Khalkhal would be released. Now he knew he’d been wrong.
Apparently the brisk mountain air blowing across Senejan had cleared his head and helped him to think straight. Even Khalkhal was a stranger, he realised, and an untrustworthy one at that. Who was he really? An unknown imam who had come from Qom to ask for the hand of Alsaberi’s daughter. What else did he know about him? Nothing.
The mountain air had done its work – the mist had lifted from his eyes and he now saw everything in a clear light. Khalkhal had been playing a dangerous game. He had known that Farah Diba would be in the cinema, but had deliberately neglected to tell him. His aim had been to create chaos in the city. He’d lured the unsuspecting mosque-goers to the cinema so that Farah Diba would walk into his trap, the country would be turned upside down and the event would be world news. And Aqa Jaan hadn’t suspected a thing. Thank goodness he’d been able to defuse Khalkhal’s plan in time. Khalkhal had deceived him and was now hiding in the crypt. His fate was in Aqa Jaan’s hands.
Despite the cold, he could feel the sweat on his forehead. To allay his fear, he began to chant:
By the morning light,
And by the night when it is still!
He has not abandoned you.
Did He not find you an orphan and guide you?
And find you in need and make you rich?
Did He not lift the burden from your shoulders?
He spread your fame, for with hardship comes ease.
He turned to the window and noticed that it had grown light. Hordes of people were heading towards the mosque. Feeling his heart grow lighter, he squared his shoulders and went inside.
Never before had so many people attended the morning prayer, and they were still pouring in. Aqa Jaan hadn’t listened to the radio, but others had heard that a riot had broken out in Senejan and that the city had been turned upside down by a fanatical imam.
All of the morning papers carried reports of Farah Diba’s royal visit to the clinic and mentioned her presence at the cinema. Here and there it had been hinted that the mosque-goers had been mobilised by the imam for the most dubious of reasons.
And that’s why they had all come to the mosque: to experience what was left of the excitement.
The caretaker came out and greeted Aqa Jaan, then the two of them took a short stroll so they could go over their plan. On the way back, Aqa Jaan stole quietly into the cellar and headed towards the crypt. Suddenly Shahbal loomed up out of the darkness.
‘Whe
re’s Khalkhal?’ Aqa Jaan asked.
‘In the storeroom.’
‘Go upstairs and ask your father to start the azan.’
He cautiously opened the storeroom door. ‘It’s me,’ he said.
In the dim light of the candle Khalkhal was totally unrecognisable. He was wearing the suit and the hat, and his beard had been clipped short.
‘The secret police are looking everywhere for you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you why. I’ll do what I can to help you escape, but first there’s something I need to get off my chest: I’m not pleased with that demonstration of yours. You deceived me. You should have told me what you were doing, but you deliberately kept me in the dark. We’ll discuss this some other time. Now we need to concentrate on your escape. Shahbal will come for you after the prayer, and the two of you will leave the mosque along with everyone else. The caretaker’s cousin will be waiting for you outside the bazaar. You’ll get on the back of his motorcycle, and he’ll drive you to the village of Varcheh. The imam of Varcheh will somehow get you to Kashan, and the imam of Kashan will make arrangements for your trip to Qom. Here’s some money,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘I’m going now.’ He turned and walked off without waiting for a reply.
He had wanted to lash out at Khalkhal, to say, ‘You deliberately put the city, the mosque, the house and the family at risk. My faith in you has been destroyed. I knew from the start that you couldn’t be trusted, but luckily the damage isn’t irreparable. Now get out. I don’t want to have to see you for a long, long while.’ But he hadn’t said it. He was glad he’d managed to keep his temper under control and had softened his language.
As soon as Aqa Jaan entered the prayer room, everyone stood up for him. They’d heard that the house had been raided last night and that Khalkhal had escaped.
A group of prominent merchants escorted Aqa Jaan to the place where the imam usually led the prayer. ‘I’m going to need your help,’ Aqa Jaan whispered to them. ‘This is a critical moment for the mosque. Khalkhal is in danger. I’ll lead the prayer. I know it’s unusual, but this is an emergency. I’d like all of you to stay here afterwards, so we can walk to the bazaar together.’
The House of the Mosque Page 10