The House of the Mosque

Lizard

Lizard was now a year old. He crawled over to the hauz and played with the water. It was the first time he’d ever ventured so far from his room.

In the beginning everyone used to watch him like a hawk, but after a while no one paid any attention to him. He stared into the water at the red fish, who stared back at him with their blank eyes. Lizard opened and shut his mouth in imitation of the fish, then giggled. He was happy. He crawled closer and suddenly fell into the water.

Everyone was stunned. Sadiq ran over and tried to pull him out, but Lizard didn’t want to go. Instead, he paddled through the water, chasing the fish. So Shahbal stepped into the hauz, scooped him up and handed him to Sadiq, who carried the crying child to her room.

Owing to a congenital spinal defect, Lizard was unable to sit up, but he grew quickly and started exploring his surroundings at an early age. He often crawled under the bed and under the blankets like a giant lizard. It didn’t take him long to find his way to the courtyard, where he liked to crawl between the plants in the garden. Later they discovered that Lizard was unable to talk.

Aqa Jaan’s children didn’t want him coming into their rooms and crawling under the blankets, so they began to lock their doors. They found him repulsive and were ashamed of their feelings, but it was hard to shake them off. It took time to adjust to his deformity, to get used to holding a child who looked more like a reptile than a human being.

Still, Lizard had his own favourites: the moment he saw Am Ramazan, he would crawl over to him as fast as he could. Then Am Ramazan would pick him up, put him on his shoulders and walk around the courtyard, pointing out the flowers, the trees, the crow, the cats.

Lizard also felt at ease with Muezzin. He liked to crawl across his room and lie under his bed.

‘Is that you, my boy, or is it the cat?’ Muezzin always said with a laugh.

Lizard would hand Muezzin his walking stick. It was his way of saying he wanted to go for a walk, so Muezzin would stroll around the courtyard, with Lizard crawling along behind.

Nobody knew how he got his nickname. Aqa Jaan had forbidden his children to call him ‘Lizard’, but it suited him so well that it had stuck.

Officially his name was Sayyid Mohammad, but he didn’t respond when he was called that. He only crawled over to those who called him ‘Lizard’.

He was a creature who was closer to the world of cats, chickens and fish than to the world of people. Everyone had accepted this fact. Even his mother had stopped fighting it and resigned herself to her fate.

Khalkhal had disappeared from their lives but come back in the form of Lizard, who had his father’s face. Lizard crawled into Sadiq’s bed and tugged at her to get her attention. She didn’t want him, but she had no choice. He was her child.

The day that Lizard fell into the hauz turned out to be an important day in the history of the house.

Ahmad, the son of the late Alsaberi, had finally completed his imam training in Qom and had come home to assume his father’s position.

In a few days he would be installed as the imam of the mosque. The entire family had gathered for this once-in-a-lifetime event. It would be the beginning of a new era in Senejan, as the relationship between the mosque and the bazaar was bound to change. Everyone was curious to see how the mosque would fare under Ahmad’s leadership.

Last week Aqa Jaan had gone to Qom to attend Ahmad’s ‘robe presentation’ and had spent the night, so that he and Ahmad could have a quiet talk about his installation ceremony and his future duties.

Ahmad’s inexperience was obvious to Aqa Jaan. But he was a handsome young imam who dressed neatly, carried himself erectly, doused himself with cologne and wore a modish turban.

He also had a powerful voice, a good delivery and a natural gift for reciting the melodious Koran passages by heart. Time would tell how competent he was in other matters.

Ahmad arrived with his suitcase the night before the festivities. Aqa Jaan immediately took him into the library to discuss his speech, but Ahmad had other priorities. He laid his suitcase on the table, unlocked it, took out his beautiful new imam robe and looked around for a place to hang it up. ‘Why isn’t there a coat-hook?’ he asked, annoyed.

‘You can hang it in your bedroom,’ Aqa Jaan replied.

Ahmad jammed a pencil between two bookcases and hung his robe on that. Then he began to unpack his suitcase. ‘Where can I put my clothes?’ he said. ‘I’ll need a chest of drawers in the library.’

‘You can keep your personal belongings in your bedroom,’ Aqa Jaan patiently reiterated.

‘I want my things in here,’ Ahmad said.

Aqa Jaan realised that this wasn’t a good time to go over Ahmad’s speech.

‘I think you need to rest. I’ll talk to you tomorrow in my study,’ he said and left.

Late that night he wrote in his journal: ‘The new imam begins tomorrow. Ahmad has arrived, and I can see from the way he behaves that times have changed. He’s very different from his father and the other imams I’ve known. I mustn’t doubt his abilities. After all, he’s young and has a lot to learn. One thing I can say with absolute certainty, however, is that we now have a charming imam in our house. I like him and I am curious to see where he’ll lead us.’

On Friday the bazaar closed at ten o’clock, and thousands of people flocked to the mosque for the special prayer service. The installation of a new imam was a simple, yet festive, occasion. The prayer was to be held outdoors, so dozens of rugs had already been spread on the ground.

Policemen were patrolling the area, and vans filled with armed soldiers were parked in the side streets. This level of security was unusual for Senejan, but during the last two or three years the situation in Iran had changed drastically. Students at the University of Tehran were demonstrating against the shah and chanting ‘Down with America!’ The regime was afraid that riots could break out at any moment.

Aqa Jaan went through the details with Ahmad for the last time, put on his hat and left for the mosque.

‘May your day be blessed!’ exclaimed his neighbour, Hajji Shishegar, who was also going to the mosque with his twins.

‘God willing!’ Aqa Jaan cheerily replied.

‘If there’s anything I can do for you today, I’m at your service,’ said the hajji.

‘Thanks, but everything’s been taken care of. How are the twins?’

‘Children grow up so fast these days!’ he said. ‘Your son too.’

‘That’s true. Jawad is now a young man.’

Aqa Jaan caught sight of Crazy Qodsi. ‘It’s good to see you again, Qodsi,’ he said. ‘Is your mother coming today?’

‘She bought a new black chador especially for the occasion.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing her,’ Aqa Jaan said.

‘But she’s not coming.’

‘Why not?’

‘She can’t find her new chador,’ Qodsi said.

‘Has she lost it already? Or did you hide it from her?’ he asked, smiling.

‘No, I didn’t hide it.’

‘Then where is it?’

‘I don’t know. She was up all night looking for it, but she couldn’t find it anywhere.’

‘I’m sure it will turn up and she’ll be able to come,’ Aqa Jaan said, and he started to walk off.

‘That crazy Moshiri girl likes to go down the street with her bare bottom hanging out,’ Qodsi whispered. ‘She did it again last night.’

‘I tell you what. Why don’t you go into the house?’ Aqa Jaan said to her. ‘Ahmad has just put on his new robe. He’ll give you a few copper coins. Go on, go!’

Qodsi walked off towards the house and Aqa Jaan went into the street, where a large crowd was waiting for the ceremony to begin.

A man shouldering a film camera broke away from the crowd and aimed his lens at Aqa Jaan. ‘You’re looking elegant in your hat and navy-blue pinstripe suit,’ the cameraman remarked.

‘Nosrat, is that you?’ Aqa Jaan exclaimed delightedly. ‘I’m so happy! I didn’t think you’d make it. When did you get here?’

‘I just got in. I took the night train.’

The deputy mayor shook Aqa Jaan’s hand and offered his congratulations.

‘What are those military vehicles doing here?’ Aqa Jaan demanded.

‘They lend importance to the ceremony,’ the deputy mayor replied. Together he and Aqa Jaan walked over to the door of the mosque, to greet the chief constable, the head of the gendarmerie, the provincial officials, the director of the hospital and the headmasters of the local schools.

Nosrat trailed behind Aqa Jaan, filming everything. Aqa Jaan was pleased to see that the city officials had turned out in full force, though he was a bit surprised. In the old days they would have shown up as a matter of course, but in recent years they rarely bothered to attend functions at the mosque. Oddly enough, he didn’t recognise a single one of them; all of the faces were new.

Nosrat filmed Aqa Jaan talking to the chief constable. Suddenly Crazy Qodsi tugged at his sleeve. ‘My mother can’t come,’ she whispered in Aqa Jaan’s ear. ‘Someone stole her black chador, and the Moshiri girl likes to go down the street with her bare bottom hanging out.’

Aqa Jaan motioned to his nephew. ‘Shahbal, will you see to it that Qodsi joins the other women?’

In the distance he spotted a procession of black Mercedes-Benzes. He signalled to Muezzin, letting him know that the elderly Ayatollah Golpaygani would be arriving shortly.

‘Allahu akbar!’ Muezzin sang out. And the crowd responded: ‘Salla ala Mohammad wa ale Mohammad! Blessed be Muhammad and the House of Muhammad!’

Nosrat went up to the roof so he could film the welcoming ceremony from above.

Ayatollah Golpaygani was one of the most influential ayatollahs in the nation. He had come specially from Qom to solemnise Ahmad’s installation as the imam of the mosque.

Aqa Jaan, the municipal representatives and a group of schoolchildren stepped forward and officially welcomed the ayatollah. Aqa Jaan helped him out of the car, handed him his walking stick, kissed him and offered him his arm, to escort him to the special chair reserved for him.

Suddenly Qodsi was standing beside him.

‘Shahbal!’ Aqa Jaan called, annoyed. Qodsi, protesting loudly, was once more led away by Shahbal.

Now that the ayatollah had arrived, the ceremony could begin. Ahmad, accompanied by six young imams, came out and stood on the doorstep.

‘Allahu akbar!’ Muezzin shouted.

‘Allahu akbar!’ the crowd repeated after him.

Ahmad and his escorts went up to the ayatollah, knelt before him and solemnly kissed his hand. The ayatollah placed his hand on Ahmad’s black turban and chanted:

Qol, a‘uuthu be-rabb-elfalaq,

Men sharre ma khalaqa…

I seek refuge with the maker of the dawn,

From the evil of the night,

As darkness falls,

And from the evil of the women

Who blow on knots.

Aqa Jaan handed him the ceremonial robe, which he had brought up from the treasure room. It was covered with precious gems. For centuries it had been worn at the installation of every imam in the family.

After donning the robe, Ahmad strode over to an ancient prayer rug. Aqa Jaan and Ayatollah Golpaygani went over and stood behind him, and the crowd moved along with them.

‘Allahu akbar!’ Muezzin repeated.

Ahmad turned towards Mecca and began his first official prayer.

At that exact moment a young woman wearing a brand-new black chador and a pair of red high heels emerged from the alley. She made a beeline for Ahmad and stopped a few feet in front of him.

Aqa Jaan saw her and wished he could shoo her away, but it wouldn’t be right for him to interrupt his prayer.

The woman lifted up her chador and stuck out her right leg. It was bare.

Ahmad closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his prayer.

‘Allahu akbar!’ Aqa Jaan said loudly, hoping it would scare her into leaving. It didn’t. Instead, she suddenly twirled around, so that her black chador flew up and revealed not only her bare legs, but also her bare bottom!

‘Allahu akbar!’ Aqa Jaan exclaimed.

Ayatollah Golpaygani had his eyes closed and was so wrapped up in his prayer that he didn’t see it. Only when Aqa Jaan cried ‘Allahu akbar!’ for the third time did he open his eyes. But since he wasn’t wearing his glasses, he saw little more than a black blur.

The woman lowered her chador to her bare breasts and twirled again, looking incredibly proud. Aqa Jaan, now forced to break off his prayer, went over to her and was about to pull her chador back over her head when she suddenly flung it to the ground and ran naked into the crowd. Aqa Jaan bounded after her and grabbed her round the waist. Shahbal picked up her chador and threw it to him. He caught it in mid-air and wrapped it around her in one smooth motion. Then he called his wife: ‘Fakhri!’

Fakhri Sadat, already hurrying to his side, led the woman over to the women’s section.

Thanks to Ahmad, who had maintained his composure throughout, the prayer continued, and the crowd followed him.

But now that Aqa Jaan had touched a naked woman, he wasn’t allowed to finish his prayer. He went into the courtyard and over to the hauz. He, who had never even looked at another woman, had held that naked woman round the waist. He could still feel the warmth of her soft breasts on his hand. He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, knelt by the hauz and plunged his hands up to his elbows in the cool water.

It wasn’t enough. He leaned forward, stuck his head under the water and held it there for a long time. Then he came back up, took a deep breath, got to his feet, dried his face on a handkerchief, put on his coat and calmly rejoined the crowd.

Nosrat had filmed the entire incident.