Free The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah

on the forehead and covered him up again.
    Suddenly Zinat appeared in the doorway. Weeping, her face pale, she threw herself onto her husband’s body.
    The grandmothers helped her up and led her away.
    Voices could be heard from the courtyard. People had hurried out of the mosque to see what was happening.
    Aqa Jaan left the library and went to the courtyard. The news had travelled fast. Some men were already there with a coffin, which they carried over to the hauz . The imam’s body was laid inside and taken to the mosque.
    Seven men went up to the roof and cried in unison, ‘ Hayye ale as-salat! ’
    Everyone who heard this call to prayer realised that the imam was dead. Every shopkeeper in the city, except for the bakers and the pharmacists, shut their doors and came to the mosque. A long line of police vehicles drove up, and the mayor’s car drew up outside the mosque.
    It was a blessed death, everyone said, because Alsaberi died on the same day as the holy Ali.
    At nine o’clock that evening the coffin was placed on a catafalque by the mosque’s hauz . It had been decided to leave the body there until the following day, so that people could pay their respects, and relatives who lived far away would have time to get to the funeral.
    Aqa Jaan went back to the house. Before morning, he had to find an imam to lead the prayer for the dead. The most logical choice was Ahmad, Alsaberi’s son and intended successor, but Ahmad hadn’t completed his training. The other obvious person was the imam’s son-in-law, but Aqa Jaan didn’t have Khalkhal’s address or phone number. Nor could he be sure that Khalkhal would arrive on time.
    ‘We need him early tomorrow morning,’ Aqa Jaan told Shahbal.
    ‘We also need to find Sadiq. She should be told of her father’s death,’ Shahbal replied.
    ‘I’ll do what I can. I’ll phone Ayatollah Almakki in Qom. This is Khalkhal’s chance to show himself in a good light. The whole town will be here, and they’re all anxious to meet him. I’ll call everyone I know in Qom.’
    The next morning Aqa Jaan went to the mosque to finalise the details. Thousands of people would soon be pouring in from the surrounding villages, so it was essential to have an imam of some standing to lead the prayer. To be on the safe side he’d sent a message to the imam in the village of Jirya, who normally substituted for Alsaberi, and warned him to be prepared.
    Aqa Jaan was talking to the caretaker when a taxi pulled up in front of the mosque. Straightaway he recognised Khalkhal’s black turban and saw Sadiq.
    Khalkhal got out, came over to Aqa Jaan, offered his condolences and briefly bowed his head.
    Aqa Jaan interpreted his bow as a gesture of reconciliation and an acknowledgement of Aqa Jaan’s loyalty to the mosque. Ever since Khalkhal had shown up at the wedding without the necessary documents and Aqa Jaan had made him go to Qom to fetch them, Khalkhal had avoided him. Now he had bowed his head. Aqa Jaan therefore replied, ‘I’m proud of you, and I’d like you to be the imam of this mosque until Ahmad is ready to follow in his father’s footsteps. Do you accept this offer?’
    ‘Yes, I do,’ said Khalkhal.
    Aqa Jaan kissed Khalkhal’s turban, and Khalkhal kissed Aqa Jaan’s shoulder in return.
    ‘Go inside and get some rest. The men from the bazaar will come for you shortly. Shahbal will let you know when it’s time.’
    It was busy in the house. Many of the guests had already arrived. The grandmothers were bustling about, making sure everything was in order. The moment they saw Khalkhal, they rushed into the kitchen to fetch the traditional symbols – a mirror, red apples and a fire – so he could be properly welcomed to the house as an imam.
    At noon carpets were laid on the street in front of the mosque so people could pray. Alsaberi’s coffin was carried out and placed on a silk rug. Thousands of people were gathered outside, waiting for Khalkhal to appear. A group of the