The Devil Is a Black Dog by Sandor Jaszberenyi Read Free Book Online

“Peace be upon you,” if we happened to meet at the market.
    I didn’t want to be late. Abdelkarim had calmed the terrorstricken crowd, and invited them to an assembly so they could discuss the case of the wild animal that was hunting among the hills. The men were already gathering. I fastened my belt, adjusted the
jambia
, the traditional dagger, and began down the stairs. By the time I got to the courtyard, everybody had already gone into the mosque. Only the clatter of the rifles that were hung on wall hooks could be heard in the wind. Abdelkarim didn’t allow firearms in the mosque. I quickened my pace and took off my shoes. Inside sat about seventy men, loudly arguing. Abdelkarim waved me over.
    I sat next to my host and quietly observed as some men squabbled, while others took to examining the corpse. They all agreed that whatever animal had done this to the shepherd needed to be hunted down. The town butcher, a mustached, potbellied man named Badr al-Din, shouted loudly that they should start for the hills at once, because “every lost hour is a waste.” Many approved of his plan, though others thought it was a trap. A heated argument arose, with urgent gesticulations followed by many threats: exactly how Arabs typically argue. Abdelkarim strained to keep the tenor calm.
    The ruckus lasted until Khaldun, a fifty-year-old, one-eyed mujahid, stood up. He wore a gray jellabiya and a long black scarf around his neck. His beard fell the length of his chest and his one good eye shined white with light. The old man had fought in the battle for Marjah, on the Afghani Taliban side. There he had lost his eye in a rocket attack; at least that’s what he told Abdelkarim. They were old adversaries, because he believed my host was too lenient in questions of faith. He didn’t go to Friday prayers in themosque, preferring to pray at home, with the followers he came across in the town. He only attended the assemblies.
    The old mujahid waited quietly for a few moments, casting his gaze over the others until they fell silent.
    “Is it not possible that because of our guilt God has punished us?” he asked those gathered, his voice rising.
    A shadow of worry passed over Abdelkarim’s face. The room had gone totally quiet.
    “We need to think about why he is punishing us with such a grave blow,” the old man put forth.
    “My respected Khaldun,” said Abdelkarim, his voice stiffer than usual, “I note your concern, but the signs are unequivocal. A wild animal is hunting in the hills. Because it is night, and its tracks will be hard to follow, I suggest we set a trap tomorrow.”
    Many of the men voiced their approval.
    Khaldun’s face tightened, but he sat back down without another word. Badr al-Din offered to hunt down the beast himself, along with his boy. The produce seller, Safiy-Allah, also volunteered.
    Finally, they decided that at dawn, after the Fajr prayer, the small party would leave for the hills.
    I turned toward Abdelkarim and asked if I could go with the hunters. I wanted to see the hills again, and the desolate countryside. My host nodded, and said loudly, “Our foreign brother is volunteering to help with the wild animal’s killing.”
    His announcement wasn’t greeted with undivided enthusiasm. I saw old Khaldun shake his head disapprovingly, and look at me with spite. He hated everything and everybody from the West. To him, I was vice on two feet.
    Badr al-Din decided the question. “Every bit of help is useful, from wherever it arrives. We agree to wait for our foreign brother in front of the mosque tomorrow morning,” he said and, moreover, he appeared convinced that they really did need my help. The assembly, as always, ended with communal prayer.
    I couldn’t sleep from excitement, and by daybreak I was in the prayer room, ready to go. Abdelkarim and I repeated the Fajr prayer, and then went out to the front of the mosque. The street was empty. We stood shivering wordlessly next to each other,