The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah Read Free Book Online Page B

clean-shaven face and dashing hat would ever guess that you could reel off the entire Koran by heart!’
    The imam was sitting in the library as usual. Soon – after everyone had arrived – he would put in a brief appearance and then go back to his books.
    The celebration had begun. The invited guests and the city’s most influential men came trickling in. The men stayed on the right side of the courtyard, beneath the cedar tree, sitting on chairs grouped around the hauz , while the women went behind the curtain and sat in the beautiful, fragrant garden – the pride of the gardener, Am Ramazan. None of the guests had brought their children, which was unusual. Children were normally welcome at weddings, but this was such a distinguished gathering that they had not been invited.
    The guests were served tea and the very best pastries. Both men and women had rosewater sprinkled on their hands.
    All of those present – especially the women – were curious to see Khalkhal.
    A car drew up to the door. The mayor stepped out and was welcomed to the house by Aqa Jaan. The men stood up when he came into the courtyard and waited until he had seated himself by the hauz before sitting down again.
    A second car drew up to the door. This one, as they all knew, contained the groom. Aqa Jaan welcomed Khalkhal and led him over to the place of honour by the mayor.
    The mayor stood up to offer his congratulations, but the groom looked right past him, as if he hadn’t seen him and didn’t know who he was. To Khalkhal, the mayor was a lackey of the shah. He refused to sit next to him, much less shake hands with him.
    The mayor sat down again and no one commented on the incident. Aqa Jaan had been so busy talking to someone that he hadn’t even noticed the snub.
    At three o’clock the man from the registry office arrived with two bearded assistants, each of whom was carrying a ledger. They sat at the table where the marriage certificate was to be signed and opened their ledgers. The official part of the ceremony could begin.
    Just then shouts arose from the women on the other side of the curtain. ‘ Salaam bar Fatima! ’ they cried. ‘Greetings to Fatima!’
    This signalled the arrival of the bride. She sat down at the table where the registry clerks were busy writing in their ledgers.
    The bride was more beautiful than ever. She was wearing a pale green chador with pink flowers over a milky-white gown. Her eyebrows had been carefully plucked, and she was wearing mascara, so that she looked more like a young woman than a girl.
    The registry clerk asked for the bride’s birth certificate. Aqa Jaan reached into his inside pocket, took out the document and handed it to him. The clerk meticulously noted the details in his ledger, then asked the groom for his birth certificate.
    Khalkhal checked his pockets, one by one, but came up empty-handed every time. He and his father had a whispered exchange, after which he rummaged through his overnight bag. All eyes were glued on the groom, as everyone waited for him to produce the certificate.
    ‘I forgot to bring it,’ Khalkhal said.
    Horrified gasps were heard from the women on the other side of the curtain. This was an extraordinary situation.
    The registry clerk thought for a moment, then said, ‘Do you have any other form of identification?’
    Khalkhal checked his pockets again, and he and his father had another whispered exchange. No, he didn’t have any kind of identification with him.
    A scandalised buzz broke out on both sides of the curtain.
    Aqa Jaan looked at the mayor and read the mistrust in his eyes. He looked at several of the bazaar’s leading merchants. Everywhere he looked he saw disapproval. How could Khalkhal have forgotten to bring the necessary documents to his wedding? Everyone was waiting to see how Aqa Jaan would react. He suspected that Khalkhal had left his identification papers at home on purpose, hoping to force the family into letting their daughter marry him