The House of the Mosque Read Free Page A

house of the mosque?”’
    ‘I’ll fix it so that nobody will be able to see it.’
    Shahbal’s request had taken Aqa Jaan by surprise. The boy knew what their position was on certain issues, but he dared to stand up for what he thought was right. It was a trait that Aqa Jaan had noted earlier in Shahbal. He admired his nephew for it.
    Aqa Jaan had two daughters and a son, who was five years younger than Shahbal. And yet when he looked at Shahbal, he saw in him the man who would later take his place at the bazaar.
    He tried to involve Shahbal in the important affairs of the house. He loved him like a son and was raising him to follow in his footsteps.
    After school Shahbal always went directly to his uncle’s office, where Aqa Jaan told him about the latest developments in the bazaar and discussed the decisions he had taken or was about to take and asked him for advice.
    Now, though, Shahbal had broached the subject of the television and the moon. Aqa Jaan suspected that the idea had been planted in his mind by Nosrat, Aqa Jaan’s youngest brother, who lived in Tehran.
    After Aqa Jaan and Shahbal got back to the house, Aqa Jaan said to the grandmothers, ‘I’ll have my dinner in the library with the imam. I need to talk to him. Make sure we’re not disturbed.’
    He went to the library and found the imam on the floor, sitting on his carpet and reading a book. Aqa Jaan sat down beside him and asked him what he was reading.
    ‘A book about Khadijah, the wife of Muhammad. She owned three thousand camels – the equivalent of three thousand delivery vans in today’s terms. Undreamt-of wealth. It makes sense to me now: Muhammad was young and poor, Khadijah was old and rich. Muhammad needed her camels – her vans – to launch his mission,’ said the imam, smiling.
    ‘That’s no way to talk about the Prophet!’ Aqa Jaan said.
    ‘Why not? Women were attracted to him, so why did he choose the widow Khadijah? She was nearly twenty years older than he was.’
    The grandmothers came in with two round trays, set them down on the floor in front of the men and went out again.
    ‘Shahbal has been talking to me about the moon,’ Aqa Jaan said as they ate. ‘He thinks you ought to look at it.’
    ‘At the moon?’ said the imam.
    ‘He says that the imam of this city ought to be aware of the developments in this country and around the world. He objects to the fact that you don’t read a newspaper, that you read nothing but the old books in your library.’
    The imam took off his glasses and wiped them casually on the tail of his long white shirt. ‘Shahbal has already told me all of this,’ he said.
    ‘Listen, his criticism is directed at me as well as you. In recent years we’ve focused entirely on religion. The mosque should introduce other topics as well, such as the men who will be walking on the moon tonight.’
    ‘That’s a lot of rubbish,’ the imam said.
    ‘Shahbal thinks you ought to watch. He wants to bring a television in here.’
    ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Aqa Jaan?’
    ‘He’s bright, and I trust him. As you know, he’s a good boy. It’ll be our little secret. It won’t take long. He’ll remove the television the moment the programme is over.’
    ‘But if the ayatollahs in Qom find out we had a television in our house, they’ll—’
    ‘Nobody’s going to find out. It’s our house and our city. We can decide how we do things here. The boy’s right: almost everyone who comes to our mosque has a television. And although it’s taboo in this house, we mustn’t lock ourselves inside and close our eyes to what’s happening in the world.’
    The grandmothers watched from behind the kitchen curtains as Shahbal stole through the darkness and carried a box into the library.
    Shahbal greeted the imam and Aqa Jaan. Then, ignoring their curious stares, he took a portable television out of the box and placed it on a table by the wall. Next he took out a long cable, plugged one end of it