The Apostate (10 page)

“I'll help you,” Abra promised, squeezing his hand again. “But don't use the word invention before the imam or Tariq.”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to be offensive,” he said, chastened. He was a fool not to realize citing invention would backfire. To Muslims, it was a divine revelation that came to Mohammed. His contention was true, nonetheless. Religious luminaries of all faiths, Christianity included, subsequently came up with new interpretations of the religion's founders. This was surely another similarity between religions, one conveniently overlooked by many theologians.

“I know,” she said, reaching out to hold his hand again. The warmth from her hand seeped through his being just as her luminous eyes melted his reserve.

“I'll need all the help I can get,” Ray admitted, feeling a deep irony.

“Ray, the board has approved the concept of the Islamic fairy tale book,” Benson said as Ray sat in his office.

“Great!” Ray was exultant. Now things were humming on his job as well as on the social front. Collating his romantic situation with his double life was, as usual, pushed out of the way in his mind as much as possible, even though he now had committed himself to both marriage and conversion to Islam. He decided to mention neither as yet to Benson.

“You're being put in charge of this project. You can start interviewing potential Muslim editors. But be aware the budget for paying one of these writers is on the low side. I know there's a growing Muslim community in the U.S. and general interest to some extent, but the market is still on the small side. It would be a limited first edition, soft cover.”

Ray nodded. These details were less important than the achievement he could show Abra and her devout uncles. Even hard-nosed Tariq might be impressed.

“You can devote all the requisite time to this, but don't neglect your other work.”

“Of course,” Ray said.

“If you have to wine and dine one of these authors, that's fine. But no travel expenses. We're not paying anyone to come to Los Angeles.”

“Understood.”

“As soon as you can, give me an estimate of how many stories and a projected page and word count. Any ideas of a cover, too. And, do you have a title in mind?”

“Not yet,” Ray said. “I want to narrow down the stories and maybe pick out something from one of them.”

“Well, keep me informed. We're thinking of this book for fall next year. Will that be a problem?”

“No,” Ray said. “It shouldn't.”

“Well, get to it then,” Benson said, with a smile.

***

Walking a bit after a quick lunch, Ray reviewed his situation. He was pleased about the book project, but now he worried that he hadn't told Benson about his wedding plans with Abra because it seemed so awkward. He wasn't formally engaged, but there was an understanding. The big thing was that he had to convert first before the nuptials. Benson would be greatly surprised. Everyone would, except Perkins. He wasn't sure at what time to let everyone know. His religious conversion would certainly cast a shadow over his initially proposing the North Africa fairy tale book, but being a Muslim-to-be should pose some advantage. But how could he tell a prospective author/collaborator without first advising his boss?

As he weighed matters in his mind, Ray suddenly felt conscious of seeing the same man twice during his short walk. But when he turned around for a second look, the man was no longer in sight. Who was following him? Someone dispatched by Tariq, or possibly Perkins keeping a close watch on him?

He wasn't alone, in any sense of the word.

The imam regarded Ray with a kind smile as he sat before him in his office. This was going to be a crucial session, Ray knew, as the imam began the conversion process. Hanging in the balance was his entire campaign. Abra was on his side, but he had to convince the imam and, no doubt, Tariq, of his sincerity and avoid any faux pas on his doubts about any organized religion. He was as secular as they came, pretending to be otherwise.

“Abra has informed me that you and she would like to marry,” the imam said. This was hardly news anymore, but evidently the imam thought this was a proper beginning. The imam gazed thoughtfully at him, the infidel suitor. But his eyes were warm unlike the doubtful look that Tariq had bestowed on him.

“I love her.”

“Yes, I believe that,” the imam said. His dark eyes studied Ray for a moment, but in a benevolent way. Not at all like Tariq's obvious suspicion. Abra was also at the complex after hours, no doubt anxious to learn of his first pro-commitment meeting with the imam.

“Now Ray,” the imam began, “there are many things you need to understand. You can't convert just to marry a Muslim girl. You must have a stronger and independent desire to become a Muslim.”

“I understand,” Ray said.

All he could do was to look modest and sincerely interested. The imam, he sensed, would have the innate ability to spot any nefarious design on his part. He wasn't a particularly good actor, but he was supported by his very real love for Abra.

“It's understood that you've shown great interest in Islamic culture, both at college and now at your work. Your newspaper letter came from a fine mind and true heart. We know of your blogs, a word I wouldn't have known some few years ago, thanks to Abra who monitors these things. And we greatly value your efforts to create this book of Islamic fairy tales. We look forward to its publication. All this is to the good, Ray, but then there is another test.”

Ray nodded. One test after another. But he wasn't in college any more, and failing one of these tests could be the greatest setback of his life.

“My desire is sincere, imam. I can't pretend to be passionate about converting. I would seem like a phony to me, and worse, to Abra. But the more I learn about Islam, correcting some misperceptions I had, the more I feel a…well, a kinship…with the purity of the religion, its simplicity, and yet comprehension about the human spirit and condition.”

The imam nodded. “You have the gift of words, something much needed in making America have a better understanding of us. You speak of simplicity, and that is true. It's also a simple matter to convert. When the time comes all you have to do is state your submission, and that you already know that submission to Allah is the core of Islam.”

Ray nodded again. He was familiar with the five pillars of Islam: testimony or submission, daily prayers, works of charity, fasting at Ramadan, and the pilgrimage, if possible, to Mecca, the new Jerusalem while they fought over the old one. He had read a great deal about the conversion process to know what he'd be confronted with, but now that he sat before an actual imam, a dispenser of Islamic wisdom and a man clearly able to discern a lack of conviction, he felt oddly naked.

“You should also realize that, in a sense, you are already a Muslim, so you will be in a state of reversion, not conversion.”

“This I don't understand,” Ray admitted. He had read something of this notion, but it was better to display ignorance than try to show foreknowledge.

The imam nodded as if he expected this reaction. He seemed eager to explain matters to him, Ray thought. A good sign.

“Islam is not, as many think, a new religion. It's the perfection of monotheistic religions, that of the Jews and then the Christians. Mohammed, blessed be he, received the final instruction of Allah for all mankind and for the rest of time until the resurrection.”

“I see,” Ray said. Perfection to him was an elusive claim. Every religion seemed to feel it had an edge in cornering the God market. If the imam knew his thoughts, he'd be summarily dismissed. Resurrection he saw as an invented balm humans created to coat their uncertainty over what happened when they slipped the mortal coil. How Abra would react to his secret mind-set was another matter. She knew, or sensed, that he had a liberal and hardly submissive mind. She was willing to make allowances. But the imam would be far less permissive.

“Ray, can you accept Mohammed as the last prophet, the messenger of Allah?” The imam's face was tenser now, like he was possessed with some spirit spurring him on.

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Can you accept that Jesus Christ was also a prior messenger, and a true prophet, but not the son of God, and just a man with human attributes?”

“I have no problem with that, imam. I've always believed in the historical aspects of Jesus Christ, and his ethical precepts, but not the faith-based miracles and such.”

“Do you believe in heaven and hell?” The imam's eyes bored into him like lasers.

Here he was in danger, Ray thought, forced to declare a great lie. “Yes,” he forced the affirmation from his mouth. Quickly, he gave his explanation. “I believe we are always subject to judgment when alive, and a final judgment after death is something I can accept as a theory.”

The imam frowned. “More than acceptance is required. Belief is needed.”

“Belief will come as I learn and study more,” Ray said, glad he had prepared this pithy statement in advance. So far, only the reversion angle had surprised him. But he had ventured into treacherous ground. Was he going to be asked now if he believed in the return of a Mahdi savior to Earth in a final judgment, the Armageddon where he would defeat the anti-Christ, kill all the Jews, and lead the army of the faithful at the end of the world into a new era of universal peace and salvation? Did he have to accept the belief of many Muslims that America was the beast!

But the imam spared him any of these questions. “If you're willing to study and learn, then we may continue.”

“I'm very happy to study and learn,” Ray said, feeling he was acting like a parrot.

“Then we'll begin with you reading the Qur'an. You will have more questions, and answers will be provided.”

This was fine, Ray thought, as long as he didn't have to memorize sections of the holy scripture as students still did in faraway
madrassahs
. He had already read a good deal of the Qur'an, but probably now his readings would be with more religious analysis involved. Would he be getting homework, he wondered?

“Meanwhile,” the imam went on, “while no formal engagement to Abra can be announced yet, I want you to know that we're eager to accept you into our family.”

The imam bestowed a wide smile as Ray relaxed in his chair. So far, so good. He hadn't tripped over himself or betrayed the widening chasm in his mind.

He was adding to his unwritten business card:

Ray Dancer, Secret Sleeper Agent & Faux Muslim

Ray decided it would be impolite not to accept Tariq's invitation to see his store, and he was impressed with the selection of Middle Eastern items for sale. The window display featured a water pipe, a sculpture of an oryx, a chess set with silver pieces, and several long-stemmed and globular pottery with intricate designs. Inside the store more objects d'art included tapestries, curved scimitars, religious paintings, small elaborately designed rugs, and a great number of fine sculptures and figurines.

“Very attractive objects,” Ray complimented. “Really beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Tariq said. “The store does well, thanks to Allah.”

It had to be divine intervention, Ray thought, noting the high prices for much of the merchandise. Seeing Tariq as a store-keeper and businessman gave him a different and softer impression of Abra's hard-faced uncle.

A tall man with a close-cut crop of white hair came in the store. He wore a business suit and a tie.

“Ah,” Tariq said, “here is a man I often buy from.”

Tariq introduced Ray to Hassan Ezbek. “Ray is seeing my niece, Abra,” Tariq explained.

“Then you are most fortunate,” Ezbek said. Ezbek had an oily voice, Ray thought, but his smile seemed sincere enough. He was a man in his mid to late thirties, with an angular face marked by a scar on his lower right cheek. According to Tariq, he was a Yemeni from the capital, Sanaa. An immediate suspicion crossed Ray's mind: was this man once, or even now, a family-favored suitor for Abra's hand?

“I consider myself so,” Ray said. Could Abra ever really have considered marrying this man? Would she then have moved to Yemen and started wearing a
burka
? No way, Ray decided for Abra. If his imaginings were correct, then she must have rejected Ezbek, a Muslim, and perhaps her family's wishes.

“And Ray is converting to Islam,” Tariq went on as if he were responsible for this decision on the part of Ray.

“I'm doubly fortunate,” Ray said.

“Indeed,” Ezbek said. “May Allah bless you.”

Such pleasantries were normal among Arabs, Ray knew, and he had enough practice now that he could show the requisite politeness and utter the usual elliptical expressions with aplomb. Polite smiles abounded, hiding no doubt many secrets, including his own. Ezbek spoke English well with only a slight accent.

“Let's have tea,” Tariq exclaimed.

***

After some desultory conversation Tariq suddenly reminded himself of something he had to do back at the store, which was just down the block from the café where they sat at an outdoor table.

“Please stay,” Tariq requested, standing. “The bill is taken care of. I have an account here.”

“You have the time?” Ezbek asked Ray as if he only expected a positive answer. His smile vanished almost as soon as it appeared. His front teeth were crooked, though clean-looking.

“Certainly,” Ray said. It would be impolite to say otherwise, though he was beginning to suspect Tariq had set up this meeting. But if so, why?

The answer wasn't long in coming.

“So,” Ezbek said, as if evaluating a piece of human merchandise. “You are familiar with all our causes?”

“Yes,” Ray said warily.

Ezbek gave him a conspiratorial look as if confiding in a newfound associate. “Let me confess, Ray. Tariq has told me something about you.”