The Apostate (13 page)

“That should be their choice,” the imam said with authority. “The government shouldn't impose different rules for different faiths. We're opposed to this shameful new law in France forbidding Islamic women from honoring their religion.”

“Again, forgive me, imam, but do you advocate a stricter dress code for Muslim women? I saw nothing about this in the Qur'an.”

“We advocate only choice,” the imam said, not at all irritated by Ray citing the Qur'an, which he had been instructed to carefully read. “Many in this country call for women to have choice over abortion, a procedure we condemn unless it's to save the life of the woman. Why should there be less choice for how a proud Muslim woman dresses?”

“I see.”

“Ray, it's important that you do truly see,” the imam stressed, leaning forward. “We see excesses in how women dress, in public, on television, and in movies. We find the flaunting of bare body parts to be obscene and distasteful. And this is a message you will be expected to deliver.”

The imam gave Ray a stern look. No diversion from dogma, Ray saw, was likely to really be tolerated despite more liberal sounding words.

“I understand,” Ray said. “May I ask then about honor killings? They're not in the Qur'an either, are they?”

“No,” the imam said, frowning this time. “It's a practice that developed centuries ago among less educated Muslims, and with more education it will end. We don't support it, and it's certainly not something that happens in our country.”

This wasn't strictly true, Ray thought. Every once in a while there was a U.S.-based story on this tragic subject. Pakistanis still committed honor killings in their nation, and the same was doubtlessly true in other Islamic nations as well. But he didn't want to challenge the imam, and he appreciated the way he said
our country
.

“What about the building of mosques? Do you criticize the objections of some communities to have a mosque built in their area?”

For a moment the imam's eyes flashed with resentment. “Yes, most assuredly. The furor in New York City on this issue was an abomination. Wherever Muslims live they should be allowed to erect their place of worship. Isn't this the American way?”

“It should be,” Ray said. Of course, if the mosque was used as a recruiting area for terrorists, that was another matter. But it would be too provocative to bring this aspect up to the imam. Once he had formally converted, and began praying in the mosque at the complex, he'd get a better idea. But thus far he hadn't detected any drive to recruit American Muslims for acts of terrorism, domestically or abroad. However, what Tariq was up to was still unknown.

“I have to ask this, imam,” Ray apologized in advance. “It's a question that's certain to come up and I want to be ready with an answer. Many Americans, and non-Muslims around the world for that matter, connect Muslims with violence. They think the Qur'an actually supports violence.”

The imam's face clouded for a moment, and Ray was afraid he had gone too far. But having started he felt compelled to finish his point. “I've been reading the Qur'an as you said to and I found this passage, which I printed.”

Ray took a folded sheet from his back pocket. “It's from chapter 2, verses: 190-193. I copied some parts down, not all of it.

Fight in the cause of Allah those who fight against you, but do not exceed the limits. Kill them wherever they confront you in combat and drive them out of the places from which they have driven you. Fight against them until there is no more disorder and Allah's supremacy is established.

Ray looked up for an instant and saw the imam staring at him with a resigned look. There was no going back now and he continued reading his odd homework. If he was overplaying his cards, so be it.

“And verse 2:216:

Fighting has been obligatory for you, much to your dislike. It is possible that something you do not like is good for you and that something you love is bad for you. Allah knows and you do not know.”

“This is true,” the imam said in a composed tone.

“May I continue?” Ray asked, afraid of the answer. There was a difference between being inquisitive and insolent, and he wasn't sure where he stood.

“Of course,” the imam said.

“Verse 3:4:

Surely those who reject Allah's revelations will be sternly punished
.

And Verse 3:19:

Surely the only true religion in the sight of Allah is Islam. The— the unbeliever—should know that Allah is swift in calling to account those who deny his revelations.
”

The imam waited a moment to be sure Ray had finished. Then he said, “Don't the Christians and Jews believe their religion is the true one?”

“Yes, but violence isn't called for as these verses suggest.”

“What were the crusades if not religious violence? Didn't the Old Testament have the god the Jews worshipped tell them to slaughter all the inhabitants of Jericho?”

The imam regarded him with a forgiving smile as if he had missed a salient element of his education.

Ray nodded. The imam had him there. There was no shortage of violence in scriptures or history by any religion. What religion hadn't brought about, and still generated, death and destruction? As far as he was concerned proponents of religion caused more deaths than any other force in history. He could challenge the imam further on this score, but Ray sensed he had gone far enough on this issue. Bringing up the part that others probably played in composing the Qur'an after the death of the prophet would also be too much, even though he had read there were some forty versions of this holy document with seven supposedly official. The apostles had done some editing about Jesus and his life and death and so did later Christian religious luminaries, so why should the Islamic faith be different?

“One last question, imam, if I may. It's relatively simple for a sincere person to convert or revert to Islam, but why is the penalty for leaving the faith, death. I ask not for myself, for once I'm a Muslim, I will always be a Muslim. But it does seem like a harsh practice.”

The imam nodded grimly. “We measure souls by their sincerity.”

“Can't a man or woman have a sincere change of heart? Christians and Jews don't seek to kill anyone who leave their faith. Why is Islam different? This is a question that always comes up.”

“Yes, I know,” the imam admitted. “But realize that no American Muslim has suffered this fate.”

“But it is in the Qur'an.”

“Yes. But there are many biblical injunctions in the Old and New Testaments that aren't followed today. This stricture, too, is more apparent by word than deed.”

Not in Pakistan, Ray thought. But they were discussing the U.S., and he had to stay on course.

“What about divorce?”

“What about it?” the imam questioned. “We follow the laws of the United States. Nor, as Catholic bishops have done, do we ask our people to vote or not to vote for one candidate.”

This was true, Ray conceded, impressed that the imam seemed open-minded on many subjects though obdurate on some issues. “Can you foresee a Muslim president?”

“Why not?” the imam said with a flourish. “We elected a Catholic, almost a Jew as vice president, and then a black man as president. Even a woman was a possible candidate. A Mormon wants to be president. Why should an American Muslim not be a candidate some day?”

“Absolutely,” Ray chimed in. The imam certainly knew his contemporary political history. He wondered who the imam had voted for in the last presidential election, assuming he had voted at all. But asking this question would surely be too presumptuous.

“What about cartoons that seem disrespectful?”

“Like the Danish ones?” the imam said. “Yes, we demand respect for Mohammed, blessed be the prophet. It's akin to the showing of breasts, buttocks and pubic hair in movies. How far should one be allowed to go in mocking another person's religion? We're not unreasonable in expecting respect for our prophet no matter how Christ or Moses is treated. Might it not be better if our values were accepted?”

“It probably would,” Ray lied again. Destroying property and issuing a
fatwa
was disproportionate to what was considered the original offence. He wondered what Tariq's answers would be to the same questions he had posed to the imam. Meanwhile, he was being groomed to be a spokesman for conversion at the same time that he had already been prepared for an entirely different pursuit.

“The Israel-Palestine problem is bound to come up,” Ray said. “Please advise me how to respond.”

The imam opened a desk drawer and took out a page held in cellophane. He carefully extracted the paper and handed it to Ray. “This is what David Ben-Gurion, the great Israeli leader, once said. Perhaps it will help your understanding of this most vexing problem.”

Holding the document carefully, Ray read:

Why should the Arabs make peace? If I was an Arab leader I would never make terms with Israel. That is natural. We have taken their country. Sure, God promised it to us, but what does this matter to them? Our God is not theirs. We come from Israel, it's true, but two thousand years ago, and what is that to them? There has been anti-Semitism, the Nazis, Hitler, Auschwitz, but was that their fault? They only see one thing: We have come here and stolen their country. Why should they accept that?

Ray looked up into the imam's searching eyes. The imam asked, “Does this declaration clarify the ongoing Palestinian struggle?”

“Thank you, imam,” Ray said, nodding. “This is indeed revealing and quite useful. But please permit a follow-up question. What about killing innocent women and children, and not soldiers, in all the terrorist attacks?”

“All loss of life is regretted, and there have been excesses on both sides,” the imam said with no recognition that he was being both sanctimonious and disingenuous.

“And suicide attacks?” He was expanding the envelope of reasonable curiosity, but he might never have a better opportunity.

The imam shook his head. “Many passions have been unleashed. Suicide attacks are wrong. And many, as you know, have Muslims killing Muslims. Many tragedies.”

Ray was about to continue when the imam looked at his watch. “It's nearly time for evening prayers. We've gone far enough for today.”

“I hope I haven't said anything offensive in any way?” Ray said with a contrite expression.

“Not at all,” the imam said, with another of his broad smiles. “The discussion has been most interesting.”

An-a mushkooroon
. I mean to say I am thankful.”

“I understand,” the imam said, smiling. “Your Arabic needs work. I'll tell Abra.”

If he didn't know better Ray thought the imam almost winked. If he had been bothered by any of his difficult questions, the imam covered it up well.

Full speed ahead, Ray Dancer, American Muslim and spy!

“Do you want to talk to someone who can really give you something to say in one of your blogs?”

Ray didn't know what to make of this question over the phone. It was a man calling, but he didn't recognize the voice.

“Who is this?” Ray asked. He looked at his watch. It was already past 9:00 p.m.

“A Muslim like you. My name is Mehdi Aliq.”

“How did you get my phone number?”

“Please, Mr. Dancer, this is not difficult.”

“Why don't you just post yourself?”

“I have, but I'm not talking about myself,” Mehdi said. “I can put you in touch with an American-born man who has fought as a
mujahideen
in both Iraq and Afghanistan. What he has to say will be most interesting for you.”

A
mujahideen
, Ray thought with mounting interest. He could meet an Islamic warrior fighting
jihad
. But he had to be careful. “And why can't he post?”

“Because he wants to stay free. The same reason he can't phone himself. ”

“I see.” Ray deliberated whether to just hang-up. Maybe it was just a crank call. Or was it a set-up? If so, by whom? A strange phone call from a stranger with an odd proposal didn't sit well. But his sense of curiosity propelled him to stay on the line.

“Mr. Dancer, let me assure you, there is no danger for you. This would be a simple meeting. It just has to be in secret for obvious reasons.”

“Can he come here?” Ray asked.

“Of course not,” Mehdi said. “The meeting must be in a public place. A safe place.”

His apartment was the safest place he could think of, Ray thought, at least for him. “Where did you have in mind then?”

“You will see him?”

What the hell! Ray decided to roll the dice. Why should the
mujahideen
, or this character on the phone, have any animosity to him? He was being quite pro-Muslim in his blogs. What would be the advantage to anyone to set him up?

“Okay,” Ray said, fighting his own ambivalence.

***

First, Ray drove to a cafeteria well up on Laurel Canyon Boulevard to the northern part of San Fernando Valley. He had left the name of the cafeteria and its address on a pad of paper by the phone on his apartment. At least his whereabouts would be known if anything happened to him.

As instructed he sat in an empty booth, which wasn't difficult as the place was nearly empty. A few minutes passed and then a man approached the table from inside the cafeteria and sat down.

“I'm Mehdi. Just keep sitting. Say nothing.”

About to speak anyhow Ray managed to clamp down. But he took in Mehdi's appearance. He was a lean man of medium height, probably in his late thirties or early forties, with a saturnine face and dark hair that dangled over his ears. He wore a black windbreaker over a blue shirt.

A few moments passed and then Mehdi's cell phone rang. He just looked at the message. “Let's go,” he said abruptly. “Follow me in your car.”