The Fall of the Imam (5 page)

The voices shouting to the heavens ‘God be with you’ were like music to her ears. Her diamond earrings trembled to the sound, shivering with the thousand lights focussed on the Imam from all around. Her neck, a slender column of the whitest marble surrounded by five rows of the purest pearl, swayed ever so slightly. Over her breast she wore the ribbon of the Order and the Medal in the form of a brooch like a sun-disc radiating rays of light. On her fingers were rings and precious stones shining like stars. There she stood on the balcony reserved for the harem, surrounded by the wives of important state dignitaries, their faces mask-like, stretched in a fixed expression suited to the occasion, their silky dresses billowing over their rounded lines, their shameful parts covered by veils of the best and most expensive imported types. She stood proudly, straining her neck as far as she could to follow her husband the Imam in his slightest movement, while he in turn strained his neck as far as he could towards the throne of God, high up in the heavens, trying not to lose sight of Him even for the fraction of a second.

Her heart beat strongly under the ribs, and just below her breast, cut into the white skin, was a cross with Jesus nailed to it. She raised her hand, made the sign of the Trinity, stopping a moment for each of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Protect him from his enemies, Holy Mother of Christ, then adding quickly as though she had forgotten: Say O Allah that I am forgiven and that Thou wilt protect him from his mortal enemies. Give him Thy protection O Prophet of Allah. Did I not abandon everything for his love? Did I not abandon the Lord Christ, give up my name, my father’s name, my country and even my faith? Indeed I threw away everything for him, for I was tired of washing up endless piles of plates, of breathing in the air that thousands of people had breathed in and breathed out before me in the underground tunnels where the trains came and went. I was tired of smiling into faces that never smiled, tired of going to church every Sunday and praying to God to save me from my plight. Twenty years of prayer to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, and yet not one of them stretched out a helping hand.

Then came the Imam. It was he that took me away from my misery. I saw him seated on his throne and fell in love with him immediately. He carried me away in his arms and from that moment I could look proudly up into the sky. I discovered Paradise on earth and learnt to have faith in Allah and His Prophet, for now I had gardens and parks, palaces and banquet halls, servants and courtiers, rivers flowing with wine and honey, things without end from which I could choose at will. When I raised my head to look around all heads were lowered to the ground. All faces smiled at me, but I did not have to smile. I walked with a serene step in front of Ministers of State amidst flashing lights to inaugurate charity bazaars and hospitals and homes. My name was now etched into the marble stones of history, was flashed on to a million screens, broadcast on the waves of sound. I was the wife of the Imam, no one was my equal, no one could occupy my place. No woman had my beauty, or my brains, or my fame.

‘God is with you.’ The acclamations continued to echo in her ears. She looked at him as he stood on the platform looking the other way. Cannons kept firing salvoes to victory, and each time she heard them thunder out her heartbeat. She watched the rocket-carriers parading close in front of him and the elongated cone-shaped heads pointed to the sky above him, yet his head, the head of the one and only Imam, leader of the faithful, was covered only in a knitted skull-cap, and his chest was exposed under his fine robe without protection, without the bullet-proof vest he should have worn. There he was up there on the platform, exposed with nothing to protect him except Allah and His Prophet.

O Mary Mother of God take care of him and shield him from all evil. Remembering, she quickly swallowed the words and just as quickly murmured a prayer asking for forgiveness, her tongue repeating Allah’s name and that of His Prophet, while her heart continued to remember the Christ. Protect him from his enemies O God. Protect him from the envy of men and women, from those that blow on the embers of Occult Magic. First amongst them is his first wife, who is hiding in the crowd right at the back. Around her neck is a folded amulet hanging from a leather thong, and her lips pray to God that he be transformed into a monkey and dragged around on a chain. Protect him O God from the scheming of women, for their capacity to do evil is without limit. Then O God do not forget that illegitimate daughter of his. Ever since she was born she has thought of nothing else except how to revenge herself on him. There she goes bending low behind the backs of the people in the crowd, trying to hide herself as she approaches. In her right hand she carries something very long and pointed like an instrument of death.

With every new burst of acclamations, the beats of her heart vibrate in her ears. She strains herself to hear the sudden sound. What is it? Bullets fired from a gun? Her eyes, blue as the sea, open wide in amazement as his face drops from its place high up in the sky down to the ground. She sees other faces disappear just as suddenly from around him, and the particles of dust floating up in the air to form a fine cloud. She rubs her eyes as though awakening from deep sleep, only to find that she has been awake all the time. No, she was not asleep. But now she is no longer seated. She no longer feels the throne underneath her, holding her body up. Where is the throne? It has disappeared. It lies face downwards with its four legs upright in the air. She quickly draws the sign of the cross in front of her breast. What has happened, O Virgin Mother Mary? The image of her mother’s face is round and radiant like the sun. The Mother, the Son and the Holy Ghost, then quickly remembering, O God have mercy on me, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

I heard the sound of gunshots ringing in my ears. My eyes were looking upwards to the kingdom of heaven and for not more than a second I lost sight of the kingdom of earth, but it was enough. He took advantage of this short moment of inattention on my part and pulled the trigger. I did not see his face and could not tell with any certainty who he was. Perhaps one of those members of Hizb al-Shaitan whose faces I know one by one. I know their leader very well. Nobody had heard of him until I brought him out of the dark into the light, gave him a name and made him exist. Before that he was nothing. I ordered him to become the Leader of the Official Opposition. I said to him, ‘You can oppose all orders except mine, criticize all decrees except those issued personally by me. I alone rule this land and there is no one else beside me to decide. You shall be given a palace in Liberty Square, a monthly allowance, a daily newspaper and a seat in the Advisory Council and in Parliament.’

I saw his face light up with a radiant smile. When we were young we went to the same school. He used to close his eyes and dream of seeing his picture on the front page of the newspaper. And every day he kept repeating this same dream. I also used to dream of seeing my picture on the front pages, but the front pages of the newspapers only showed pictures of the heads of state, or leaders of parties, or killers of both sexes, or famous whores. At school he sat next to me. His trousers were made of expensive wool, whereas my trousers always had a hole over the seat and I had to keep my hand behind my back to hide it. My father was a poor peasant and hoped I would grow up to be one of the guards in the palace of the Imam. But his father was rich, had travelled overseas to complete his education, had learnt to speak foreign languages and wore the clothes of city people. He married a woman who believed in Christ and could not converse in Arabic. She had fair hair and the skin of her legs was so white and so transparent that without touching her one could almost feel the warmth of the flesh under it. She was like one of those beautiful maidens reserved for the believers in Paradise. My eyes used to follow her with the hunger of someone who had never known what it was like to be with a woman. There had been many women in my life, but poverty had continued to stick to me like my skin, and this woman was so different from the others I had met. To this day I have never been able to rid myself of my fear of poverty and hunger. No matter how much I ate there was always this hunger gnawing at me deep inside. And no matter what I did in order to feel secure, my mind was never at rest. Each day I saw my picture in the newspapers or hanging up, everywhere, flooded with light. Each day I closed my eyes and dreamt the old dream where I saw myself seated on two thrones, the throne of earth and the throne of heaven.

Ever since my childhood, whenever I slept Allah visited me in my dreams. His face was my father’s face, the features covered in a web of wrinkles, the skin pitted by smallpox. Over His right pupil was a small white scar, the remains of an early inflammation, of pus in His eyes. He wore the long peasant robe and a woollen skull-cap frayed thin at the edges by daily use. In the dream He called out to me in my father’s loud voice, addressing me as thou, Imam.

I answered meekly, ‘I am at Thy beck and call, Allah.’

He said, ‘I shall bestow upon thee what thou desirest and it shall be without limits, whether on earth or in the heavens, but on one condition.’

‘And what could that be, my Lord?’ said I.

He stretched out His arm towards me, and I could see that in His hand He held something. It was a rosary of yellow beads dangling down between His fingers and the skin over His fingers were brown and coarse and cracked, just like the fingers of my father. ‘This rosary has thirty-three beads,’ said He. ‘If thou make it to circle through thy fingers three times it will give the number of ninety-nine, and with each bead thou art to repeat one of my ninety-nine names. That is my will to thee, and if anybody dares to disobey thee, use this.’ And He pulled out a long shining sword from its sheath, and brought its point up to my chest so close that it almost went through my ribs. I took a quick step backwards, and woke up, my eyes wide open with fear.

My mother noticed that I was deeply shaken by something and that my face had gone very pale all of a sudden. She said, ‘What is wrong, my son? Your face is no longer your face.’

‘I have seen God,’ said I.

‘But God is good and beautiful, so why are you shaking like that?’

‘He carried a sword with Him and pointed it at my chest so closely that it almost went through my ribs.’

She spat into the neck of her long black robe and said, ‘That is not God. It must have been the Devil whom you saw. Go, do your ablutions and pray to God that He have mercy on you.’

My mother used to pray at dawn before she went to the field and then again at night when she came back. But I never saw my father kneel in prayer even once. During the fasting months of Ramadan he would eat and drink and smoke his water tobacco-pipe and divide his nights between his four wives unequally, spending three nights with his most recent wife to every night he spent with my mother. He would say, ‘God forgives all sins no matter how great, except the sin of believing in another God besides Him. For there is only one ruler on the earth and that is the Imam.’

Before he died my father paid a visit to the tomb of the Prophet in Mecca. When he came back he began to wear a cloak instead of the usual peasant attire, and I used to hear him say that the pilgrimage to the Prophet’s tomb washed all sins away, leaving no trace behind, no matter how oft they had been repeated. Thus it was that my father was able to die in peace without a sin on his conscience. So when my mother grew old I asked her why she had not thought of paying a visit to the Prophet’s tomb before she died and so make sure that in the after-life she could join my father in Paradise. But she looked at me with weeping eyes and said, ‘Your father sold the crops before he died and left nothing behind for me, so I have no money to buy a ticket to Mecca.’ And as she had no way of washing away her sins, she dried her eyes on the palm of her hand and said, ‘If Allah opens the doors of prosperity to you, my son, promise to buy me a ticket so that I can go to the Prophet’s tomb.’

‘I promise to do that for you, mother,’ said I.

But the days went by, and I forgot all about what had passed between us. I even forgot what her face looked like, seeing all the things I had to attend to in my life. And this went on year after year until twenty years passed by without my going to see her where she lived in the same small house way down in the South. My eyes were always fastened on the heavens so that all I could see was Allah and Hizb Allah. I even forgot the existence of another party, of Hizb al-Shaitan.

In fact Hizb al-Shaitan would never have existed if I had not decreed that the creation of such a party was necessary. I said to myself: if Satan does not come and go freely among my people, how are they going to know fear? And without fear, no ruler, no Imam, can remain on the throne. Hizb al-Shaitan will be there to constitute the opposition in the Advisory Council and the People’s Assembly. It will say no in front of my people and whisper yes in my ear. Then I remembered my friend, for he was just the man I needed to play this role. He had inherited land and money from his father and what he was looking for now was fame, a place in history so that people would remember his name. Besides, now he had visited the tomb of the Prophet in Mecca and acquired the respected title of Haj, he was even better prepared to play this role. I of course know that his heart is empty of faith and that his wife does not believe in one God but in three, that she makes the sign of the cross and kneels to the Trinity, to the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. But she is blonde, like honey, slender like the fine branch of a tree, and she speaks seven tongues. He shows her off proudly in front of people and seats her beside him at state functions.