The Last of the Angels (11 page)

N
o sooner had people heard about the municipality's plan to cut a road through the nearby cemetery in al-Musalla than they contacted Khidir Musa, asking him to intercede to halt this gross sacrilege and to present their concerns to the governor—or even the king. For the municipality deliberately to challenge the feelings of the Muslims was really more than the citizens of Kirkuk could stand. A man could tolerate almost anything, but when the government set about digging up the graves of his fathers and grandfathers—many of whom were pious saints—that was sheer paganism.

The delegation, which as usual formed spontaneously, was composed of distinguished citizens from the community and some of its elders, including Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri, even though he had decided definitively to wash his hands of politics after being dragged to the police station and interrogated about the fiery insults he had directed against the English. This time, however, he considered the matter to be a religious duty that could not be overlooked. True, he had told the young deputy lieutenant when saying good-bye to him at the door, “I'll avoid mentioning Abu Naji since that upsets our stalwart government.” He had not, however, pledged to avoid God. Indeed, the deputy lieutenant himself had told him to cleave to God's Book and to the Prophet's sacred precedent. Politics was for politicians and religion for men of the cloth; it was inappropriate for either side to meddle in the other's affairs. This position was absolutely correct according to Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri, and the cemetery was the bailiwick of men of religion and no concern whatsoever of Abu Naji's—or even of the government's.

Khidir Musa declared, after a lengthy silence that exhausted the other men, who were beginning to think he had forgotten how to speak, “We will contact the mayor first off and present our grievance to him. We shouldn't undertake any rash action before we clarify the situation. There is a lot we can do.” Salman Hanash, the headman of the Chuqor community, replied, “I'm sure the mayor is a Muslim like us and will oppose the desecration of his ancestors' tombs.” Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri broke in, addressing Khidir Musa, “I'd have liked you to contact King Faisal himself so everyone realizes the Chuqor community is not a tasty morsel for any passing opportunist.” Smiling, Khidir Musa replied, “We shouldn't trouble the king with every issue great and small. He is there for us to contact at any time if the other doors are shut in our faces. Remember that the cemetery serves not only the Chuqor community but all of Kirkuk. We're not the only ones responsible for it.”

Thus the delegation, which was led by Khidir Musa and which included Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri, the headman Salman Hanash, and the merchant al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji, set off the next day for the mayor's office, which was located opposite al-Alamein Park. The attendant who stood at the door led them to the office of the mayor, who, for his part, emerged to greet them, welcoming them warmly. The mayor—a man of about forty—wore a red rose in the left lapel of his blue suit jacket and sported black “Jam Jam” shoes with toes that curved up. These derived their odd name from the Indian song “Jam Jam” that was popular in that era—oddly enough—in Kirkuk and other Iraqi cities.

Although his appearance was a bit droll—for now that early-onset male-pattern baldness had cleared the top of his head, he was attempting to thatch this area with thicker hair from his temples and to hold the strands in place with hairspray, which was sold in most of the shops on al-Awqaf Street, and ministered carefully to his short mustache—he was the kind of person who easily gained the affection of other folk, without letting familiarity diminish the dignity of his position. The fragrance of green-colored sticks of incense—inside a glass container on a wooden shelf, above which a portrait of King Faisal II and one of Crown Prince Abdul'ilah hung on the wall—lent a convivial air to the long, elegant room, which ended with a gray metal table. On two sides stood some chairs, covered in a yellow fabric that had faded with age but remained pristine. The attendant entered with tumblers of tea, which he placed on small tables beside the chairs, and the mayor rose to offer them John Player cigarettes from a black plastic case, which was inscribed with gold words in Latin characters.

Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri said, “May God repay you with blessings, my son.”

Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji exclaimed, “I think I know you. Tell me: aren't you the son of Izzat Effendi?”

The mayor smiled: “Of course, Uncle. My father always has good things to say about you.”

Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji asked fondly, “How is he? I haven't seen him for a long time.”

The mayor replied, “He's enjoying his time now in Turkey. You know how my father loves Istanbul.”

Al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji said, “I remember now. You must be Ihsan.”

The mayor laughed, “You've finally recognized me.” Then, looking at Khidir Musa and Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri, he added, “I know all of you, and it is a great honor for me to receive a visit from men like Khidir Musa and Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri and from a personal friend of my father's like al-Hajj Ahmad al-Sabunji.”

At this moment, Khidir Musa decided the time had come to introduce their concern: “You know no one has the right to disturb the dead in the next life, especially when the deceased are our fathers and grandfathers, who expect us to defend them and to shelter them from harm. Now the municipality intends to dig up the graves of our dead to build a new road. We have come to petition you to stop this project, which will engender intense unrest among all the citizens of Kirkuk.”

Khidir Musa had actually said everything he wanted to say, or at least most of it, in a concise form, while pointing out the dangerous consequences of this type of action. Mayor Ihsan Izzat Effendi bowed his head, as if to collect his thoughts, while Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri repeated under his breath, “I seek the forgiveness of God, the Exalted, the Mighty. I seek the forgiveness of God, the Exalted, the Mighty.”

Finally, the mayor said with a diffidence inspired by his embarrassment: “My distress is equal to yours. The cemetery of al-Musalla contains all of our history in this city. If it held nothing more than the remains of Sayyid Qizzi, that alone would suffice. But the matter is out of my hands. The order has come from above.”

Concerned to avoid any appearance of opposition to the English after having taken a vow before the deputy lieutenant, Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri interjected, “There's no way the English can be implicated in this matter, which only concerns Muslims.”

The mullah, however, was wrong this time. The mayor shook his head and said, “The oil company wants to build this road through al-Musalla to its new oil fields.”

This bombshell shook the delegation from the Chuqor community so severely that the most Khidir Musa could find to say was, “We'll give this matter a second look.”

The mayor pledged to place himself and his administrative staff and employees at the disposal of the Chuqor community to further their just cause, so the delegation returned even more anxious than they had set forth. All the same, these prominent community leaders did not abandon hope of stopping this tyrannical project. After all, there was Khidir Musa, who would contact the king and tell him about this abominable injustice should the English persist in building their road through the graves of the Muslims.

Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri felt himself honor-bound to contact Deputy Lieutenant Husayn al-Nasiri to renounce—in his presence—the vow he had made to avoid attacking or opposing the English, for this time the matter was not susceptible to any qualifications. It was, as Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri commented to the youthful official, “A jihad in defense of what Muslims hold sacred.” Overwhelmed by his feelings of Islamic solidarity, the mullah even dared to ask Husayn al-Nasiri, as well as his police officers, including the secret service, to join forces with the Muslims of the Chuqor community and oppose this flawed project, which did not respect the repose of the dead. The deputy lieutenant, however, smiled and said, “There must be some mistake. It's inconceivable that the English would do something that stupid. Even so, we entreat you to calm people's minds to allow us time to investigate. Rest assured that everything will be just fine.” Mullah Zayn al-Abidin al-Qadiri left the barracks feeling pleased with himself, for he had finally freed himself from a vow that he had made in a moment of weakness. This time the deputy lieutenant had not asked him to avoid insulting the English. Instead, he had requested him to work to calm people's minds. He felt empowered as he repeated to himself: “It's true that God forbade a man to throw himself to destruction, but jihad is a duty for each Muslim, male and female.”

Two gatherings were held in the Chuqor community. The one on the roof of the mosque, after evening prayers was, as usual, attended by community elders. The other was in the abandoned building used for the zurkhaneh and was attended by the community's young men, most of whom were athletes, and by women who clustered around the ramshackle structure in their black wraps, their young children clutched to their breasts. In these two meetings, which were held without any invitations being issued, the Chuqor community announced its rebellion against the municipality and its will to frustrate the plan to build a road through the cemetery—no matter the cost. Support for this decision was overwhelming in both meetings, although there was a difference of opinion about the methods to employ. The athletic youth decided to resist by force the municipality's attempt to build the road, while the community's elders, who had assembled on the roof of the mosque, decided to contact the governor and ask him to intervene to halt this despotic aggression.

The next day, the labor union's local representative council released an announcement, which was written by hand with carbon paper, calling for the municipality's workers to strike to show their solidarity with the Muslim dead whose graves the imperialist English oil company wished to exhume.

The situation really was tense, despite a deceptive surface calm that would not have prevailed had not the elders of the community insisted that people avoid clashes with the police and with government employees until they saw what their contacts with responsible officials could achieve. Many actually put their trust in the good offices of Khidir Musa, whom some, on their own, had begun to refer to as “Pasha,” although Khidir Musa disliked this title, for he told the citizens of his community that people are as alike one to another as the teeth of a comb and that there is no superiority even of an Arab over a non-Arab, for merit only accrues to a person more God-fearing than another. Khidir Musa also realized that a trial lay in wait for him and that failure was not an option. Since God had bestowed His grace on him and granted him this high position among the citizens of Kirkuk, it was up to him to show that he merited it. The question of contacting the king, however, made him nervous, for should the king reject his plea, he would have placed himself in an awkward position.

His two brothers who had returned from Russia and who possessed considerable experience in negotiating with bureaucratic structures advised him to begin his work from the bottom, before he sought out the bigger fish, especially the king, because occasionally a low-ranking official can solve a problem that a prime minister cannot. They counseled him to offer presents, for an appropriate gift can soften even the most recalcitrant heart. Thus Khidir Musa filled a wagon, which was drawn by two horses, with presents, and he and a delegation of prominent citizens and elders from the Chuqor community set forth in two other wagons, heading to the governor's home, which was located in the Shatirlu region on the other side of the city of Kirkuk.

Their departure was marked by the trills of the community's women and their prayers and supplications to Imam Ahmad and Shaykh Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani, who could do anything. The women chose to appeal to these two spiritual leaders because Imam Ahmad, whose story no one knew precisely, was considered the guardian imam for the entire region of al-Musalla, in which the Chuqor community is located, and because Shaykh Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani, who was unquestionably on a higher spiritual plane than Imam Ahmad, became enraged whenever he confronted a tyrant. Once when he was performing his ablutions in Baghdad, he saw Sultan Humayun pass an unjust verdict against a poor Indian Muslim in Agra, which was later known as Akbarabad after Humayun's son Akbar, who ruled for more than fifty years. Then Shaykh al-Gilani called out to him, “Change your verdict, Sultan Humayun, since you are the representative of God's will on earth. Set the man free, for he has a family waiting for him at home.” The sultan, however, apparently did not care to listen to the voice of truth. So Shaykh Abd al-Qadir al-Gilani burst into a fury, seized his wooden clog—which he had placed beside him on the rim of the basin in which he was bathing at a Gilani lodge located near al-Rasafa in Baghdad and flung it at the tyrannical Sultan Humayun in India, striking him on the chin and knocking him from the throne on which he was sitting to the ground. The women of the Chuqor community were sure that no army could withstand, even for a moment, Shaykh al-Gilani's clog should he decide to lend a helping hand to Kirkuk's Muslims in defense of the graves of their dead.

One morning, the three wagons, one behind the other, traversed the small souk and then the large one, where butchers sat on chairs placed directly in front of their meat hooks from which hung slaughtered carcasses. Their knives were stashed in leather belts that they fastened around their waists over their dark, blood-stained dishdashas. Their jamdaniyat head cloths distinguished them as being Turkmen, not Arabs or Kurds. Also present were proprietors of small stores that sold elixirs and aromatic herbs, vendors of fruit and vegetables, which were displayed in straw baskets placed on the pavement, and people selling kebabs, for which the city of Kirkuk is renowned, since they are prepared in an almost secret way. The meat is mixed with dry bread that has been pulverized and ground while special spices are added. The Jewish merchants of aromatic herbs procured these from a village called Turcham, located in Afghanistan on the Khyber Pass, which Alexander the Macedonian traversed with his armies long ago on his way to India. All these men rose to show their respect and greeted the elders of the Chuqor community as they headed to the governor's home in the open, black, horse-drawn wagons. Even the patrons of the great souk's male public bath, which was to the left of the market up an alley that linked the great souk with a street leading to the Chay community, came out to the street—clasping red cloths around their waists, while some held tumblers of cinnamon tea, which they drank after eating an orange in the baths—to present their respects to the elders, whose renown had reached every locale in the city.