Divinity Road (15 page)

When Kalil enters I can see straight away that he is enraged. A fight has broken out between some of his friends and a group of Jamaicans, the only detainees feared by the guards. All those involved have been rounded up, the Jamaicans merely locked up in their cells but his friends given a beating. In Kalil’s eyes it is another case of blatant religious persecution.

I listen with half an ear as he rants, until, his voice hoarse, he throws himself dejectedly onto my bed. With weary resignation, I see he is in a combative mood and that he requires my participation, or presence at least, in another bout of sparring.

We need to unite to be strong, he begins. The Ummah brotherhood is what binds Muslim to Muslim. When we forget that, we risk Allah’s wrath.

Muhammad is the Messenger Of Allah; and those who are With him are strong Against Unbelievers, but Compassionate amongst each other
48:29 Allah talks of a brotherhood of Muslims for constructive development, not war, I begin to explain, recalling a discussion we once had together, my sweet. For charity, to help disadvantaged Muslims, to build schools and hospitals where there are none, to share what we have and prevent suffering among our fellow men. That is what Ummah means.

Allah’s message is one of non-aggression. Read 43:89. He says that when you meet a non-Muslim,

But turn away from them, And say ‘Peace!’

You are too passive, brother, he tells me. You confuse reconciliation and weakness. Listen:

Be not weary and Fainthearted, crying for peace, When ye should be Uppermost
47:35 He is building up a head of steam, but today, feeling your presence at my side, I am steadfast.

As always, you confuse self-defence with all-out war, I tell him. Read Surah 42 –
Al Shura
. Evil is cured by the mercy and guidance of Allah, not by a doubling of evil. The key is patience and negotiation. If you commit acts of aggression, they will return to you with interest. I quote:

Whatever misfortune Happens to you, is because Of the things your hands Have wrought.
42:30 Kalil is silent. He sits on the bed, sullen and bitter, then gets up and stands by the barred window, staring out onto the greasy tarmac courtyard below. It has been raining but the drizzle has stopped and the clouds are now clearing. Between the grey concrete walls and the blue sky above, the razor wire gleams in the weak sunshine. Minutes pass. Then he turns, sweeps past me and out of the cell.

I have to think, he mutters.

***

I find an extract from a Surah, 113:1-3:

Say: I seek refuge With the Lord of the Dawn, From the mischief Of created things; From the mischief Of Darkness as it overspreads

I am not sure exactly what it means, but it is calming, like a cool cloth placed on my fevered brow.

***

I want to tell Kalil that his mistake is to think that his enemy’s enemy is his friend. There will always be warped men who not only think that violence is the solution to all problems, but who positively thrive on it. They lust after bloodshed and cruelty. Just because they call themselves Muslim and do not like this or that – whether it be American politics or Hindu discrimination or semi-naked pop singers – and you agree with them on some or all of those things, it does not mean you share a common ideology. Even if there was no Islam, no America, no Hindus or pop princesses, those men would still be full of poison, still find a reason to kill and maim, still find a twisted cause.

It is time for my pills.

***

I read Surah 96
Al Alaq
. I want to tell Kalil that every Muslim’s true enemy is himself – his own obstinacy, vanity and insolence. That is the real struggle.

***

Kalil sweeps into the cell today. His eyes flash with repressed excitement.

Brother, it has come to me, the true message of the
Qur’an
. I have found the way. Before, I was a fool, stumbling like a baby in a darkened room, but it is as if a blindfold has been removed.

Mmm, I say half-heartedly. I am loathe to embark on further verbal combat, but can sense that he is not to be put off.

You always tell me that that wrong-doers will end up in Hell. You say the
Qur’an
teaches us to be patient, that Fire awaits them in the Hereafter, that sinners will eventually join the Companions of the Fire. What if you are wrong? What if Allah is not advocating patience? What if the Fire is not in the Hereafter? What if it is in the here and now? Don’t you see, we are not supposed to wait for sinners to go to the Fire, we are supposed to bring the Fire to the sinners? Read 74:31:

... we have set none But angels as guardians Of the Fire;

Don’t you get it? That’s us, we are the angels, the guardians of the Fire.

His voice has risen, strident with authority.

What are you talking about? I protest. You must be...

No, listen, brother. The
Qur’an
teaches two key messages. First, the sinner must be punished. Remember 5:45:

Life for life, eye for eye, Nose for nose, ear for ear, Tooth for tooth, and wounds Equal for equal.

Secondly, his punishment is in our hands. Allah calls on us to carry out his vengeance. It is our duty, our responsibility to deal with the sinner. 96:18:

We will call On the angels of punishment To deal with him

That’s us, my friend, he concludes, his tone triumphant. We are the angels of punishment. We are the Companions of the Fire.

I shake my head. I don’t know where to begin, how to counter his barrage of perverted inspiration.

You must learn to interpret His message to reveal the true meaning, he says with calm self-assurance. It is just a question of interpretation.

No, my friend, I answer wearily. It is a question of corruption.

***

I read Surah 94,
Al Sharh
. My eyes fall on Ayah 94:5. I lie on my bed and chant the Ayah over and over again:

With every difficulty

There is relief

If I say it enough times, perhaps it will come true.

***

There is no more strength in my bones. I have grown fatalistic. I no longer think ‘What should I do?’ not even ‘What will happen to me?’ Now I just bide my time, wait for my fate to be decided. When I pick up the
Qur’an
now, I read only the passages that deal with Judgement Day. I have surrendered. Retribution?

Reward? I will leave it to Allah, it is easier that way.

Some will be

In the Garden, and some

In the Blazing Fire.
42:7

I have made a list in my notebook of those soothing verses that deal with Judgement:
Al Mutaffifin
and
Al Inshiqaq
,
Al Buruj
and
Al Tariq
,
Al Zalzalah
and
Al Qari’ah
and
Al Asr
.

If this notebook ever falls into your hands, my love, read these and think of me. They are my food and drink. I need nothing more.

***

I take my pills, read my passages. The future is over. All I have to look forward to is the past.

The instant she hears the news of the crash, her life divides into a Before and an After. It’s mid-morning and she’s teaching in a third-floor classroom working through a newspaper article on knife crime in Britain when there’s a knock and one of her part-time colleagues, Fran, pushes open the door and enters.

Nuala doesn’t stop speaking at once, finishes her explanation, but then pauses and smiles at her colleague as if to say, ‘OK, over to you.’ She’s expecting Fran to have a message for the students, a reminder of a lunchtime meeting to sign bus pass forms perhaps, or a request for them to bring in their Home Office documentation. But Fran’s still not speaking, and when Nuala looks more closely at her, she can see that she’s in some kind of discomfort, that something is not right.

Can I have a word, Nuala? she says. Outside.

Out in the corridor, Fran seems a little more composed.

What’s the matter? asks Nuala. If you had asked her at that instant what she was expecting to hear, she’d still have said that it was an everyday message to be delivered, perhaps to one particular student and therefore a little more sensitive, not to be repeated in front of the other class members. The worst scenario she could have imagined would have involved Sammy banging his head in the playground or Beth taken ill in class, a phone message to come and collect one or the other from the school secretary’s office. There are two police officers in the staffroom, Nuala.

They want to see you.

Her words are so unexpected that Nuala opens her mouth and stands there gaping for some seconds. Her brain’s working frantically, processing the words, trying to make sense of their meaning. When she finally grasps the situation, she takes a few steps forward, remembers her abandoned class, stops and teeters there uncertainly.

It’s OK, I’ll sit in with your class, says Fran.

Even as she descends the staircase, taking the steps three at a time, the irreversible Before/After process has begun. She feels a little giddy, the beginnings of the sensation that she’ll experience in the coming weeks, time out of joint, neither here nor there, an otherworldly dislocation. Her mouth is dry, she experiences a fluttering of panic in her stomach, as if she is about to be tested.

***

In the weeks that follow, Nuala experiences a recurring dream, the same knock on the door of her third-floor classroom, but this time she’s partially forewarned. She knows that the person outside the door is the bearer of cataclysmic news, that she must avoid allowing the person to enter, must break the chain of events. So she carries on her teaching and pays no attention to the knocking that grows ever more insistent. The students in the class begin to call out, they’re pointing at the door, but she knows that to acknowledge the intruder would be fatal, so she raises her voice, ignores their signals, the unrelenting tapping. The scene grows ever more frantic, the students shouting and screaming, some seem greatly alarmed, others highly amused. The hammering at the door is unremitting, part of her knows she’ll have to open up, another part would rather die than yield, and she wakes in a cold sweat, feeling the coiled fist of dread in her stomach, a tightness in her chest and throat.

***

How much of the next two hours can Nuala remember? As she steps into the staffroom, she glances out of the window and notices first that there is a policewoman out in the courtyard holding a walkie talkie to her ear. She turns back and finds herself face to face with a uniformed constable, middle-aged and burly. She remembers the stubble on the back of his neck, his nasal hair, his soft Oxford intonation. He’s understanding, has plenty of experience of dealing with the confusing effects of shock on ordinary folk. He explains what he’s been told, repeats it all twice more, patient and calm, as she struggles to take in the news. Little by little the key concepts filter through: plane crash... your husband’s name on the passenger list ... uncertain of exact location... no confirmation of casualties... emergency phone number... wait for more news...

Nuala sits down at her desk. The policeman, practised in such situations, leaves her to absorb this information and busies himself with the kettle. Soon Nuala finds a cup of sugary tea on the desk in front of her.

The policeman is considering his next step. He’d like his female colleague to get Nuala home – always best to have a woman on hand in these delicate situations – but they are both due to give evidence at the magistrate’s court at twelve, a case of domestic violence. He’s done his bit, given the lady the news and she seems to be taking it quite calmly. Ideally, one of her colleagues could take her home and sit with her for a bit while she composes herself, phones her family or sets in motion whatever coping mechanism she chooses. But there are no colleagues around, they all seem to be teaching in their classrooms.

Just then, a solution. There’s a growing commotion outside the staffroom as classes stop for the morning coffee break and students make their way out of the building, head for the canteen or the smoking area. First one colleague enters the staffroom, then a second and third. They have not been warned about the policeman’s presence and know nothing of the reason for his appearance.

Nuala is holding her cup of tea in her hand absentmindedly, still trying to process the information she’s been handed. The police officer takes the opportunity to draw the other teachers aside, to tell them the news and appeal for a volunteer to take Nuala home. There’s no shortage of willing helpers, and after some discussion they decide that Teri will bring Nuala back. She has a car and is probably Nuala’s closest work friend.