Chapter 7

THE TRIAL

17th of Jumaada al-awal 1417

(September 30, 1996)

The rays of a white sun broke through Khozem’s window along the quiet quadrangle. The room where he slept was considered the best room on the university campus, even better than all of the professors’ rooms, which were half the size. His room was equipped with a large sofa, a Persian rug, an antiquated radio, a large bed, and a small fridge filled with sticky bottles of Rooh–Afza. Pictures of his mother and father were protected within gold–plated picture frames. The heat woke Khozem up in time for morning prayers. He could barely hear the strong, pleasing call of the university crier. In the confusion of half–sleep he gradually discerned the muezzin’s call.

Khozem rolled from the bed as he tried to capture remnants of his dream. In his white cotton pajamas, he dizzily stumbled to the bathroom and had a good look in the mirror. He thought about trimming his beard and plucking some of his nose hairs. Rather than rushing to the big mosque on campus, he decided to say prayers in his room. Out of the faucet sputtered a rusty sprinkle. He recited aloud:

“In the name of Allah The Beneficent, the Merciful.”

He ran his hands under cold water which broke his drowsiness. With a rough bar of soap he washed his hands up to his wrists and between his fingers three times like a surgeon. He did the same with his mouth, nostrils, face and forehead, arms, ears, head, neck, and feet, each three times. When the remains of sleep and the uncleanness of free dreaming had been abandoned for another morning, he dried himself with a towel and donned his kurta and turban.

He spread his prayer cloth towards Mecca. He tried with great difficulty to concentrate. Each time he prostrated he thought about Rashida and her nude face. He was certain he did not dream of her, but she filled his thoughts before bed and now again while whispering Allah’s words. He tried to forget her by reciting the verses more loudly. This helped through the beginning parts of prayer but not through the thick and significant middle. He became anxious to do away with this woman. The more he was interrupted, the louder he prayed.

After a breakfast of fried eggs and dried beef, he adjourned to the university hall and took his seat. Again he was on the early side. He wanted to end the judgment as soon as possible. As he sat alone below the same picture of his father, he hungered for just one more look at Rashida. He wanted to see once more the mystery which lurked behind that black veil.

Dr. Farrukh sailed in and gave hearty salaams to Khozem who did not care for his company. No matter how hard he fought with these involuntary thoughts of her, he could not escape this one woman’s face. He kept as silent as a stone wall.

Dr. Farrukh flipped the pages of his small notebook in preparation for the unprecedented hearing. Farrukh even summoned a reporter from the university newspaper. Farrukh told this to Khozem who reluctantly approved. The gaze of the university would be upon them, and Khozem knew he would have to expel her for apostasy, since consistency in judging would have to prevail.

But Khozem went further. He blamed this cloaked Rashida for these odd thoughts and day dreams. Women were never to be seen, and Khozem resented her for dragging him into a troublesome fascination which blocked the routine of prayer and the prompt obligation of expelling each and every student who broke the chain of Islamic tradition. As the minutes passed and the other professors took their seats, Khozem stood, and Dr. Farrukh prepared for heavy notetaking. The young journalist from the university paper was poised to jot Khozem’s fierce words.