The Devil's Labyrinth

CHAPTER 34

AS THE SUMMONS sounded, Abdul Kahadija filed into the prayer room along with the rest of the men who had finished their ablutions and were milling about in the mosque courtyard.

He knew he should center his thoughts on God and the praise he was about to bestow, but he was here, at this salah, for a dual purpose, and until he found the face that he sought in the crowd, he would not be able to concentrate.

Inside the cavernous prayer room, all the men lined up in rows in front of the imam, and as Abdul looked to his left, he spotted the man he came to find.

Peace flooded through him. Allah knew his mission, and as always, would show him the way.

Abdul stood straight and strong, the validity of his mission confirmed by the very presence of the worshipper to his left. He closed his eyes and let his adoration of Allah consume him.

When the morning prayers had finished, Abdul maneuvered through the crowd until he neared the man with whom he intended to speak after they had all filed silently out of the prayer room.

His heart hammered and his palms grew greasy with sweat as he rehearsed yet again what he would say. If he came across too strong or if his demeanor or appearance was anything other than that which Allah demanded of him, he would be refused.

The stakes were enormously high.

Abdul followed the man into the crowded courtyard, where the silence of the prayer room gave way to the boisterous noise of friends greeting friends.

The man left the mosque, Abdul close behind. In the parking lot, Abdul, keeping a respectful distance, finally spoke. “Excuse me, my brother,” he said.

The man stopped, and Abdul found himself facing a stocky man in his early sixties, with graying hair and a square jaw.

Abdul’s breath left him, his mouth became dry and he found it difficult to talk. He cleared his throat and began. “I am Abdul Kahadija, and I am new to the Boston area.” He paused, then asked the question he had mulled for weeks. “I wonder if you can tell me where I could buy some weed killer for my garden?”

The man’s face remained expressionless, but his brown eyes bored deep into Abdul’s, who tried not to flinch under the probing gaze. “Weed killer,” the man spoke slowly. “Or is it a pesticide that you need?”

Abdul inwardly rejoiced. The man had understood his question! “Perhaps a pesticide would better solve my gardening problems.”

“Where is this garden?” the man asked quietly.

“I toil in the garden of Allah,” Abdul responded.

“Then you must see Nameer,” the man said. “He cultivates a similar garden path.”

“Thank you, friend,” Abdul said. “Where might I find Nameer?”

“He owns a nursery on the south side. If your quest is pure, you shall find him.”

“May the blessings of Allah be on you and on your family,” Abdul said.

“And on yours,” the older man said as he pulled the white crocheted kufi off his head and beeped his car unlocked. “Tell me what you grow in this garden of yours.”

Abdul’s face flushed hot. This was a question he had not anticipated, but an answer came to him in a flash. “Easter lilies,” he declared.

The man considered this, then smiled broadly, showing straight white teeth in a pleasant face.

Abdul’s nervousness dissolved, and he felt his own smile take its place. “Great big Roman Easter lilies,” he said again, and they both laughed.

“Insha-allah,” the man said.

“Insha-allah,” Abdul replied.