The Attack by Yasmina Khadra

Author:Yasmina Khadra [Khadra, Yasmina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, General Fiction
ISBN: 9780307275707
Publisher: Anchor
Published: 2006-05-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Two of the three men who saw me out of the mosque continue to follow me—ostentatiously—while I walk toward the center of town. They want me to know they have their eye on me and it’s in my best interest to keep on walking.

It’s market day. The square is packed with people. I walk into a dark café, order black coffee, no sugar, take a seat by a small window smudged with fingerprints and bug shit, and watch the teeming souk. The café is furnished with rudimentary tables and creaking chairs; a group of old men sit about under the lifeless eye of the server, who’s wedged in behind his counter. At the table next to mine, a neat-looking gentleman in his fifties draws on his narghile. Farther on, some youngsters are playing a noisy game of dominoes. I hunker down in there until the prayer hour. When I hear the muezzin’s call, I decide to go back to the Grand Mosque, hoping to catch the imam in the middle of the service.

As I enter the part of town where the mosque is, I’m intercepted by the two men who followed me this morning. They’re not happy to see me, and they won’t let me get anywhere near the sacred precincts. “What you’re doing is not good, Doctor,” the taller of the two says.

I go back to Leila’s and wait for the next prayer.

Once again, I’m stopped before I reach the mosque. This time, there’s a third man with my guardian angels, who are distinctly irritated by my obstinacy. The new fellow is well dressed, small but sturdy-looking, with a thin mustache and a large silver-plated ring on his finger. He asks me to follow him into a blind alley, and there, protected from inquiring eyes, he asks me what I think I’m trying to do.

“I’m asking to speak with the imam.”

“On what subject?”

“You know very well why I’m here.”

“Perhaps I do, but you don’t know what you’re stepping into.”

The threat is clear; his eyes try to gouge mine. “For the love of heaven, Doctor,” he says, his nerves fraying. “Do what you were told to do: Go back home.”

He leaves me standing there and goes away, closely followed by his companions. I return to Yasser’s house and wait for the Maghreb prayer, resolved to drive the imam into a corner this time. While I’m waiting, Kim calls me up. I reassure her and promise to call her back before evening.

The sun disappears on tiptoe behind the horizon. The street noise dies down. A little breeze rushes into the patio, which has baked all afternoon in the sun. Yasser comes home a few minutes before the prayer. He’s annoyed to find me in his house but relieved to learn that I’m not staying the night.

At the call of the muezzin, I leave the house and direct my steps toward the mosque for the third time. The temple guards are not waiting for me in their den; they pounce on me about a block away from Yasser’s house.

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