the page is proven against him. And a Fire whose fuel is men and stones awaits.
And the Ruh:
And what if he were a saint? If you look but close enough, the good deeds of creatures dissolve as surely as the smoothness of skin gives way to corruption. And the bad deeds that soil the earth rise up as a rose. Look again.
And the wind blasted away the shape of sphinx and dhows and camels of the desert, and swept the sands away till it was an endlessly cracked plain. And in the cracked plain of calligraphy we saw him in the flat...
... a man beating his head against the carpet. His future vanished in a car.
And that slave calling on his phones. With no one awake.
The idiot going over and over who knew about his goods. Who knew about the car. Burning down his corridors of the damned.
And then he guesses it’s the unpaid tickets; the council hirelings have come in their lorry, and the car is in the pound.
And when he calls and gets it confirmed, he runs into the stairwell: Jesus, he weeps, Please, Jesus.
Every penny gone on Pakistan, fixers, the baggage guys. How will he get to Birmingham!
And Alif says to the Ruh, Perhaps the creature is praying.
But there the villien thinking, I ain’t crawling round their sh__ty manor.
But that idiot reckoning Birmingham is too long to wait.
And he’s thinking, I’m gonna be shotting bags of tenners with the school truants.
And what does Ali say in Birmingham when he answers?
—Everyting oright? Tik hai?... Das right, das right... Him coming later, you know. Yah, him coming nex week... Make a praablem this week though, innit. Next week better... Why you want it now? Sometin happen, brodder?... Okay, no praablem. No praablem... Yah yah, we make it quick... You want to give him cheaper?... But Naseeb brodder, I say something: better you give it cheaper. Better you give it cheaper... Yah, twenty is better. But Naseeb, my share is same... my share is same. No prablem, but my share same...
And I ask of the Ruh:
How does all this glorify Him?
And the Archangel traces a wing over the plain and releases an immense flood. And walls of water rise up as slowly as a moon, and at its zenith we read his actions in the streams of spume.
Look at him now, with Angels in succession, before and behind him, and at his side, risking all to fly to Peegee’s yard. For bridges had burned running to Pakistan. And there are twelve-year-olds ready to seize Your creature.
There he is at Peegee’s yard with three hench on the landing with a crossbreed.
Come to straighten it out. Come to wheedle for cash. Come to call them to him.
The tall hench hauling back on the devil dog that takes dislike to Your slave.
Your creature cannot stutter it out:
—Nah, nah, Peegee, that s__t is all rinsed.
O Protectors, keep him close and evil far, say Alif and Hamza. And there the Angels in succession, before and behind, are spinning their shields.
The devil dog will make a lunge and Your creature jump as they laugh.
Don’t show him you’re chickens__t, they crow.
And the tall hench walk the devil dog straight at him on its hind legs. And abased, Your creature scrapes back down the wall.
For bridges had burned running to Pakistan. And there are twelve-year-olds ready to seize Your creature.
The towering walls of water collapse and are suddenly still.
We watch Naseeb in the skinless surface of a lake, his life trembling, trembling.
Hurry, wretch, hurry, says Alif. It is already zuhr.
There the creature takes a bus to the depot. Takes a bus to the pound.
If the Met Police are waiting for him still he goes to his fate like an idiot.
The latecomers hurry, hurry, to make timely their Jummah prayers. In the blessed month.
Take a step, idiot. He, Who takes ten steps towards you should you take one: He is waiting.
And outside the depot he’ll take off his mujahedeen hat.
Behind the plateglass in the pound no one is listening.
His car key soaked with sweat.
Say, there is medicine in the boot.
Say, there are prosthetics in the boot.
But they’ll need proof of disability. They want a letter from his organization.
There he is. A creature seized by invisible Protectors in such embrace he cannot breathe; a man pitched against a wall.
By the Time!
And the Ruh stretched thousandfold Wings. And a lozenge lake clouds over.
Ten billion Angels feel the fluctuations.
May ye glorify the Eternal Wisdom in the serene proportions of your hand, says the Ruh.
And with them we made ready to translate to the place of the creature. And the Relieving Angels return to keep a lozenge lake till the appointed time.
Two ripples pass along an Angel-shaped thread stretching from this world to that.
Did we even change the watch with the Angels in succession?
For it seems I have been keeping a lambent lake of calligraphy for ten thousand years. And for ten thousand years they have been making the mi’raj on a firebird-winged Burak.
And rigidly bound we vibrate as one with no delay...
4 | The Account of the Angel of the Right Hand
In which the Angels return to find the creature in his misfortunes; and with the help of friends and by the Will of Allah he continues in his misfortune; and he hurries to mend his fate: and he flees from his fate.
§
(Asr: 1603 GMT)
And Alif an Hamza hold a man in such embrace he cannot breathe.
Let it go, bruv. Let it go.
A yearning to dash da Plan. To sacrifice da Game an go strait to da sunny garden of cripples and doin Good. And Allah is Adl, Just.
And I rite one good deed.
And
