‘O bydee ai, you dog!’ yelled his father, pounding the door with his fists. ‘Come out now!’
Elsewhere in the house, Saleem’s mother made a silent prayer for her family amidst the heart-trembling sound of banging and yelling.
In his room, Junayd crept nervously into his bed and pulled the covers over his head.
***
‘So what did your brother do anyway?’ asked Ibrahim, as curious as always.
‘He was with some people who stole a car,’Junayd sighed. With the Imam’s imminent arrival at madrasa, this was not the topic he wanted to discuss.
‘He stole a car! No way!’
‘No, he didn’t steal it. He was just in it …’
‘Yeah well obviously he’s not going to say he stole it, right!’
‘He didn’t steal it!’
‘Alright, chill bro! So he didn’t steal it. But he went to prison?’
‘No, you weren’t listening!’ Junayd was beginning to get a little impatient. ‘He got put in the cells. My dad had to go and collect him. He just got a warning, or something, because he didn’t know the car was stolen.’
‘I suppose,’ admitted Ibrahim. ‘If they thought he was involved he’d be going to court or something, right?’
‘Whatever, I don’t know,’ sighed Junayd. His heart felt heavy whenever he thought about his brother. With all the tension between dad and Saleem, it was better to be anywhere but at home these days. In fact, Junayd realised suddenly and to his surprise, it was much better to be at madrasa.
‘So, we’re playing same teams as last week today?’Junayd asked, changing the subject.
‘Yeah – it was a draw last week so we need to settle it, right?’
‘We should have penalties if it’s a draw again …’
‘That wouldn’t be fair,’ Ibrahim interrupted, ‘your team’s got Hasan. He’s a wicked goalie. You’d win the shoot-out.’
‘Exactly!’ laughed Junayd.
An hour and a half of madrasa later and the boys were happily – and silently – involved in another epic game of yard football.
“With only a minute left on the clock, Faris and Adam linked up to give Khalid’s team a 6–5 advantage.
Ibrahim, dispensing with usual caution, rallied his troops excitedly.
‘Come on boys!’ he yelled. ‘We can’t lose this!’
‘Come on!’ repeated his team-mates. ‘Let’s get this back! Let’s get a goal!’
‘Sshh,’ attemped Khalid, but his opponents had already kicked off and were calling directions to one another.
‘Man on!’ Yunus warned Ismail, who promptly passed him the ball.’. Yunus sprayed it to the wing where Ali was in some space. Ali took a touch, and then slid an inch-perfect pass into the space ahead of Ibrahim, who was advancing on goal.
Ibrahim had anticipated it well, but so too had Khalid in defence. As the ball sped along the concrete, each player sensed that this was the final chance of the match. A good shot from Ibrahim would mean an equalising goal. A well-timed challenge from Khalid would mean victory for his team.
Just as Ibrahim was about to drive the ball goalwards, Khalid thrust a foot at the ball and smashed it clear …
… and smashed the uppermost glass panel of the greenhouse in a neighbouring garden.
‘Oh no!’
Khalid dived for cover to avoid being seen. The others did the same, as if being fired upon by a greenhouse sniper.
All of the children on the ground made for a peculiar sight for Imam Munieb as he emerged into the yard.
4. A Change of Heart
‘I do not have the words,’ growled Imam Munieb to the boys, who had hastily and fearfully reassembled in the classroom expecting an explosion of anger from the Imam.
‘It is dishonest,’ he continued, his voice ever hinting at an escalation in volume, ‘to sneak a ball into the mosque and to play with it without my permission. And you broke the window so you see how it is not sensible either!’
‘But Imam, we only broke it today, we didn’t …’ Ibrahim’s voice trailed off as he realised what he was about to reveal.
‘Didn’t what?’ demanded Imam Munieb.
‘Er …’ Ibrahim blushed.
‘Didn’t what? Didn’t do it before? You are telling me you have played before?’
Nobody said anything. He looked around.
‘Is that what you’re telling me?’
With no one volunteering an answer, he turned to a reliable source of information.
‘Abdullah,’ he said, his voice suddenly full of disappointment at the very thought that Abdullah could have been complicit. ‘How long has this, this … football … been going on?’
‘W-well,’ stammered Abdullah, aware that all eyes were suddenly upon him, and for once unsure of his response, ‘I think … er … a few weeks.’
‘Tell me when it started Abdullah,’ demanded the Imam, ‘and I want the truthful and accurate answer.’
‘Sunday, March the fourth, Imam.’
Incredulous that Abdullah should know the exact date and inform Imam Munieb, Ibrahim tutted.
Now came the explosion.
‘What did you make that sound for, Ibrahim?!’ roared Imam Munieb, his cheeks visibly reddening above his thick black beard. ‘You think you have the most right to that sound? I think right now I have the most right to it! I ask you and I ask you truthfully, are you behind this? Is this your idea, Ibrahim?!’
Ibrahim was somewhat cheeky, but equally he was honest.
‘Yes, Imam,’ he said.
‘And it was your ball too, I suppose!’
This time Ibrahim said nothing.
‘It was my ball,’ murmured Khalid.
‘Your
