registry clerk thought for a moment, then said, ‘Do you have any other form of identification?’
Khalkhal checked his pockets again, and he and his father had another whispered exchange. No, he didn’t have any kind of identification with him.
A scandalised buzz broke out on both sides of the curtain.
Aqa Jaan looked at the mayor and read the mistrust in his eyes. He looked at several of the bazaar’s leading merchants. Everywhere he looked he saw disapproval. How could Khalkhal have forgotten to bring the necessary documents to his wedding? Everyone was waiting to see how Aqa Jaan would react. He suspected that Khalkhal had left his identification papers at home on purpose, hoping to force the family into letting their daughter marry him without having the marriage officially registered. That might be customary in the countryside, where the bride and groom simply exchanged vows in the presence of a village imam, and then the man was granted access to the woman’s bed. In such a marriage the man was free to take other wives. But marriages of that sort no longer took place in the city and certainly not in the prominent circles to which Aqa Jaan’s family belonged.
‘Perhaps you left the documents at your father’s house,’ Aqa Jaan said to Khalkhal.
‘No, I don’t think so. They’re in Qom.’
Aqa Jaan sat down beside the mayor and they conferred briefly.
‘You’re right,’ the mayor concluded. ‘You shouldn’t go through with it.’
Then Aqa Jaan went over to Alsaberi, who had just emerged from the library and was standing by the cedar tree, next to the caretaker.
‘We’re going to have to postpone the wedding,’ Aqa Jaan said. ‘Khalkhal must go to Qom to get his identification papers.’
‘In that case he won’t be back until after midnight. It might be better for them to say their vows first. Then he can go to Qom and get his papers.’
‘No, because once they’ve exchanged vows, that’s that. Sadiq will belong to him and we’ll be powerless to help her. He’ll take her away, and we’ll be left with nothing. You of all people should know that.’
‘You’re right,’ Alsaberi replied. ‘Let him go and get his papers.’ And he went back into his library.
Aqa Jaan strode over to the registry clerk. ‘Without valid identification papers,’ he announced, ‘there will be no marriage!’
Everyone began talking at once.
Aqa Jaan turned to Khalkhal. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said calmly. ‘You can go to Qom to get your papers. I’ll wait. We’ll all wait.’
Khalkhal was taken aback. ‘But that’s impossible! There’s no train going to Qom at this hour. And I don’t trust the buses.’
‘I’ll arrange for transport,’ Aqa Jaan said. He went over to where the mayor was sitting and spoke with him. The mayor nodded several times in agreement.
‘It’s all set,’ Aqa Jaan told Khalkhal. ‘A jeep will pick you up shortly. The mayor’s chauffeur will drive you to Qom. I’m a patient man, but you’d better not take too much time.’
Khalkhal had been outmanoeuvred. He stood up and stalked angrily to the door to wait for the jeep. For a moment Aqa Jaan thought he saw a flash of pure malice in Khalkhal’s eyes, as if he had suddenly dropped his mask and revealed his true self.
A banquet had not been included in the wedding celebration, but Aqa Jaan felt obliged to feed his guests. ‘Please accept my apologies,’ he announced. ‘These things happen. I cordially invite you all to stay for dinner.’ Then he sent Shahbal to the restaurant opposite the mosque to arrange for food to be delivered.
Fakhri Sadat asked Aqa Jaan to come to her room so she could speak to him in private. ‘Don’t you think you were being a bit hard on the boy?’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but I don’t trust him.’
‘But you hardly know him.’
‘He’s no ordinary imam. He’s shrewd. I didn’t expect him to show up without identification papers. He has some scheme in mind, though I can’t imagine what.’
‘You men and your schemes! What on earth could he be up to?’
‘Well, what’s done is done. He’s on his way to Qom now. We’ll just have to be patient.’
‘That’s how it always is. Men make the decisions and women must be patient.’
‘That’s not true. I’m not about to give away a daughter of this house without a proper guarantee. I thought you’d understand.’
‘I do, but what should I say to the women?’ she said, avoiding his eyes.
‘You know what to say. Welcome them, give them something to eat and keep smiling. Show them you can rise above the occasion . . . and be patient.’
At ten-thirty there was still no sign of Khalkhal. The guests had finished eating hours ago. The servants were going around with tea for the umpteenth time. The hookahs had been passed from hand to hand. The mayor, who had left for a few hours, had come back. The men from the bazaar had gone out after dinner, strolled along the river and assured Aqa Jaan that in his place they would have done the same thing.
Shahbal had been sent up to the roof as a lookout. When he finally saw the jeep, he signalled to Aqa Jaan.
A few minutes later the jeep drew up to the door.
Khalkhal got out, walked straight over to the registry clerk and slapped his birth certificate down on the table.
Someone shouted, ‘Salawat bar Mohammad! Blessings on the Prophet Muhammad!’
‘Salawat bar Mohammad!’ everyone shouted in response.
Aqa Jaan smiled. The men from the bazaar came back from their walk. The singer sang loudly:
By the night when it conceals the light!
By the day when it appears!
By the sun and its morning glow!
By the moon that follows in its wake!
By the day when it shows its glory!
By the sky and He who made it!
By the earth and He who spread it!
By the soul and He who shaped it!
Mahiha
Khalkhal had taken his bride to Qom. No one knew where the couple lived. The family hadn’t expected him to keep it a secret, but they decided not to make an issue of it.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Aqa Jaan. ‘The door of our house is always open to them.’
Although
