glassy surface of the sea.
The shark circled him, a lazy, rippling whirlpool. Any second it might bump him, see if he was a living creature.
Adnan prayed, guilelessly and true for Allah to save him, and imagined his God saying, “For what? What shall I save a such a sinner for?”
Adnan gave Allah the first answer that came to mind, repeating what Parvez had whispered in his ear: A life for a life.
* * *
Rafan led the three women from the cemetery, forsaking care for a hasty retreat. He saw no gain in staying a moment longer, for now it was essential to escort Senada home before her fisherman husband returned from days at sea.
When they stepped back on the street, Musnah, dark hair cascading from under her headscarf, breathed loudly in relief. Rafan smiled to himself, for he felt the same freedom. They moved a few more steps before a voice ordered them to stop.
Imam Reza walked up to them. He’d conducted Basheera’s funeral and burial, always keeping his back to the young woman’s body, his eyes on the faithful, though Rafan knew he would question their faithfulness now. If he knows.
“You have been to the cemetery,” Imam Reza said. His beard was a dark bush that brushed his chest, and in the sparse light his turban could be glimpsed only in outline.
“Yes,” Rafan said. “I took a message from Basheera’s friends to her.”
“We watched him go,” Fatima said.
“You have no faith that your prayers can be heard in paradise?”
“Yes, Imam Reza, I’m sure they can.” Musnah spoke without looking up. “But we miss her so.”
Rafan noticed that all three women kept their heads bowed. Senada stood behind her friends, almost cowering. Imam Reza would like that.
“What prayer did you take to your sister?” Imam Reza asked him.
This was a test. Rafan refrained from glancing at Senada; as a married woman, she would not wish to be noticed under such compromising circumstances.
“The prayer of forgiveness for all my sister’s sins,” Rafan answered. “The prayer of hope for all the faithful. The prayer of memory, that she would never be forgotten.”
Imam Reza’s eyes moved over the headscarves that faced him. “Did you enter the cemetery?”
“No, they did not,” Rafan said “Only I—”
“I asked them.”
“No,” answered the women, keeping their heads low.
He doesn’t believe us, Rafan thought. But he doesn’t have to. This isn’t Iran or Waziristan. Not yet.
Imam Reza walked toward the cemetery, leaving Rafan chilled by the man’s sudden silence, by what it promised for the future. By flower petals resting on a grave, and footprints in the dust.
“Did he believe us?” Musnah whispered after they’d walked on.
“I do not know what he believed or what he saw.” Rafan looked over his shoulder. “I know only that these imams never forget.”
* * *
Senada stepped lightly toward the back door of her home, sticking close to the wall, away from the starlight. What would she say if Mehdi was waiting in their bedroom? She would tell him the truth.
That you lied to Imam Reza? That you were with Rafan?
Mehdi hated Rafan. A man who consorts with women. A man who doesn’t go to mosque. A man who doesn’t pray. A man too proud for his faith.
Senada touched the door handle, wondering if her husband had left a trace of his heat, if he’d gripped it so hard in anger, twisted it so violently—as he had her—that she could sense him even now.
But the metal was cool in the night air, and when she opened the door the room was black. Silent. She struck a match and held it out like a frightened child, peering into the pitch. Her bed was empty. She did not smell fish.
She climbed under the covers and said a prayer of gratitude: for safety, for friends, for Rafan.
* * *
“Allah saved me,” Adnan told Parvez, who stood in the door of his one-room house on the north end of Dhiggaru. A lantern burned behind him, lighting a simple desk and an open Koran. “He drove the shark out to sea after I made a vow.”
Parvez nodded knowingly, but then asked which vow. Adnan spoke without moving: “The vow of paradise.”
Parvez took the lantern and walked him along the path through the palm grove still teeming with their secrets. He didn’t stop until he brought Adnan to the end of the seawall, where he placed the lantern before putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder.
“If you could see through the darkness for many miles,” Parvez said, “you would