beasts.’ The sheikh’s voice trembled, his lips quivering with barely restrained fury. ‘Such deeds cannot go unpunished, surely?’
‘Revenge!’ someone shouted from Makana’s right.
‘Kill them all!’ came another.
‘Let them feel our pain.’
There were other voices, voices urging restraint, calm, but these were swamped by the flood. The men by the gate were grinning to one another.
Up on the podium the sheikh raised his hands for calm.
‘Patience.’ His voice shook. There was a touch of theatricality to him as he surveyed the flock gathered at his feet, crammed together shoulder to shoulder, kneeling or sitting on the carpets spread over the hard concrete floor.
‘Did the Prophet, May Allah bestow His blessings upon him, not spend twenty-three years awaiting the full revelation of the sacred text?’ he asked, tapping the book in front of him. ‘Then who are we not to heed the lessons of patience?’ The sheikh’s tone hardened. ‘Those who ask for restraint should know that injustice can be suffered only for so long.’ He held the crowd in his hands now. His voice rose, the little body rocked back and forth on the dais as if trying to wear its way down into the earth below.
‘When the fateful day arrives, woe to the unbelievers! Know that we send down to the unbelievers devils who incite them to evil. Therefore have patience: their days are numbered.’
Cries of ‘Allahu akbar’ resounded as the sheikh got to his feet. He moved with the speed of a much older man, bowing to allow his most fervent supporters to kiss him on both cheeks before vanishing through a gap in the crowd.
As the men poured out of the mosque into the street, their anger filled the air. Makana recognised the same Central Security Forces thugs he had seen earlier, huddled together around the entrance. Then he was swept along in the rush of men being herded around the gate. He followed along as they moved off, first in one direction and then another, as if unable to decide which way to go. Then the indecision seemed to resolve itself and the crowd began to move, led by the same small group of instigators. People tagged along, with young boys running alongside, others leaping on top of cars and shouting. The route twisted and turned, cutting down short, narrow streets. Their destination became apparent as they emerged into an open square and the high walls of a church came into view. Unlike the newly built mosque they had just left, this building was old and crumbling. Deep cracks zigzagged up the front wall. The yellowing paint and plaster had come away in large gouts.
Outside the church a dark blue police pickup was parked. Uniformed men stood around it armed with riot sticks and shields as they eyed the approaching mob. A sergeant with a thick moustache stood with his hands on his hips.
‘Go on with you. We don’t want trouble here.’
‘There’s no trouble here,’ one man said, advancing on the sergeant. ‘The trouble is there,’ he said, pointing at the church. Then, as if released by a secret signal, the mob broke loose. Stones and bottles flew overhead. A tree nearby shook as it was stripped of a few handy branches that were waved in the air. Glass shattered. The policemen were nervously backing away, stopped only by the sergeant who had retreated behind them, where he remained, arms folded, cautioning them to stand firm. They were easily outnumbered ten to one. The mob seethed, hurling their anger at the church in a rain of bricks and bottles that shattered against the walls. As Makana skirted along the edge he caught sight of Sami, waving to him from the next corner beyond the church.
‘I didn’t think you would make it.’
‘Is it always like this?’ Makana asked.
‘It’s become regular Friday entertainment. They come in from all over the city to hear the sheikh speak, and it’s always provocative.’
Father Macarius was waiting for them nervously beside a large metal door that led into a walled compound adjoining the church. He ushered them quickly inside and bolted the gate behind them. Macarius was an impressive figure. Dressed in a black cassock that stretched down to his sandals, he was a tall, broad-chested man with a square jaw that looked as if it had been etched in the stone of his greying beard. According to Sami, he was a bit of a maverick. There was some long story about a scandal behind him. Apparently, he had been expelled from the