an imam, he's a business management lecturer! How come they pass that stuff around?'
'I don't know, but that's what's given out. To all the children. Of all faiths.'
Shame-faced, Hassan had not mentioned the Islamic state again: he had readdressed himself to the central message of the Koran, which was to devote oneself to Allah or risk hellfire in all eternity. Of course, there was also practical advice: be kind to orphans, pay the alms levy, go to Mecca if you can, sleep only with the servant girls of your own house and not with other men's. But the overwhelming, overpowering, message of the book, which Hassan knew from back to front and of which he could recite large sections in Arabic, was that Allah was the true and only God; that, while Abraham, Noah and Jesus were decent men, the Jews and Christians were wrong in their beliefs; and that if you did not believe in Allah and Islam then you would be tortured for all time after death.
There was nothing in the Koran about the politics of building an Islamic state; the Prophet had not concerned himself with such things. So, as the discussion grew heated around him, Hassan found himself become detached from it. These young men reminded him of the members of the Left Student Group at college; there was a competition going on among them to see who could be more radical in his alignment. At college it had been a contest between the International Marxist Group, the Socialist Workers Party or the mysterious Red International. Here the name-drop of Muslim Youth International was finessed by World Islam League; Mid-East Forum was trumped by Jamaat-e-Islami. He also had misgivings about the way they referred to all non-Muslims as kafirs. It was all right for Jews to refer to non-Jews as 'Gentiles', but less so to call them 'goys'. To Hassan's ear, 'kafir' had a slur of assumed racial superiority about it.
He sighed. At least the Pudding Mill Lane Mosque had a prayer area for women. That seemed an advance on some of the places he'd visited, where row upon row of battered men's shoes were lined up outside with never a female slipper. After the political debate, matters moved into calmer waters as they read out news of football tournaments, youth camps and fund-raisers.
Afterwards, Salim put his arm round Hassan's shoulder as they walked towards the station.
'Did you enjoy it?' he said.
'Up to a point,' said Hassan. 'I don't agree with the political agenda. There's no basis for it in the Koran.'
'Religions move on,' said Salim. 'Even the word of God evolves through human interpretation. That's what theology is for. Other religions are the same. Christ had only male apostles. Now the Church of England even has female ministers.'
'I wouldn't take the Church of England as a model for anything,' said Hassan.
Salim laughed. 'Of course not. But you can look at it like this. True Muslims need to live in a society that respects their beliefs and gives them every chance of enjoying paradise when they die. Whether the Koran contains instruction to the last letter for making this new society is something the textual scholars can dispute. But meanwhile is it such a terrible aspiration to want to live in such a good place on earth or to want to help to build it?'
'If you put it like that, then--'
'I do put it like that,' said Salim. His deep voice was reasonable and reassuring; he seemed to have reserves of eloquence he'd kept hidden at their first meeting in the juice bar.
'Can I give you a lift? That's my old banger over there by the fence. Where do you live?'
'It's OK,' said Hassan. 'I'll take the train.'
'It's a DLR station. It's probably not open at this time of the evening. Come on. Hop in. It's no trouble.'
As the ferry was leaving for Dover, a strange thing happened: it began to fill up rapidly. Several coaches must have caught it just in time, Hassan thought, as he tried to find a seat away from the slopping of alcohol. He was pushed out of the way by a fat woman in her sixties making for the Food Court. 'Look at 'er go! Like a bloody greyhound!' her jovial companion shouted. Amongst the crowd of new passengers was a sense of hilarious relief at being homeward bound; a day on foreign soil had been enough. They carried pyramids of pale chips from the servery and ate them with