Gardens of Water (76 page)

The tour group had gathered at the entrance of the mosque, a semicircle of exposed skin, gold jewelry, and sports shoes. Repeating “please” in English, Sinan was able to push through the crowd without touching anyone, and when they reached the front both he and
smail pulled off their shoes and carried them inside. Through his socks the marble entrance felt hard and cold, but as soon as they entered the mosque the plush carpet cushioned his feet. Sinan raised his eyes to the ornamented dome with its painted arabesques and shields of Ottoman script. Above him rose an archway of honeycombed marble, and beneath that, on the wall of the mosque, hung rows of intricate floral tiles, so delicate they looked as if actual flowers had been pressed in amber.

“Look at this,
smail,” Sinan whispered.

In the Southeast there weren’t any mosques as beautiful as this. In Gölcük, too, the mosque had been cheap, built of wood and plaster rather than marble. This is why he had brought
smail. What did the boy know of being Muslim? Poverty. Poverty and ugliness. He had known the pain of the knife, the loss of his home, the loss of his sister. He knew that God was capable of punishing innocents. But here was beauty, a Heaven built to reflect God’s mercy.

smail spun around, his head thrown back to see the very top, and Sinan did the same, astounded by the light, like threads of white silk, cascading toward the floor. They passed beneath wrought-iron chandeliers, the hush of their socks pressing into the carpet, the glow of the bulbs illuminating
smail’s face. The carpet glowed a brilliant green and Sinan was sure this green was the exact color of Heaven.

smail rubbed his eyes and swayed on his feet.

“Now is not the time to be tired,” Sinan said.

Sinan placed his feet in the center of his prayer rug and motioned to
smail to do the same. They stood together,
smail half as tall as his father, and faced Mecca.

He closed his eyes and so did
smail, but then Sinan opened his and watched his son stand there blind to the world. His face was intent, lines gathering between his eyes as if he were concentrating on a difficult problem in his homework.

“No,
smail, watch me and follow.”

Sinan then brought his palms to his ears as though listening out through the walls of the mosque, putting the world behind him, separating himself from all unimportant things. “
Allahu Akbar,
” Sinan said.

“
Allahu Akbar,
”
smail said. And Sinan felt a flood of relief at the sound of his son’s unsteady voice.

He placed his left hand over his right just below his stomach, and stared at the flowers in the carpet.

Glory to You, O God, Yours is the praise.

And blessed is Your name, and exalted is Your Majesty.

And there is no deity to be worshipped but You.

I seek refuge in God from Satan, the accursed.

And for Sinan, the world, except for the sound of his son’s voice, began to disappear. There were no toppled cement apartments, no tents filled with dusty blankets, no devastated wives, but his daughter was still there, hovering in his mind like a ghost. He was getting used to her being there, accepting the fact that she would stay.