nothing to you

July 9, 2012

It's not Friday, but the imam had asked them to a sermon after evening prayer. It was doubtful many people would come – the congregation had been shrinking, and some had already started to leave – but Behrooz didn't have any family to go to in other places, and the family he worked for hadn't discussed it in front of him. And for the most part, they'd still gone to the mosque a few times a week.

At the moment, Behrooz is sitting behind the counter at the store, watching Sareh try to convince him and Farid to go to the sermon. Behrooz had already figured he should go, but didn't say so – the slurs in spray paint across the walls had only increased, and many windows were still broken and simply boarded up – it wasn't exactly the safest place to be in.

But, as Sareh was saying "- prayer's the only time I feel sane anymore. And we need to support him. I'd rather hear his sermon than more of that" she snaps at the end as Farid turns on the television, and Behrooz looks to it, instead – the faces of a man and a woman materialized, and the two were clearly in the middle of an argument.

"- these places – they're nothing more than concentration camps –"

"Who's going to watch the store?"

"Dad said he would tonight."

"- criteria is very specific"

"Someone should stay with mom."

"She's just going to be sleeping, she'll be fine."

"- these guidelines justify locking up any American who prays towards Mecca –"

"Sareh, you weren't in Iran – "

"Oh, come on. I'm here now. I know what's going on, Farid, and I'm not going to be scared out of my faith."

" – the people support it –"

"Orhan?" Farid's voice draws Behrooz's attention away from the screen again. "What will you do?"

He doesn't pause. "I'll go with her if you don't want to."

Sareh looks satisfied, though she doesn't and wouldn't smile. Her eyes go back to Farid more challengingly than anything, and he sighs and throws up his hands. "Fine. It'd be better if I go too, anyway." His eyes linger on Sareh's veil as he says it, and she pointedly pretends to not notice.

The image on the screen changes, briefly to images of attempts to extinguish fires and ambulance sirens, and then to someone very familiar to Behrooz. Farid and Sareh look over as well, recognizing the former president as he comments on the attacks in St. Louis. Farid starts to say something to Sareh in Persian, but she quickly waves him off.

" - polls say that 75% of Americans support internment camps, what is your stance?"

The pause before his answer feels long, even if it isn't really. And though none of them look away, they can't deny what they're expecting. Because they were the same – every promise was broken, all the rhetoric was empty. They were all so quick to betray when they thought it'd do even the smallest amount of good for them, no matter what the cost – because, after all, they weren't the ones who were going to be soon going to –

Well, they didn't really know what. But it was still always the same.

(you promised you wouldn't hurt me)

So it's silent after he answers – no one moves, as though it weren't really over – the image changes back to the anchorwoman.

And finally, Sareh smiles.



*


Only about fifteen people come in – all looking over their shoulders as they enter, many of the women pulling out a veil after they are safely out of sight. Behrooz sits behind most of the men, and follows through the motions – it isn't time to ask for something, but the verses still shut out other thoughts –

(-allahuakbar, allahuakbar)

- of the world, the familiarity enough to slightly soothe away –

(no god but God)

- the mounting uncertainties. He heard every voice – could easily pick out Sareh's behind him, the imam's in front, cars passing outside, every shuffle of clothing with the movement. It seems a while before it ends, and instead of standing, people move into more comfortable positions on the floor. Behrooz looks to the imam – brother Khalil's hair seems to be graying too young, his eyes are tired, and he shares a scent with everyone in the room.

Fear.

"Brothers and sisters, I – "

He has to stop abruptly, as there's a loud banging from the already unlocked door. Sareh stands, but one of the men in the front row does, as well, and waves her down. The imam continues, though Behrooz can hear voices from the front –

"we're not doing anything –"
"- just a precaution."

"It can be difficult, during these times, to maintain your faith and calm judgment, and remember –"

But he's cut off again, as the man reenters with two others, both wearing suits, and the people sitting on the floor blink toward them with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

"Brother, they – " he stops speaking as the men approach the imam themselves, and say something quietly to them. He pauses, then nods, but turns back toward the others.

"It's hard to remember what makes people truly good, sometimes, but Allah does give us that answer. Goodness does not consist in turning your face East or West. The truly good are those who believe in God and the Last Day, in their angels, the Scripture, and the prophets; who give away some of their wealth, however much they cherish it, to their relative, to orphans, the needy, travelers and beggars, and to liberate those in bondage; those who keep up the prayer and pay the prescribed alms; who keep pledges whenever they make them; who are steadfast in misfortune, adversity, and times of danger. These are the ones who are true, and it is they who are aware of God."

He turned away, but they all stood as they watched him leave with the two men in silence.

[OOC: Some dialogue lifted from 6x01 of 24, and the final comments of the imam are sura 2:177 from the Qur'an.]

( Fate )




*



( Jehel )

( Recognition )
~



( Refusal )
~

( More dreams )


He wakes up on the floor - it feels like it's been a long time since his eyes really had to adjust to the darkness, but now when his eyes open it's completely black, and he has to reach for the bed, that stupid buzzing seeming louder than it ever has. The sound of his own breathing overpowers it, though, and he pulls himself back onto the mattress, feeling that the sheets have been thrown off even though it's not at all hot in this room.

It takes a few long moments before the walls become visible, the window out to the street that should have been visible no matter how dark it was out there. Wide-eyed, he turns to the digital clock, reading 2:34 in bright red.

After a long moment of staring at that until it becomes 2:35, Behrooz shakily pushes himself to his feet. It's still hard to see, but he doesn't need to feel to know where things are - he finds the door, and opens it with the hope of making some instant coffee.

At least he'll get better coffee.

They came back. Finally, he let himself sleep, without the crawling feeling of blood dripping from his neck, laughter and changing voices. It's a quiet, and he knows what's there, which is just about the closest thing to safety you can get, really.

He resists trying to wake himself up, when he knows he's asleep. It's warm – there's a slight breeze and leaves are starting to crowd on the ground. He sits near a tree, and doesn't have to wait very long before they appear, bright eyes lingering on him momentarily before wandering again, mostly starting to paw at the ground. But one slinks past, and stares at him for a long moment.

I'm fine.

She blinks, and he can feel the uncertainty – he doesn't have to say anything for them to know something is wrong, something very bad had happened, something was different. And it was, in its way, sort of nice – that he didn't have to talk about it.

It didn't cover it up, though. You won't understand. But I'm fine.

Not enough. It's clear, and he blinks up, almost startled. Something that feels like a head shake, a soft sigh. It'll come back. For you, it does. Stop.

He's already protesting, faintly, but her eyes are steady and he's quiet.

Stop. Protect yourself.

His eyes blink first, and his hand brushes the leaves; red – it's like she could blend in with them. Behrooz knows when she's walked off. A brittle stem breaks under his touch, and he knows she's right. It's warmer, and the wind dies as he looks up and the leaf crumbles between his fingers.

(And I won't be hit again.)

"What are you doing here?" Orhan asks as she walks in, purple backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, tugging a little at a dark red scarf covering her hair.

"I think I left my Calculus book back there," she grumbles, dropping her bag down next to the aisle of cereals as she walked toward the counter. Orhan glanced around, and then swiftly retrieved the book from next to the small television set, currently switched to muted early morning news.

"Don't you have school soon?"

"Weren't you here when I left?" she snaps back, grabbing the book and stuffing it under her arm. "How long have you been here?"

"I'm fine, Sareh," he answers, stifling a yawn. "I think your Dad likes it better when I work the night than when he has to."

"Except he actually sleeps," she calls as she stuff the book into her backpack, already heavy-looking, and slings it back over her shoulder. The door opens with an annoying, artificial ring as a man walks in and heads in the direction of the drinks. Sareh gives him a look but heads out of the store, making the door ring.

Behrooz watches her through the glass front of the store, as she climbs into a brown sedan outside, the headlights illuminating the front shelves (melons, apples, small boxes of oranges and strawberries) before she pulls out. He turns his eyes back to the newspaper open on the counter, listening to the footsteps of the man still browsing the aisles.