Читать книгу The Victory Boys - Jamal Orme - Страница 7

2. Silent Celebrations

The following week a nod and a smile from Khalid at madrasa was enough to tell Ibrahim and Junayd that the ball was in place outside. The eye contact around the classroom suggested that most of the boys knew of the plan for break time. There was an air of excitement and unexpected focus that morning.

Imam Munieb noticed the difference too. The children seemed happier and more hands went up for questions. Many of the answers were wrong but at least they had tried. Alhamdulillah, Imam Munieb thought: with every hardship comes ease.

As it drew near to break time, the Imam began to feel far more optimistic about helping these boys to know their religion.

Imam Munieb dismissed the class without a hint of his usual frustration and withdrew contentedly to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Once clear of the corridor, the boys raced down the steps to the yard. The delight of seeing Khalid’s football against an outer wall drew squeals of joy from many of them!

‘Football! Football!’ chanted the more excited among them.

‘Sssssshhhh!!’ implored Khalid, thrusting a finger to his lips. ‘Do you want the Imam to hear you? Think there’ll be much “Football! Football!” if he finds out?’

Everyone was immediately quiet, but the smiles did not leave their faces.

‘Right,’ ordered Khalid, ‘Ibrahim and I will pick the teams. No complaining, no noise. If you score, celebrate in silence. Anyone who makes too much noise will be booked, and then sent off.’

‘Who’s the referee?’ ventured Abdullah, who was uncomfortable with doing something he knew Imam Munieb would disapprove of.

‘I am,’ said Khalid, defiantly.

‘Why you? I thought you were playing?’ Abdullah persisted. He was secretly hoping he could take on the role himself to avoid kicking the ball.

‘Because it’s my ball. Right, on my team, I’ll have …’

To everyone’s glee and amazement, the game was a success. The two teams played out a three-all draw. All six goals were scored between the two sets of brick-stack posts that the boys had hastily assembled before kick-off from a pile of rubble in the corner of the yard.

Each goal had been celebrated with little more than a silent fist-pumping by the scorer – with the exception of the last two: Khalid’s team mobbed little Faris when he poked in to make the score 3–2 with barely a minute left; and Ibrahim’s last-second equaliser (or thereabouts) inspired him to pull off his jumper and swing it around his head as he raced around the yard in mute celebration. That was enough to draw laughter from all of the boys – even on Khalid’s team.

Khalid was careful to end the match on time just in case the Imam heard the suspicious merriment. He took the ball and placed it in a circle of stones at the far end of the mosque wall, hidden.

‘OK, sit down,’ began Imam Munieb, and 30 tired boys collapsed into their seats. The Imam saw that their faces were shining with sweat and that quite a few among them were struggling to slow their breathing.

He was puzzled, though not suspicious.

‘I think perhaps some of you worked too hard at break time,’ he said. ‘You are meant to work hard in madrasa, not in break time!’

It was meant to be a joke. But instead the boys were stirred into action, wiping their faces and sitting up straight as quickly as they could. Junayd began to wonder if he looked guilty and decided it was better to look at his feet. Then he remembered that looking at his feet was what he did when he was guilty. Not knowing where to look, he stared at Abdullah.

Abdullah was looking extremely guilty. Junayd wondered for a moment if Abdullah might confess the game to Imam Munieb. In the end he didn’t say anything, so their secret was safe, at least until the following week.

***

Over the next couple of months the boys played football in their madrasa break. They showed remarkable self-restraint in their football sessions, largelybecause of Khalid’s cautionary pre-match team talks, which were always delivered quickly (to maximise playing time) and with urgency (‘If we get caught, we can never play again!’)

***

‘You know, Fatimah,’ Imam Munieb told his daughter one Sunday lunch after madrasa, ‘I think those boys are really starting to learn something useful.’

‘Alhamdulillah, Baba,’ Fatimah replied.

Her sister Ruqayyah nodded her congratulations as she munched her cereal.

‘Mashallah,’ agreed their mother, Salamah. ‘You don’t just mean Abdullah then?’

Imam Munieb smiled.

‘No, although he is still top of the class, mashallah! But you know, all of them are doing well. Most of them have memorised a part of the Qur’an in the last few weeks – can you imagine that? Mashallah,’ he chuckled. ‘To be honest with you, I did not look forward to madrasa a month ago. Now it is a pleasure for me.’

‘Alhamdulillah,’ said Salamah. ‘You know, it is easier for me with the girls too – especially since Fatimah started to help me with the teaching.’

‘Are you still working with the youngest children, ya habibti?’ asked the Imam, turning to his eldest daughter.

‘Yes Baba. I did some stories of the sahabah with them last week, just like you suggested. The younger ones really like that. I’m enjoying it, alhamdulillah.’

Ruqayyah smiled cheekily. ‘She doesn’t have a choice,’ she joked. ‘I’m not having my sister teach me!’

Fatimah gave her a playful nudge in the ribs and they both laughed.

‘Ah yes,’ said Imam Munieb, stretching his arms in relaxed contentment. ‘We’ve been enjoying stories of the sahabah too. It’s so much easier to cover subjects like that when the boys are keen, like they are now.’

He smiled peacefully.

‘Alhamdulillah.’

He had no idea that the peace was about to shatter …