“The great mosque in Medina grew up on this spot, incorporating the form of the Prophet’s house: the rooms of all his wives and the rooms of the selamlik around a common yard. This is the form it maintains to this day.”
“So these are the rooms of women,” I proposed. “They need eunuch guardians. Even in death.”
“Yes. But it is more than even that. As you can imagine, the grave of the Prophet contains great divine power, great baraka.”
“Why else do people visit it?”
“Such power can be of benefit. But, poorly honored, it can also be dangerous. For example, while Aysha of blessed memory yet lived, a woman of Medina came to her, begging that she might pay her respects to the holy tomb. Aysha gave in and let the woman have a glimpse. So brilliant was the light within that the woman was turned to ash for her presumption and was buried where she fell, a warning to others.
“Still, being made only of the clay of this earth, the shrine needs mundane care. Earthquakes come by the will of Allah, and sandstorms. The stone and mortar crack, threatening destruction of the world by exposure to the divine power within. The black drapes with which the tombs are hung—like the Ka’ba in Mecca—these tear with time and must be replaced. But who may dare to step across the gulf between the worldly and the divine to undertake such duties?”
“Only the khuddam you mean to tell me?”
“It is so. And our power was discovered in the following manner. One day a great stench began to arise out of the tombs in place of the usual sweet smell. The stink grew so that even the most faithful of pilgrims could not bear to perform their devotions. Several men went to try to see what the matter might be, but none returned alive. Then a child was let in. He came out, but had been stricken deaf, dumb, and blind and could not say what he had seen. Still, the fact that he had lived pointed the right track. The task requires the innocence, the sexlessness of a child—but a man’s wisdom. So a khadim volunteered himself. For three days, he fasted, kept vigil day and night, and prayed. Then he went in—and returned carrying the carcass of one of the sanctuary’s pigeons that had died and rotted within.
“Ever since that day, it is eunuchs who have kept the hallowed place. Forty of them live, eat, and sleep within the precinct at this present time. All are men of greatest piety, known for their learning, their charity, their austerities.”
I rubbed my hairless chin thoughtfully. “But if I drive you back to your original analogy—”
“Yes?”
“That eunuchs must keep guard at the boundary between the mundane and the divine as they keep guard between male and female—”
“Just so.”
“Does that mean this miserable state of ours is half of this earth, half of paradise, as it is neither male nor female?”
“All is Allah’s will.”
“You wall not commit yourself to such blasphemy?”
Ghazanfer smiled his tight, half smile. “All is Allah’s will.”
“Would you go so far as to say that our failures to keep the boundaries between men and women may be visited by destruction similar to what you have described in Medina?”
“That, my friend, is my firm belief. In either case, the two worlds combine but poorly.”
“Like oil and vinegar.”
“Rather like fire and powder—one kiss and all consumed.”
“Except in our own persons.”
“Except in us, yes.”
I shifted on my cushions in my discomfort. “Which is, nonetheless, an uneasy state.”
Another half-smile. “As Allah wills.”
“And if we fail in our duties?”
Ghazanfer looked at me hard—and yet not without kindness. Once again I got the firm impression that he was not at all ignorant of the breach I had allowed in my sanctuary wall, the breach that had allowed my heartbroken lady, once in her life, to know the blinding force of a true lover. That conjunction was responsible for Gul Rub, the little girl child that was such a light to our lives. Did the kapu aghasi begrudge her—us—this? Did he condemn our mortal failings? Worse, would he try to take the pleasure of that breach from us?
“The righteous pilgrim must not be denied entry to the sanctuary,” he said instead of what I had imagined from him. “Nor as many of its blessings as he can contain. It is up to a khadim’s pious wisdom to know what to let in, what to keep out.”
“Awesome responsibility.” I wasn’t certain I believed his tales of lightning bolts from the blue but still I found my voice a whisper. “It cannot devolve upon mere mortals such as myself.”
“Yet it can and does. This is the will of Allah working in us. The knowledge of when to keep the boundaries He Himself has set—and when to let the curtain down, if but for an instant. Such is the work of the truest servants of Allah.”
XXVII
Ghazanfer grew quiet, pensive. “I cannot say I have always used my power in the wisest way. But I must say I am grateful for the calling I’ve recently received. To better help me understand what the will of Allah must be, how to serve Him. I think it is easier for you, Abdullah.” And he said my name as more than just a name.
I would have held this thought and driven it further, but suddenly the tea had done its work and there was something more urgent I could hold no longer. With a groan I said, “Excuse me a moment. I must—”
Ghazanfer half smiled. “It works quickly, doesn’t
